#Afro wig lover
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stagnation-if · 1 year ago
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hello, hello! can we please have some descriptions of what the ros look like and what their dynamics will be with mc? or can be if we get multiple personality types with mc! thank you!
Here you go!
Below the cut because it's long lol kgkskf
I don't have time atm but I'll make a proper intro for all the ros
Dawn
Hair: messy and ear-length (she cut it after a Saturday night meltdown a while back). Half of it is dyed purple, and the other half is naturally black Eyes: Dark brown. Dawn uses contact lenses Height: 163 cm Build: Scrawny Skin: Honey brown Race: Southeast Asian Other: Dawn has a few piercings. Her arms are covered in tattoos.
Personality: resilient, quick-witted and determined. Dawn knows what she wants (to get rid of Seth) and she knows how to get it (using MC). She's never hidden her intentions, or lied about her objective. Dawn's distaste for deities is evident since the moment MC meets her, and she seems to faintly rejoice in reminding them. A very intelligent woman, Dawn loves street racing and causing some trouble online. She ‘works’ as a hacker.
Tropes: Rivals to friends to lovers, Forced proximity, (possible) Rivals with benefits.
Bruno
Hair: cropped short, dark brown/nearly black hair. Eyes: Light brown. Bruno uses glasses. Height: 181 cm Build: Average and soft, a bit chubby Skin: Bronze Race: half Hispanic, half East Asian
Personality: neurotic, idealistic and uptight. Otherwise known as MC's companion in jail, Bruno has been recently caught for a crime that is a product of his own very uncharacteristic and rare ambition: knowledge. He's a very intelligent individual, although not particularly assertive. This historian and divorced dad knows more about MC than he lets on, though Bruno insists he was just at the wrong time at the wrong time.
Tropes: Devotee/Worshipper X Deity, (Bruno's) Strangers to friends to lovers, Parent RO.
A Moonless
Hair: long (f!A, middle back / m!A and nb!A, shoulder-length), jellyfish cut. It's naturally brown with a colorfully dyed front. Eyes: Hazel. Height: f!A and nb!A, 170cm / m!A, 177cm. Build: Skinny Skin: Tan Race: Indigenous (unknown) Other: A has a few tattoos on their arms and legs.
Personality: caring, playful and a bit temperamental. Despite their new, much more modern look, A is and acts just like a human MC once knew and loved, Zain. A is protective of those they care about, and they're never afraid to speak their mind. They're Dawn's coworker at the Speakeasy, where VR services are offered to its clients.
Tropes: One-sided (MC) pining, Apparently reincarnated old flame/friend.
A’s hair inspo:
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Vex
Hair: Buzz cut. Eyes: Naturally light brown, V has modified them to have synth eyes (they're a very pale green, with a faint glow). Height: 186 cm Build: Athletic Skin: Honey brown Race: Southeast Asian Other: More than half of V’s body has been modified. Their arms and legs are synthetic.
Personality: dependable, loyal and stoic. Vex is Dawn's older sibling, and while their relationship is not at its best, Dawn will always be V’s sole priority. They might not be the most affectionate person in the world, but when Vex cares they're willing to defy every norm they so dutifully abide. They've worked as a law enforcer for Lord Seth and the government for a few years.
Tropes: (V's) First love, Mutual pining, Slow burn.
Eris
Hair: coiled light brown afro. People know and recognize Eris by the wigs she wears, among which a white shoulder-length bob is the most iconic. Eyes: Dark brown. Eris often uses colored contact lenses (mostly pink, white and blue). Height: 173 cm Build: Skinny and slightly lean Skin: Ebony Race: Black Other: Eris has a few body modifications. Her left arm isn't flesh but metal.
Personality: charming, humorous and flirty. Eris (real name: Estelle Lawrence) is a celebrity in every sense of the word. She knows just what to say and how to say it, she's likable, friendly and very talkative. Beneath the public persona everyone adores, Eris is a complete mystery.
Tropes: Strangers to friends to lovers, (optional) friends with benefits, (optional, stc) Fake relationship.
Seth
Hair: long dark brown, with a few braids Eyes: light brown with golden specks Height: 193 cm Build: Lean, very muscled Skin: Olive Race: Middle Eastern Other: has a short beard
Personality: blunt, practical, and very reckless. Seth acts before he thinks (a trait that he and everyone find quite inconvenient) and seems to hate planning ahead. The God of War has a very dry/deadpan sense of humor. MC remembered him to be more outgoing, but Seth’s cold-hearted reputation precedes him.
Tropes: Enemies to lovers, Immortal love, Wrong place wrong time, (possible) ex-friend or ex-crush.
