First Times Can Be Charms, Too

You've probably been wondering where I've been. Well, I've been grinding, day in and day out. Trying to pave a way--on foot--for the fat, black Muslim girl and every other underrepresented individual that's been deemed unworthy by society's standards. 

Posted by Lvernon2000 (June 22, 2017): I'm emotional (tears + snot nose). So, I'm the winner of the 2017 Gilda Award for my work in creative nonfiction by @kresgeartsdet 🎉🎉🎉
I started writing when I was 6. Reading Rainbow was my shit. I entered my first contest then lost, but Levar Burton sent a cool rejection letter so I wasn't going to stop. In my teen years, my father was never there. Mom was juggling 5 kids from different fathers and no help from family. I sought refuge in stories and other worlds. I was homeschooled, weird and thoughtful, more advanced than the kids my age. My friends were librarians. I'd sit in the library nook for hours and just read and dream of a life different from my own broken home. 
I started entering contests. Won a few. I loved Sci-Fi but noticed the lack of black heroines and writers. I set out to be the first and wrote my first novel in college at 17. It was rejected. I wrote 2 more novels and they were also rejected. I blamed it on my color and socioeconomic status. All the successful writers were white and female. There was no room for my fat, black ass. So I stopped and never wrote again...
It was the toughest five years. Can you imagine not fulfilling your purpose? Then one day, when I almost admitted myself to a psych ward, I thought about my life. Like really dug into my core. My passions and talents. I asked myself, "who the fuck are you? Without your ex-husband? Your family? Your friends? Who are YOU?" The response: YOU are words. Stories. After that day, I've never tried to get rich or popular from writing. I was going to write for me. To uplift and to make change. If I had to write for free for ever and ever then that was what I was prepared to do. 
Now, here we are. Making waves 🙏🏾This white photo represents purity, an awakening, a new beginning for me in my career to change the narrative.

Last week, it was announced that I was the recipient of the 2017 Gilda Award for my works of creative nonfiction. 

I beat out 750 artists who applied in Michigan.

With my stories. Stories about my life. That's nuts!!!  

If that doesn't blow your mind, then I'm not sure what can. 

There's so much I'd like to say about this. This huge honor. I'll probably end up writing an essay about it at a later date. I just wanted to be a good friend, pop in, and tell you that I'm not dead. LOL. That I'm okay. And, that I'll be back to regular blog posts in August when my schedule is less hectic.   

Thank you for rocking with meeeeeeeee. 

Leah V. 

Battling Inner Demons

I wrote this on May 23rd on my Instagram account: He told me when we decided to get divorced that I couldn't take care of myself. That I'd see how hard it was without him. At first, I thought I could do it by myself. But recently, I've started to believe it. Believe him.

I don't make any money blogging, despite what my feed showcases. Oh, how betraying the internet can be. Fake it till you make it, right? I'm a struggling artist. Have been for a while now. Waiting for my big break like the rest of them. Trying to maintain an indie blog talking about real shit like social justice and feminism isn't what businesses want. They want the fake Instagram bloggers. Which is fine. I've made my bed and I'll lie in it.

What really irked me today was that I have about one month's worth of savings left and have been searching for jobs for the last two months. I have two masters, but I'm still unemployed. On the verge of partial homelessness, I sat in the car and thought about life real hard. How the fuck am I divorced, jobless, and highly educated at 30 🤔 Tears filled me eyes and I thought back to my ex: You can't take care of yourself without me... You know how life just beats your ass and your left stunned? That's me right now. Wondering what's next. How my story ends. Begins. I wish someone had the answers for me. Just tell me what to do. Ya know? Do y'all feel me though?

Henna Designs by Noor

At this point, I was fed up with life. I was cooked and overdone. I wanted people to stop looking at me like some kind of special person and see me for who I really was. An overly educated black girl with no parents, divorced, and no job. A fat girl with mental illness. Someone who floated around with no direction. Yup, that was me. Is me. Still me right now.  

I was sitting in the car on that sunny day, looking at my depleting bank account. Checking my emails to see if any of the 100-plus low-grade jobs that I was clearly overqualified for had sent me a message back. Nothin’. I’d had one interview a few weeks ago, but that was unsure. She was still ‘fleshing out the details of the position’. Unfortunately, my bills or rent hadn’t cared about the details. They needed to be paid. My uninsured body hadn’t cared about the details. It needed annual checkups now. My hopes and dreams hadn’t cared the fuck about the details. They needed nourishment and funding now!

As I always do, I lost my marbles. The strain of not having a family to support, help with anything weighed on me like a slab of marble. The embarrassment of having to apply for food stamps, walking into the unemployment office for ‘job assistance’, and making an appointment with a volunteer healthcare agency weighed heavily on my chest, my ribs as to where I couldn’t breathe. 

Then I remembered what my ex told me as we were getting a divorce: you can’t take care of yourself without me. You’ll see how hard it is out there.

Was he right? Had I been to overly-confident about my abilities to maintain a job and pay my own bills? I mean, to the naked eye, it seems as though I have it all. Seems as though I have the ability to take over the world. My face is beat and my outfits are amazing. I have a following. People love me. I’m the fat, black girl who’s supposed to change the fashion game. It doesn’t appear that I’m on the brink of not being able to pay my rent, or put gas in my car or food in my stomach.

The internet isn’t real. It has real moments, but it isn’t real.

I’m struggling to stay afloat. That’s the truth. I have one month’s worth of savings left. That’s the truth. I have no plan of how I’m going to do any of this. Truth. Two credit cards. Almost maxed out. TRUTH.

I’m ashamed to admit that. To say it out of my mouth. I have two fuckin’ master’s degrees and some work experience, yet I’m treated in the work world like I only have a 9th grade education. 

Same day while drinking a slushee, I burst out crying in the front of my friend’s house. In the car. Alone. I hate when people see me cry. I know. I’m weird.

As a black woman, we pride ourselves in maintaining this strong persona. We can’t let them see us weak. We can’t ask for help. Don’t let them see you down.

As a writer, I pride myself in being transparent. It’s how I built the foundation that I do have. I like sharing intimate moments with people. Especially people who get it. People who want real and appreciate that life isn’t snapshots of Instagram posts, but broken-down cars, and fucbois, and weight-gain, and bad ass kids.

Ain’t nobody perfect. Whether their profile says it or not. I don’t care how many filters they place on their selfies.

After, I posted my cry for help, people started to reach out in droves. I crocodile cried again. Y’all know that ugly ass frog-face cry? Yep, that was me.

My inbox blew up with people wanting me to know to not listen to my ex or my inner demon. People that were Muslim talked about patience. People who weren’t Muslim talked about hope and faith. A few individuals even asked for my PayPal info. I told them to hold off a few weeks (cuz ya never know, maybe a job or two would call me back). A few didn’t care and sent money anyway. *Inserts Frog-Face Tears*

I was so overwhelmed by the love. The hundreds of comments and likes. Strangers from different states offering to speak with the HR at their jobs and that they’d even put me up in a room if need be. It’s more than I’ve even gotten from my own blood relatives that see me struggle every day. Women shared similar ‘struggle-bus’ stories of when they got divorced, had their dignity stripped, and was now starting over. From scratch.

My heart swelled. And if you know me, I’m not an emotional person. Well, I try not to show it. But these strangers, these followers rejuvenated me at a time that I needed upliftment, an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on. They say that I was the one who gave them life on a daily basis. I believe it’s the other way around.

It’s Ramadan. It’s the first day. I’m writing this with a hunger migraine. I’m cranky. And my day has been filled with filling out job apps and researching crowdfunding sites so that I can continue to write, be an artist, I guess.

One thing I learned today was to be humble, be grateful for the things you have, and never lose hope. Who knows what tomorrow will bring for me? Maybe I won’t be broke for long. It’s up to me to have hope and keep grinding and be better in this life and for the sake of the hereafter.

Xoxo,

Leah V.   

My Hijab. My Crown. My Way.

In Boston, my Somali friend and I scarfed down fried pickles and crab legs and chatted about good food, Islam, and being a woman in America. We then ordered these huge desserts that we could barely finish just because.

“Ohh, let me see the photos from your trip to London,” she exclaimed.

I hunched my shoulders and pulled out my phone. “If you must,” I replied because, well, ya’ll know I’m extra.

I swiped over to the photos that I took for this independent Muslim designer, Buno Designs, who makes these bomb handmade kimonos in the UK. The photographer was Parisian and a hijabi and so sweet. And even though I was dead tired from flying overseas, I had approximately thirty minutes to rush to the shoot. I was totally surprised that they had come out so well.

The waitress had returned to the table with our bills and came up from behind my friend who was admiring the photos.

“That’s you?” The white server asked.

“Yes, it is.”  

“You a model?”

I raised a brow. “Yes.”

“May I?” My friend handed her my phone. She swiped right, seemingly puzzled by the photos I took. Every once in a while, she’d glance at me then back at the photos. I waited for her to say something off the wall. She finally handed the phone back.

“Where were those taken?”

“London,” I said modestly. “I had a few modeling gigs there.”

“You model with that on?” she pointed to my scarf. “All the time?”

“Yeah, I model with my hijab on.”

Becky crossed her arms over her chest trying to figure out how someone like me could model, how someone my size and my religion could be living that kind of life that she had been told was only for thin, white women. She couldn’t figure out how to compare me to the Muslims she’d seen on CNN. The ones who were very Middle-Eastern or very extreme. Confusion was written all over her face.  

“Where are you guys from?” She followed up with her interrogation tactics. This was a quite common question from her kind. She was expecting the Middle-East, because clearly there are noooo other kinds of Muslims anywhere in the world.

“I’m African-American Muslim,” I said with a smile.

My friend replied, “I’m Somali Muslim.”

“Oh.” Becky nodded then after an awkward pause she said, “Those photos are really nice.”

I yearned to reply: I know. But I said thanks instead.   

I knew she wanted to pry more into our lives but had other tables to wait. Or maybe she got the very real feeling that her delivery was all wrong and that her presence was annoying us. Whichever one it was, her mind was doing complete somersaults as she walked away. She’d just been taught a lesson on stereotyping.

But this incident got me to thinking about hijabs and why we wear them. And how others perceive a girl in hijab. A girl whose visibly Muslim af.  

Wardrobe Courtesy of Navabi

***

When I was younger, not even going to lie, I had major issues with the hijab. It made me standout, made me different. And different wasn’t in. I yearned to be normal. For the most part, I wore it because if I didn’t, I felt it’d make Mom angry, disappointed in me somehow. But I didn’t like the way it made me feel. It was a piece of long, draping clothe on my head that wasn’t that serious, but was at the same time. People had been making such a big deal out of not seeing my hair that I started to view hijab as the problem…and not society and how they viewed differences of other cultures and religions. I was too young to understand that. So, I blamed the hijab.

For me, growing up, the hijab was so closely connected to the identity of being a Muslim woman. We looked down upon girls who didn’t opt to wear the hijab. We called them weak. Ostracized them. Questioned their faith and asked what was so hard about wearing it. I mean, hadn’t they loved Allah? We had been conditioned to predict whether or not you were a ‘good’ Muslim based on a cloth that covered your hair and neck. I fell into that trap, that mentality, until I was faced with the same challenge: to wear or not to wear.

***

“Out of all the kids, I thought you’d be the one to stop wearing your scarf,” my non-Muslim aunt said to me. I was like nineteen. And it hurt my feelings.

I guessed my struggle with it was more outward than I initially thought. Even though, I’d never took it off in front of her, she sensed my indecision. For me, the hijab became safe, a habit. I wore it out of loyalty and not want. I snatched it off in the night when I was going out to party. I just wanted to be without the attachments of it, but it’d always resurface. I’d show my ID to the bouncer and he’d stare at it for a long time. Then glance up at me. My ID showed a hijabi. The girl who stood in front of him was a ‘regular’ girl just wanting to have a good time. One was so brazen to ask where my hijab was. I snatched my ID from him and stormed into the club.

How dare he? I thought.                                  

The next question to myself was, where was my hijab?

***

I’ve learned a lot as I’m nearing the big 3.0. I’m even working on a memoir to showcase the evolution of self. My growth into becoming me. Being ok with being Muslim. Being black. Being short. Being overweight. Being a child whose parentless. And because I’m cool with me, I also understand that others may not be, and that’s cool, too, because that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Your dislike of my choice of hijab, is personal and ignorant.  

People wear their hijabs (or don’t wear it) for many different reasons. But the majority of people, including Becky at the restaurant, believe that it’s a sign of oppression. The media has made it so that closeminded individuals have been brainwashed to think that when they see a Muslim woman covering her hair and body that automatically equates to she’s being forced by her evil Arabic speaking father. They have all these notions of you being bald, you being forced into an arranged marriage, you being subservient to a man, and that you absolutely, unequivocally couldn’t be a feminist. All hell would break loose if a hijabi was a feminist. *Gasps*

Deciding. Really deciding to unapologetically wear my hijab for me has been the most freeing and rebellious and feminist thing I could possibly do.

I don’t wear my hijab for others so they could think I’m a good, practicing Muslim girl. Nah. I do it because it is me, it is my crown, my shield. It tells people that I’m strong in my belief whether I say it or not. I’m proud and loud of who I am. And that no bigot shall prosper on my watch. And because I’m so ‘out there’ with it, it makes individuals (like Becky) very uncomfortable. They just can’t figure out how a girl like me continues to defy odds, being different, being openly true, while getting beat down daily for being a minority Muslim.

“They tried to bury us, but they didn’t know we were seeds.”

-- Dinos Christianopoulos

xoxo,

Leah V.

Upliftment Through Style: Detroit’s Body Positive Movement

I haven’t done a collaborative photoshoot in a while. So, when local Detroit based blogger, Alayna of FashionLayne on Tumlbr, asked me to do a conceptual project I was all ears! We met up at Bigby’s Coffee and chatted like we’d known one another for years. I enjoyed her spirit and flyness. We set a date and hoped for the best. But deep down, I knew when dope people come together, only greatness occurs.

MUA: (My face) Madinah M.

Alayna wanted to do the shoot at the beautiful Heidelberg Projects in Detroit. I’d never been there before, but it proved to be an awesome background for our stripped looks.

And, she brought along her very much so talented photographer (adding to all the #BlackGirlMagic), Richelle of Richelle Marie Photography who captured all of our ‘moments’.

LV: Why did you start FashionLayne?

FL: I’ve been blogging for almost two years. I started solely to boost my confidence and after that I began to love myself more and more. Ultimately that is what I want people to get from my blog is confidence. I want them to learn that you can wear what you want and feel amazing and confident. Nobody should feel uncomfortable in their own skin. I want all girls and women to embrace their bodies.

LV: Why choose to collaborate with Leah V.?

FL: I decided to collaborate with Leah because she unconventional, in a good way. She doesn't follow the rules of the fashion industry or the magazines. She does what she wants and wears what she wants and I admire that from fellow plus-size blogger. She is a risk taker and that is exactly what I was looking for in this ‘Body Positive’ project.

LV: What do plus-size Detroit bloggers bring to the table?

FL: Detroit plus-size bloggers understand the struggle. We come from a city that had nothing but blight, now it is the "come up city’. For me, I use my platform to show people where I'm from instead of just selling the outfit. I want people to view my blog and love the outfit and love the background, which is Detroit. My blog is like a to-do list for others looking to visit the city of Detroit. We have art here, fashion, everything.

My normal face... HAHA!

XOXO

Leah V.

Style: First Time Wearing A Bisht

In Westernized fashion, they tend to believe that the clothes must accentuate the female body, hug her curves delicately. And of course, I thought the same way. If it didn’t have a shape, then I wasn’t touching it. I was already plus-size; I’d look like a garbage bag for sure.

Since I became a style blogger, I’ve been a lot more ‘out there’ with my fashion choices. I like to up the risk and try new things. Also, I’m waaaaay more comfortable with my body now, so anything goes!

It was the last week in Ramadan. My friends from Yemen invited us to a feast fit for a king, and to top it off, they had the hookahs in rotation. I thought that the night couldn’t get any better. One of the Yemini women had a wide set of hips, small waist, and petite chest. Similar to my body type. Between puffs of smoke, we chatted about shopping and how hard it was to find fashionable items for us ‘hippy’ gals.

Her eyes widened. “I have something for you,” she said and disappeared into the back room.

She brought out a black and gold embroidered bisht. It’s like an oversized abaya. I’m not sure where it’s origins are in the Middle East but trying it on felt like I had instantly turned into Arab royalty. I paraded around her living room, gushing about how beautiful it was. I finally took it off and placed it back on the hanger. I handed it to her.

She put her hand up and shook her head. “It’s yours.”

I died.

A happy yet fashionable death.

Xoxo

Leah V.

The ‘F’ Word: FAT

At Buffalo Wild Wings, I ordered lots of food. Hey, I was super hungry. Plus, I have a tendency to order too much then complain about being too full halfway in. Yes, annoying. I know. I’m working on my indecisiveness.  

Anyhow, after the waiter leaves, I said to my guy friend playfully, “OMG. I’ve ordered half the menu. I’m soooo fat.”

His eyes swelled with fear then shock. If he had pearls, he probably would’ve clutched them.

At first, I thought I had lipstick on my teeth. “What?” I croaked.

“You. Are. Not. FAT!”

I rolled my eyes. “Boy, bye. I am fat.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You are curvy. Trust me, I know fat. You’re just thick.”

“I’m fat. I’m obese. I’m overweight. It’s fine.”

What was interesting was that the ‘F’ word for him was so negative, so vile that he couldn’t possibly equate that nasty attribute to me. He got an A for effort though. Haha. But like him, so many other men and women avoid the word ‘fat’ or if they do use it, it’s become one of the main cuss words.

I’m not even going to lie. In my adolescence and early 20’s, I was once one of those people that if someone called me fat, I’d melt and dissolve into the wind. No coming back from it. I’d go over it a million times in my head. Fat. Fattie. You’re FAT! Why the fuck are you still fat? Be skinny. Skinny is better. Skinny is acceptable. You will be great when you are skinny.

Funny thing is that when I did have an eating disorder and got ‘skinny’, I was the unhappiest I’d ever been in life. But, everyone else seemed to dote on the fact that I’d lost so much weight so fast and blah, blah, blah.

Why do we glorify thinness but bash fatness? And I know the internet trolls with their Google degrees are going to come out of their troll lairs with the following argument: fat acceptance glorifies obesity and health problems.  

Firstly, I welcome them with the real ‘F’ word. After that, my rebuttal consists of not only fat people have health issues. I’ve been fat mostly all of my life, and I’ve had no major health problems. I have fat and skinny friends with health issues. Good or bad health doesn’t discriminate like we do. And if I did have bad health from being fat, that still has nothing to do with you because you aren’t me nor do you pay my medical bills.

Back to our scheduled program…  

So why am I talking about this? In an interview, I was asked about the word ‘fat’. Why is it such a negative word? Why do most girls and women cringe and melt when they are called it? And most importantly, when I decided to reclaim it.

I reclaimed the word when I started having open conversations about body acceptance with other body positive activists in the community. The conversations were real and enlightening. These women (and men) were not only fat but they were other things, too. They were fat and business savvy. They were fat and confident. They were fat and stylish. They were fat and athletic. They were fat and sexual.

They smashed the fat stereotypes in half and I set out to do the same.

Let’s say this at least eight times: Fat isn’t a bad word. Stop making it that way. It’s starts with you. It’s an adjective, people. Just like any other adjective. Sometimes, we’ve got to take a look at ourselves and stop being so freakin’ sensitive. So what if your boyfriend calls you fat. Do what I do and say, “Yes, I know. Anything else you want to point out Captain Obvious?”

If you are obese, overweight, curvy, or thick, 9 times out of 10 you are probably fat. And that’s ok. And if it’s not ok, then change it. Simple as that. But let’s not wallow in the fact that our bodies are shaped differently or the scale gives us a number that isn’t ‘acceptable’ to society’s standards.

Why not start living right now? Don’t let a couple pounds deter you from enjoying what life has to offer. Your body is good so be good to your body.

You’ve only got one.

xoxo

@Lvernon2000

Divorced and Almost 30... Where to Now?

I got married young. Well, not too young. I had just turned 20, and I thought I had all the answers. Me then versus me almost 10 years later…oh, boy. What a difference.

A lot of maturing and growth occurred between now and then. And for that, I’m grateful.

If you had only seen the immature Facebook rants and friendship drama I was involved in. Ugh. Very embarrassing.

But that’s all in the past now.

See, at this point, I have bigger fish to fry.

I had just turned 29 — and divorce happened.

No matter how we view the unfortunate and fortunate events in our lives, everything happens for a reason. I believe it. This is more of a personal self-discovery piece.

Hmm… *Shifts eyes back and forth*

Before we dig in, this is not a “bash” essay or a “woulda, coulda, shoulda if I had only known” essay.

No matter how we view the unfortunate and fortunate events in our lives, everything happens for a reason. I believe it. This is more of a personal self-discovery piece — the thoughts and questions on the aftereffects of an Islamic divorce that’s on everyone’s minds, but no one dares to utter out loud.

No matter what issues I had in my marriage, I never, ever thought we’d end up divorcing. I mean, after eight years of matrimony, I thought that was it. Right?

Wrong. Very, very wrong.

We’ve all sat around the table listening to our friends talk about their marriages — the good and the bad — but we never realistically put ourselves in their shoes when it came to the big one, divorce.

We can’t control outcomes; we can only control how we deal with said outcomes.

“What if your husband did that? Would you leave him?”

“What if you just wanted to move on? What exactly would happen next?”

I was that person. For some reason, I thought I was exempt from the “D” word — that if I did A, B, and C, then it would make it all better, and everything would automatically work out.

What I failed to understand was that people change, and we have absolutely zero control over it. The only person I was in charge of was my own self. And no matter what I did, it wasn’t going to change the outcome.

Sometimes in life, we have the tendency to think that just because we do A, then B should inevitably come next. We can’t control outcomes; we can only control how we deal with said outcomes. And this isn’t just for marriage, but friendships, jobs, health, etc.

Another thing about being Muslim and getting divorced is how we perceive it as the “End-All, Be-All” for the woman. Sister such and such is getting divorced. Who will marry her now? Will she uncover? How will she support herself? Will she date? It was probably her fault anyway. If she had only done what she was supposed to do, then divorce wouldn’t have happened.

Unfortunately, there is a stigma attached to an Islamic divorce. And usually, somehow, it becomes the female’s fault. Bullshit. Marriage is a two-way street. If you are divorced or going through one, don’t ever let anyone bait you into believing it was all your fault.

The interesting thing was — when I was going through this divorce, everyone kind of became relationship gurus. LOL. This is fine for the people who either went through it or just gave good advice, but others? Not so much.

Here’s a bit of advice. No one knows your spouse like you do or did, so keep that in mind when seeking consultation from others.

There is a stigma attached to an Islamic divorce. And usually, somehow, it becomes the female’s fault. Bullshit. Marriage is a two-way street. If you are divorced or going through one, don’t ever let anyone bait you into believing it was all your fault.

During my divorce period, I was asked to write about my experience. I thought it was too soon to talk about it. I didn’t want to come off as the bitter, Black, Muslim writer. So I held off. I planned on writing a few pieces when everything was finalized and when I was in a little bit of a better place.

A few people encouraged me not to reveal my divorce publicly because of the backlash I’d receive from the community (Oh, yes. It happens). The dreaded questions about what happened — and the sad, droopy faces and awww’s.

I’m not going to lie. In the beginning, I was very ashamed of the divorce. I felt like it was tattooed on my forehead. Everyone in the community knew my dirty laundry. It was etched into stone and followed me around like a dark cloud with lightning thundering around it. I felt exposed and basically like a failure.

Divorced. Divorcée? DIVORCED!

That word became me. And I was it.

But then, I got to thinking about life in general. A bit of a reflection. I thought about all the positive things I’d accomplished during the marriage. And all the things that I still planned on accomplishing after it. I figured out very quickly that I was still the same writer, blogger, sister, and friend that I was before… just without the other half and a ton more bills. Haha!

I’m not going to lie. In the beginning, I was very ashamed of the divorce. I felt like it was tattooed on my forehead. Everyone in the community knew my dirty laundry.

Then the question arose, why should I be ashamed of my divorce?

I share a lot with you guys already. Plus, this is a major milestone — one that many of us have either experienced or will experience (I hope not, though!). How many women have been through the same thing, doubting themselves through a divorce? Thinking much less of themselves? Wondering what’s next for them?

I feel like, through my life stories and gift of gab, I have a duty to share and teach. Trust me when I tell you that I’m not in the running for “Divorcée of the Year,” but I’m still growing and learning through this process, and I’d like other girls and women to do the same.

We aren’t these empty human shells. We have emotions and we go through divorces. It’s not a death sentence. It’s not the end for you. Or me.

I feel, as women, we should be able to talk about these deep, risqué issues that plague us every day.

As a Muslim, sometimes a lot of topics are hush-hush, but how is that really helping? By being quiet and not sharing vital information, how is that going to elevate us as a whole, as a community of badass chicks?

I guess I’m kind of a rebel when it comes to these things.

But it’s time to break out of this mold that we, as Muslim women, have created and allowed society to keep hold of. We aren’t these empty human shells. We have emotions and we go through divorces.

It’s not a death sentence.

It’s not the end for you. Or me.

There is so much more to the world than the small label of divorcée.

—

xoxo,

Leah V. (@Lvernon2000)

Body Image: How to Get Over It

You can’t. Not ever fully.

Life is full of ups and downs when it comes to how we, as women, perceive ourselves.

The most bomb-looking girl has body image issues. Whether she divulges it or not.

And a lot of people won’t.

We keep our “problem” areas to ourselves. So we don’t look weak. Dumb. Low self-esteem. Whatever.

Photo: Lil Miss JB Style

I’m a body positive style blogger. If you look at my Instagram you’ll see my face beat, ensembles on point, and turbans wrapped to perfection.

To the naked eye, I look like I have it going on! Not one worry in my little world of fabulosity.

What people didn’t see was that a few days ago, I had a breakdown. And thought I was the ugliest thing to ever walk the earth.

Today, I’m back on track. A little.

But this week has been tough for my own body image. Self-esteem. Morale. Etc.

Next week will probably be much better, Insh’allah.

And this is OK!

Tulle Skirt: Society + (Purchase Here)

The problem with society is that they believe that girls, women should be confident, at the top of their games, and oh-so-perfect at all times.

Unrealistic.

We are hairy. We burp. We hate our bodies. We love our bodies. We cover them. Some of us don’t. We love. We shout. And some of us are more of a man than an actual man. LOL.

Body image is how we view ourselves regularly.

And sometimes, they can be totally extreme.

But I just want you to know that however you view yourself is OK.

You are allowed to just BE.

Photo: Lil Miss JB Style

I will leave you with one thing, because I’m feeling extremely 70’s hippy right now.

You are gorgeous. You’re smart. And you have a wonderful smile that illuminates even the darkest of nights.

I want you to find something you adore about yourself. Then say it out loud. At least three times. And mean it! Then I want you to find something you love about another girl and tell her, out loud!

XOXO

Leah V.

Why I Decided to Become a Plus-Size Model

In this day and age, everybody and their mamas are ‘models’. Thanks social media! Everyone is a CEO of their own one-man company. Everyone is a fashion blogger. Everyone is a comedian or an actor. Or an influencer. And in no way am I throwing shade, but it’s real. And I tell it like it is. This is what I see, every day, all the time.

I am so grateful for social media, because it gave the thriving artist—who wouldn’t ever be considered by mainstream companies—the channel to build a following and show their value in a completely different way.

Frankly, without social media I’d have never made it this far in my blogging career or met the amazing people I’ve met. So, big-ups to Instagram and Facebook!  

So when I started blogging in 2013, I was very, very reluctant to call myself a plus-size model (and sometimes, I still am). Because I wasn’t. I wasn’t signed to an agency nor was I a professional in any way, shape, or form. Then there’s the dreaded stigmas attached to being a model…

Photo: Remy Roman

At shows, people would be like: Oh, you model?

I’d reply: No, no, no. I’m just a blogger who happens to take decent photos. *Laughs nervously*

Even on my worst days, I’d always get the compliment: You are so photogenic.

I’d grimace and be like, umm, do you see my jacked up teeth and round, fat body! I’d think in my head, what are they talking about and that they were probably just trying to be nice.

Fast forward. I went through eating disorders, self-loathing, negative, nasty thoughts about myself and my worth. The people around me started to flee. I hit rock bottom and had no support. The last straw was pulled and I got some mental therapy. Five years’ worth to be exact! Best five years of my life. Therapy allows you to look within and to stop covering shit with icing. The layers started to unravel. And a new-ish me emerged. I mean, she wasn’t perfect but she was a lot better than the old version.

I began to see the beauty in others and within myself. I know, I know. This sounds corny. But I literally hated everyone. And I hated myself. No one knew. But it’s the truth. I was uncomfortable in my very own skin. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

Photo: Brad Ziegler

I set up two photoshoots for myself. Funding the whole thing from makeup to wardrobe. Planning them was stressful yet exhilarating. Then I had my face on, my ensemble was snatched, my turban was on decent. I was nervous. Very nervous. And the camera started to flash and I just gave in. The photographer was like yassssssss. I was like ayeeeeeee.

Then other photographers and businesses started to approach me and ask me to model their clothes, makeup, and accessories.

Now I claim with proudness that I’m an indie plus-size, African-American, Muslim model. And with that said, modeling is about expression and story-telling. A lot of bloggers and models are about that paycheck and popularity. Not all. Some. In the beginning, I did like the exposure and being ‘known’ was cool, but then I started getting these sincere messages from men and women and I paused.

So every time, I do a shoot or a campaign it’s gotta have something the viewer can take from it. That’s why I’m very heavy on the content that I mix with my photos. If you, as a reader, don’t take anything from my words, then I’ve failed. If you look at my photo and don’t feel some kind of emotion, then I’ve failed.

And failing aint ever an option.

xoxo

Leah V.

BTS: Brad doing the dang thing!

More BTS. And it was a scorcher that day!

I Used To Get Bullied For Dressing Different

I’ve had a few interviews for different feminist and style blogs recently, and the question that I’m most asked is what it was like for me growing up, before Leah V. was Leah V.  

I grew up in the 90’s and early 2000’s, where nothing on my body was considered beautiful or desired. To add to that, I was Muslim and Black. And very much so fat. Triple whammy? So confidence was at an all-time low for the most part.

In my family, my mother was a pretty snazzy dresser and so was my grandmother. Even though they were large women, they still pulled out their sequins blazers, costume jewelry, and furs. My grandmother was into makeup as well. Bright red lips and blue eyeshadow was a must for any special occasion.

That’s when I fell in love, playing in her expensive lippies and shadows. I secretly painted my face, knowing my mother wouldn’t approve, and would make me wipe it off immediately.   

Makeup wasn’t in like that for young girls when I was growing up. No overly-contoured Kim K. looks.      The most we did was a heavy coating of cheap lip gloss from the beauty supply store and some mascara. Anything else was considered ‘clown face’.

I was a weird, thoughtful, and creative child. I watched a lot of movies, read a lot of books, and immersed myself into rock/pop music. Through these outlets, I began to internalize all the characters that I admired. They were sassy. They were strong. They didn’t take no shit! They were modern and stylish and outrageous. They were different just like me. And I imagined being anything I wanted.

And then it clicked… I was going to wear glitter on my eyelids, smear black lipstick on my lips, and place tiaras on top of my hijab.

Why? Because I was expressing myself and it made me happy.

Others didn’t feel the same way.

“Take that dark lipstick off your face,” Mom told me.

“Why black polish? Why not red?” Another asked.

“Why wear makeup, you already have such pretty skin,” someone commented.

“You look like a clown,” a family member said.

*Hella sighs*

I was obsessed with the Spice Girls, so I bought several pairs of those chunky flip flops. I was into Gwen Stefani from No Doubt and started wearing black nail polish and fingerless lace gloves. Then I went through the goth phase. Everything was pitch black.

I got made fun of for dressing crazy, wearing makeup, being outspoken, being fat, having big feet, pointy teeth, wearing colorful hijabs, covering my body… Blah, blah.    

The funny thing about it, I never allowed other people’s criticisms to stop me from dressing the way I wanted or affected how I carried myself. Because it was my body and I loved the expression that makeup and clothes could prompt. I wasn’t the same as the other girls, and that was fine with me.

It’s ironic, because now, I’m the trendsetter and style blogger. People ask my fat, Black Muslim self where do I get my clothes from. They ask me for fashion advice.

Although, it’s a sad thought to think what would’ve happened if I listened to those friends who made fun of my appearance and ensembles.

I wouldn’t be Leah V. I’d be some cardboard cutout. Exactly the same as the rest. Just falling in that straight and narrow line of lameness…

Beyonce said it best: “Tell him boy, bye!”  

Keep being your crazy, odd dressing, thin or plump self. Don’t let others dictate how you should or shouldn’t dress. Or that you need or don’t need makeup. Tell them it’s YOUR BODY and you can do with it as you please!

xoxo

Leah V.   

Confessions of a Content Fat Girl: Late 20’s Reflections

*Covers face* I’ve totally neglected my blog for the past few weeks. I’M SORRY. No, I really am. It’s almost midnight and here I am blogging. Today has been super humid, I’ve been groggy, and I’m looking for a new place. Packing. Throwing away crap I don’t need. And selling the rest. Ugggh!

I hope you guys understand. Life has been a loop but amazing nonetheless. And guess what else? My birthday was a few days ago. #LeoSeason. I plan on doing something fun and chill this weekend. So turn up!

I turned the big 2.9. Yes, I’m a year away from 30. Sounds weird to say. I’m lucky though, blessed, whatever you want to call it. Some people didn’t and don’t make it to or past that age.

But all this ‘growing’ up has me to thinking… You guys know, I’m an over thinker. A DEEP thinker. I like to reflect on what I’ve learned this year, what failures and accomplishments I’ve made, and to share what I hope to achieve in the future. My main goal is to reach you. I want you to learn something from my experiences. Maybe it’ll make your situation better, same, hell, maybe even worse (I certainly hope not). But I want you to take something from this.

Shades: Forever21 + Necklace: Charming Charlies + Shirt: Avenue + Denim Vest: Burlington + Skirt: Society +

Although major changes have occurred, I’m a content fat girl. I’ve never been so at peace despite the chaos going on. It’s really shocking to me that I’ve grown so much that certain things that used to bother the hell out of me don’t even penetrate my shields. And that very fact, I’m proud of. I never thought I’d actually be the ‘Bigger Person’. I mean I’m still petty, haha, but for the most part, I literally swerve any stupidity, bad-mouthing, and non-productive situation that arises.

What I learned this year? Let that shit go. You have choices. You don’t have to partake in anything that you’re uncomfortable with. You are allowed to say ‘NO’.

I’m telling you that it’s a freeing experience.

Skirt: Society +

Perseverance, but remember to take it step by step. I’ve learned to slow it down sometimes, yet still keep it moving steady. As women (and men), we put a lot on our plate. It’s ok to not do something at that very moment. What’s the worst that can happen? Is it life or death? If not, be fluid and allow yourself to breathe and reflect. There’s nothing wrong with taking a moment to reevaluate and then tackle a problem. Even Superwomen needs to rewind.

And the biggest thing I learned and relearn every day is the importance of the company you keep. I can’t stress this enough… We have internet trolls, family members, besties, managers, and randoms constantly reaffirming our fears. You need people around you that will dream as you do. Because dreams are important. I always had people tell me to take my head out of the clouds and come back to reality. I believed them, and I was miserable. I liked dreaming! When I figured out that they were trying to mold and shape my outlook on the world and of myself then I had to start cutting and blocking people from my circle.

Then I started adding people whose energies were supportive and genuine and good. This change caused me to explore more, fear less, and dream as I had done before.  

I thought this was the cutest thing. He wanted to get in on the OOTD action.   

In retrospect, I’ve accomplished more than I ever dreamed I could. Again, I don’t get paid to blog. I make very little money modeling, and I just launched a self-published book mostly on credit card so I’m in the hole. But even with all that, I’m surrounded by people who are ok with going out for cheap food, that can make me laugh until I pee myself, and who add zest to my world.

Money is great. Being married is great. Being attractive is great. But experiences last a lifetime. That’s my goal for the rest of this year and my remaining years. To Experience life and what it has to offer. And I hope you do, too.

xo

Leah V.

I Posted a Picture in Front of the #BlackLivesMatter Wall and the Internet Went Crazy

I used to be the kind of style blogger who didn’t speak on issues out of fear of the repercussions of what ‘others’ might say. I was a ‘style’ blogger; no one wanted to hear what I had to say when it came to politics or religion. I should’ve been talking about the newest matte lippie or what I was wearing that weekend.

With age and wisdom, and basically not giving a fuck, I came to the conclusion that I had become like all the other bloggers. I was a fashionable shell. I had thoughts and worries about the world we lived in, but I never spoke on it. I kept quiet even though the issues myself and my people faced were reality.

In January, I took my social media and blog up a few notches. I rebranded myself as an anything-goes-blogger. Whatever came to my mind about feminism or self-image or blatant racism, I was going to speak about it while adding bomb ass photos to the mix.

Unapologetically.

In Detroit, there’s this amazing Black Lives Matter wall near Midtown that popped up last year after the string of police killings of unarmed Black males. Black Lives Matter is written hundreds of times in white letters and in different sizes.

While standing in front of this powerful wall of words, I found it to be the perfect moment to throw my fist in the air in support of #BlackLivesMatter. It was the fist that many of us stick up when we are trying to make a statement.

When we are trying to push for equality. When we are telling the world that Black Lives Do In Fact Matter!

Society +

I went home and looked over the pictures that Danni took and the one with my fist planted in the air was the perfect photo to post on Instagram and Facebook. I added a caption as well about us as a whole making so many strides towards equality but taking so many steps back simultaneously with the whole racial divide happening all over the world.

I posted it and for the most part a lot of different races were feeling the picture and throwing their fist emojis up. I had a few haters that I had to delete the comments of and block since they wanted to troll my page.

The next day, a popular body positive page reposted the picture with the original caption. It got a lot of hits. Lots of supportive people said that we needed to do better as a country and they were in full support of the message. Then one troll replied: “Blue Lives Matter…”

After that all the internet trolls flooded in with comments like what about Black on Black crime? And someone even said, “White Lives Matter!”

Then people started arguing under the photo. How does one photo of an African-American Muslim blogger standing behind a Black Lives Matter wall start all this ruckus?

Wardrobe: Society +

Why are people so turned off my support of #BlackLivesMatter? How many times do people have to say that this movement has nothing to do with Black supremacy?

Listen…in case you didn’t get the memo, it has nothing to do with us being better than anyone or being wronged more than another race. We are dealing with the issues at hand. Period. And if someone standing up for themselves or for humanity bothers you, then you need to check yourself, and not some hashtag or movement!

EVERYONE deserves freedom of speech. Freedom to walk the streets without being harassed by a cop. EVERYONE deserves to live life that isn’t in constant danger. EVERYONE deserves to be free.

I am Black. I am a woman. I am a Muslim. I am a triple minority. So I get it. Trust me. I have been picked over and belittled and mistreated because one or all three of the above. A lot of us have.

What I want for you, the reader, to get from this piece is that every movement isn’t a personal attack on your culture or religion. It isn’t an attack on cops or White people. It is a movement like all others to boost awareness, to help make a change in an unequal system, and to hopefully one day live in harmony amongst one another.

*Originally posted on Muslimgirl.com*

Fat Girl Style Guide: Color Blocking

Myth: Fat Girls Can't Wear Bright Colors or Color Block.

Why? Because it makes them look bigger or brings unwanted attention to their 'problem' areas.  

Photo: Danni Little

First of all, an area of your body is only a 'problem' if YOU make it one. If you decide that you do, in fact, have an area that you just absolutely hate, then my suggestion is to change it or learn to accept it.

We've got to rewire our minds and thinking about our body and how we view it. Also about fashion and style. Because rules are sometimes meant to be broken.

Color blocking is simple and basically utilizes two (or more) bright colors to contrast one another. So here, I have a white vest with a red skirt from Society+ 

Color blocking gives a clean, contemporary look with an edgy feel. And is a style technique that anyone can partake in, even fat gals and guys :)

Shades: Have H.I.P.S. + Turban: Flossy's Suitcase + Shirt: Wal-Mart

A lot of people ask me, as a stylist, how can the cover or hide a big stomach or flabby arms with clothes. I tell them that they can either wear black all day, every day. And that no amount or kind of clothing will 'cover' or 'hide' the parts they don't care for. 

And furthermore, why are we always trying to hide and conceal everything?!? Because when you take your clothes off, it's just going to all hang out there anyways. lol.

Shoes: Payless

I want all my fat fashionistas to choose some crazy, bright colors and try color blocking! Make sure you hashtag #LeahVDaily on Instagram so I can see how you rock it!

And don't forget to visit Society+ and check out all the cool new inventory!

Naturally Flyy Detroit

This is my 2nd year being asked by Naturally Flyy Detroit to run not one—but two ‘Headwrap’ workshops at their annual Naturally Flyy Detroit Presents: A Natural Hair Experience.

All photos taken by Madinah M.

I’ve always seen Etta and Jenn (the founders of Naturally Flyy Detroit) around the city at different cool events and their aura, their energy is none less than can be described as pure radiance. They’re the kind of Black, Amazonian queens that you just have to meet in person to bask in their sisterly glory.

So when they asked me to participate, I said ‘yes’ on the spot.

I get asked to endorse a lot of the things. But I think in these days and times, it’s important to ‘believe’ in what you’re endorsing. And as you gals (and guys) know, I have to believe in what I endorse. It’s gotta have that ‘umph’ factor that I’m looking for when collaborating with anyone, really.

Why I rock with the Naturally Flyy Movement? Well, it’s a dope and unapologetic movement for not just Black women, but ALL women to be just as Flyy as they want to be, in whatever shape or form.

In the age of everything is cut, snipped, and lightened, we ARE hungry for change and enlightenment.

And they bring it. 

There’s this old-school notion that sistahs can’t get together to support one another. And at one point, I believed it. It was always that one (or in my case, many) Black females who didn’t ‘like’ me or thought I was ‘doing too much’ because I’m confident in who I am and could care less about the thoughts of others.

They believed I should’ve conformed to the normalcy which is society.

#TellHimBoyBye

When my friend and I were invited to the 1st Naturally Flyy event, all that changed. As I walked through the very crowded corridors of Java City with my huge colorful turban on, I got smiling faces and bright eyes.

They screamed, ‘Yaaaaassss, queen,” “Lookin good, girl,” and “Tell me how you wrapped that turban!”

And They embraced me with hugs and kisses. Love.

Posing with Naturalista/Blogger: Naturally Act

That is #BlackGirlMagic people.

Uplifting. Encouraging. Smiling at another beautiful queen. 

Smiles are infectious...

Naturally Flyy just isn’t a natural hair movement. Oh, it is SO much more. It’s an open forum, it’s a community, and it’s love.

They embody empowerment, female entrepreneurship, and sisterhood. 

Keep on rockin’ Etta and Jenn.

The world needs more people like yall in it.

Let's talk about these accessories for a moment. The bracelets and earrings are courtesy of Trois Soeurs : Three Sisters a socially conscious brand working with artisans in West Africa & funding tutors for kids in need. www.troissoeurs.org/shop-1/natural-coconut-earrings

Check them out! They have some dope pieces for modest prices and I will be doing a giveaway with them soon.

Follow me on the Gram! @Lvernon2000

Wardrobe Breakdown:

Turban: Flossy's Suitcase

Shades: Alley & Eye

Jumpsuit and Vest: Target

Shirt: Forever 21

Sandals: Payless

Eid Glam: Tips on Finding the Perfect Eid Ensemble

Eid is my favorite Islamic Holiday. Why? You feel all triumphant because you cursed less during Ramadan, the people who worked your last nerve you managed to NOT go off on, and although you passed out a few times from hunger and thirst, you managed to fast for the entire month.

Congratulations.

Now, it’s time for the day everyone has been waiting for: Eid Fashions. We’ve waited all year long to see which sister is going to pull off that one-of-a-kind red carpet look at the Eid day events.

Here are a few tips on getting ready for the big day:

1.       Don’t Wait Till The Last Minute

I’ve seen this happen so many times with my girlfriends. Their looking through the magazines and ohhing and ahhing at the pretty colors. Twenty-eight days have passed because of the indecision, and they rush out to get whatever’s left at the mall the day before. Don’t be that person. Get your major pieces sewed or purchased early. You’ll be much more satisfied and stress-free. 

Photo: Lil Miss JB Style    Tulle Skirt: Society +

2.       Think Outside Of The Box

Before, I became a fashion blogger and a wardrobe stylist, the worst thing in the world happened to me. Two years in a row, I was caught wearing the same outfit as someone else. Needless to say, my friends joked about this All. Day. Long. Groans.

Of course there’s no sure way to not have the same outfit on as someone else, but I challenge you to think outside of the box when choosing your Eid outfit. Fashion is fun and daring. Pick a color or a concept and build your outfit around that.

Tip: Shop away from the malls and stores nearest you. Drive out to new stores in other cities because they have a whole array of fresh items to choose from that maybe your neighbor hadn’t thought of.

#tbt 2009

3.       Execution Is Everything

I’ve partook in some hideous Eid outfits (Check out the green monstrosity above). Make sure that whatever you decide to wear you execute it properly and you are comfortable and confident in it.

4.       Accessorize!!!

I want to see you doused in accessories this Eid. Like peacock feather head pieces, crowns, large hooped earrings, midi rings, and statements neckpieces.

Since Eid will fall in the summer, these are a few styles I’d like to see you guys rock:

Colors: Yellows, Reds, Electric Blues, and Whites

Patterns: Aztec prints, stripes, Paisley, geometric shapes, polka dots, and dark tye-dies

Textures: Lace, linen, silk, chiffon, and velvet

Photo: Remy Roman    Wrap Dress and Accessories: Peacock Room Detroit

I can't wait to see all of your Eid outfits in the next week! Make sure you hashtag #LeahVDaily

And don't forget to follow me on IG: Lvernon2000

Also, you check out the original post on Eid Glam at Muslimgirl.net

Editor's Note: A Photo Doesn't Capture Our True Struggles

My blog has always--and will always--be a 'body inclusive" blog. I don't discriminate. And nor should you. All bodies are amazing bodies. Idgaf who says otherwise. But I want to talk to my big girls (and guys) for a hot second.

Over the weekend, I posted this photo. Check out the caption. Extra. I know. Lol.

@Lvernon2000

I'm getting old. I'm going through some shit in life. OK. So I saw this photo in my archives. It was an awesome moment. A moment of carefreeness. When in reality, at that very moment that I posted it, I felt like the ugliest person on the planet. I didn't feel like getting out the bed, seeing anyone's face, or 'talking' about the issues at hand. So, I took it to Instagram. I decided that maybe all the angst I had built up could be channeled into something more positive and helpful to the world. The picture ended up going semi-viral. I got tons of shares, likes (more than I ever had before), and lots and lots of positive comments.

Nope. No fat-shaming occurred...yet. LOL.

A lot of the comments were from women from all around the world praising me for doing something that I find easy and take for granted. But they didn't know that I was in bed feeling so eh! In retrospect, I find it incredibly simple to find clothes that fit, grab a photographer, beat my face, and pose. Even on my bad days. I find it easy to post my pictures, use all the right hashtags, and create a bomb caption. It's nuffin!

The eye opening comment was from a woman who basically said that in her country if you were bigger there weren't any clothes that fit, let alone did large women ever consider modeling.

*Jaw Drop*

And there I was in bed sulking. I was taken aback by her words. And all the other comments of women (of all sizes) just reaching out and telling me that I gave them a little hope and confidence to get out there and try something new. Even if I felt like crap, I was perked up by the love and support. They even trusted me enough to share their stories. A strange blogger from Detroit.  

A lot of us take for granted the small things, the things we think are easy for us. To someone, confidence isn't an issue. Yet half way across the world (or right next door) is someone struggling to hold their head up and look at themselves in the mirror. We never know what someone is feeling by what they post on the internet or, even, from what they say. Sometimes, the pain is buried so deep that it's hard to express.

What I'm saying is that we have to do better by one another. Stop judging a book by it's cover. Because that's not always accurate. It doesn't matter where we come from or what we look like. This isn't a popularity contest or whose the best looking or whose got more followers. This is real life. What we say, how we treat others, and what we type matters. And someone else is looking and searching for that someone who's going to bring them back up. The feeling of helping someone else, inspiring someone else, is enough pleasure for me. And, frankly, they got me out of my funk. When I read those comments, it's like wow, they really did that. And I got to put a little sparkle in their eyes, too. We kinda helped each other without even knowing it. This is where my enjoyment from blogging and social media comes from: The people. The interaction and sharing of information.

I really want to encourage you to inspire someone else--in person or through social media. However you do it, I don't care. Just do it! But the goal for this week is to uplift someone. Because you never know who needs it.

xoxo

Leah V.   

Detroit's Style Butteryfly: Lala Trips

In life the cosmos arranges themselves that at the right moment in time you meet someone who is phenomenal in more than one way. When I first met Lala, I didn’t say much. It was a group setting and I was ‘feeling’ everyone out. What I got was that she was about her business. A few days later, she texted and asked if I wanted to take some pics with her. Yes, cuz that’s what bloggers do. Lol. Anyway, we chatted after. Lala shares a lot more with me than I thought. Our upbringings pretty similar. She’s a girl from Detroit whose been through some things, who has strong aspirations, and possesses a work ethic like no other. Lala is a grinder and she does it so gracefully:

LV: Let’s talk about your self-perception as an adolescent. How did you see yourself as far as beauty and self-esteem?

LT: In middle and high-school, I was bullied and disliked by other girls for whatever reason. I kept to myself and wasn’t into gossiping and the typical high-school bull. I was into the arts and academics. The bullying definitely played a role in my self-perception. I felt misunderstood because I was into art rather than whatever everyone else was into at that time. When I think back on it all, it’s hilarious! It gets to a point in life where you shrug off the fact that people actually take time out of their lives to judge and belittle others.

Photo: Robyn Maria

LV: How’d you get into blogging?

LT: I started blogging in 2009 when I was in college. At that time, I blogged about local Detroit shops and was into profiling Detroit's street style. I was the girl behind the lens. One of my first articles was about the then newly opened Somerset City Loft downtown. I’ve always had a deep love for fashion and style. I mean my first job was at a clothing boutique, and I ended up changing my major in college to Fashion Design.

LV: Explain what the body positive movement means to you?

LT: To me the body positive movement is an empowerment movement about embracing and respecting our bodies and differences. Be beautiful, be courageous, be bold! It’s about remaining true to our individual spirited selves with respect. I think this movement is geared more so towards girls and women.

Photo: Nicole Muster

LV: Are you apart of the body positive movement?

LT: I am not really active in the movement. Though my styling work has allowed me to help my clients with self-image and building a better perception of themselves through fashion. I would like to become more active by being a positive role model for young girls. This is definitely one of my goals in life.

LV: Describe your style/attitude. 

LT: My style is a mix of contemporary street-style, streamlined classics, bold statements, and attention to detail with an edge. Fashion is an emotional experience. If I love it, I wear it. I want my audience to be inspired by my style and perspective. Also, I love rocking my short hair and my tattoos; it’s my signature.

Photo: Robyn Maria

LV: Share a part of yourself that you may not be so confident about but working on.

LT: I am confident in the woman I’ve grown to become. Nevertheless, whenever I have a day that I am not feeling myself: I get up, take a shower, remind myself of my accomplishments, listen to my favorite tunes, and just go! Each day I work on remaining positive and productive.

LV: What is the biggest difference in your life post-blogging?

LT: Now, I’m in front of the camera! For the longest time when I started blogging, I didn’t want to be.

LV: What would you say to someone who said that they hated themselves or how they looked?

LT: Focus on what inspires you and work on shifting your perspective to one of acceptance. Love all over yourself and be your own cheerleader. And go to your favorite store and buy yourself something that makes you feel fabulous. There is a power and fierceness in facing yourself in the mirror and smiling! There is also a power in buying yourself something new that you love :)

Photo: Robyn Maria

LV: What are some of your top fashion influencers?

LT: I love Maja Wyh from Germany. She’s my favorite! Her style is effortless, chic, and eclectic. I’m such a fan. I also love @Kyrzanda, @NotJessFashion, and @SongOfStyle, amongst others. I love all of their perspectives and individual approaches to style.

LV: What's the climate of fashion bloggers in Detroit?

LT: I think Detroit bloggers have a way to go to make Detroit a standout fashion city. I’d like to see some of us bloggers that have style to push our brands to be just as explosive as bloggers in New York or Cali. To contribute to the Detroit fashion movement, I’m focused on fine tuning my own brand to be a force and prominent voice in the movement.

LV: Last thoughts.

LT: I'm also a singer-songwriter. Check me out and follow my Soundcloud at soundcloud.com/lalatrips.

And you can see more of the glam Lala on her social media feeds:

Website: www.lalatrips.com

Instagram: @LALATRIPS

Twitter: @LALATRIPS

Tumblr: lalatrips.tumblr.com