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greenyvertekins · 8 months ago
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Since I'm bored, insomniac and have a thing for Skies of Arcadia right now, I looked into a source for item and weapon names and decided to translate the ones with notable differences to compare them to the names given in the English version of the game. It's pretty interesting!
Notable equippable item name differences;
Meditation Ring > Carved Wood Ring Gemstone Ring > Stone Ring Lovers Ring > Two-Ringed Ring Prophet Sand > Sand Ring Moondust Ring > Star Ring Jade Swirl Ring > Orb Ring Cupil Ring > Cupi Ring Warrior's Heart > Full Moon Ring Thief's Aura > Looper Halo Fortune Ring > Glacia Halo Warrior's Rune > Enigmatic Finger Puppet Defensive Aura > Enlightenment Bracelet Sandstorm Ring > Hemp Turban Assassin Ring > Afro Wig Stealth Ring > Zivilyn Bane's Mask Radiant Fur > Earmuffs Unseen Hand > Floral Hairpin Crescent Amulet > Crescent Moon Barette Gem of Purity > Wood Pipe Immunity Ring > Water Pipe Shard of Purity > Chamber Pipe Gilder's Amulet > Showy Lensless Glasses Slayer Ring > Unbalance Constitution Gem > Ki Stone The three items that can only be equipped to Gilder and Drachma are actually smoking pipes. I imagine they were changed due to the overall smoking censorship in this game. Notable Weapon Name Differences; Assassin Blade > Execution Cutlass Stone Cutter > Earthen Cutlass Dream Cutlass > Dream-Chaser Cutlass Suiran Blade > Mononofu Sword Windslicer > Soranchu's Sword Vorlik Blade > Ryu-Kan Oni-Beheading Blade Storm Blade > Curse Throwing Blade Sky Wing > Gull Wing Yin Wing > Magatama Throwing Blade Ice Splitter > Freeze Cutter Moon Wing > Wind God Wing Hook Hand > Key Claw Beak Hand > Parrot Arm Frostblade > Ice Sword Imperial Blade > Royal Sword
Interestingly, "Soranchu" is described as an adventurer from the past and their name is also given to an equippable robe.
SoA is also interesting in that there's actually translation gaffe's. Specifically the ship item "Apa Wax" uses the JP name of the Red Magic technique Increm. Which is why the wax has the same effect on the ship as Increm does in battle - Increase your attack power. Another gaffe is the name of the attack that the ship battle enemy Gadianos uses - It uses "Jedosa Ray" and "Jeda Beam". Jeda and Jedosa are the JP name of Eterni and Eternum, the Silver Magic techniques.
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bohemian-nights · 2 years ago
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Saw some people say Ellora Torchia (who was in caceres n only follows liv & kieran bew n that’s why i think it’s slight bs + she’s shooting a film w a culkin brother & jesse eisenberg) might be Netty & i’m just 🥴
Lol, I’ve seen that 😒If she’s in HOTD she’s more than likely playing Sylvenna Sand the lover of Essie(who is the mother of Gaemon Palehair allegedly one of Aegon’s bastards). So it makes sense that she’d be in Caceres since that’s where they filmed the Kings Landing scenes.
Now if people think she’s legitimately Nettles and they think she’s the woman in this picture🙃:
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I feel like I’m repeating myself at this point, but it can not be said enough because this fandom has a hard-on for imagining Netty as anyone but a Black woman. So much so that they are actively hoping that they put a non-Black woman in Black face to play a Black woman🙃
The woman in the above photo has Afro hair. If these idiots legitimately think HBO would put an Indian woman in an Afro wig to play Netty rather than hiring an actual Black woman and get 0 backlash from it then they are even more moronic than I thought 🤷🏽‍♀️
And before some other idiot try’s to say her hair is just fried it’s not an Afro🙃:
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Compare Netty’s potential actress's hair to the blonde woman’s hair. Blondies hair is frazzled, but they didn’t kink it up to show she’s been through some things. You can still tell that she has straight hair. So no they aren’t kinking up straight hair. It’s point-blank Afro-textured hair 🤷🏽‍♀️
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backlightsummer · 11 years ago
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Can Novak Djokovic Become Tennis’s Leading Man? The New Yorker by Lauren Collins September 2, 2013
He is an athlete, a professional tennis player. He is six feet two inches tall. He weighs a hundred and seventy-six pounds. His legs, gummy and striated, bring to mind a pair of Twizzlers. He is a lover of animals. With his narrow neck and solid pelt of hair, he looks a bit like Pierre, his toy poodle.
He has a goofy sense of humor. A few years ago, he became famous for his imitations—Rafael Nadal picking at his wedgie, Roger Federer prancing swaybacked along the baseline. At an exhibition in Bratislava last year, he stuffed his shirt with sweat towels and hitched up an imaginary skirt. That was Serena Williams.
He speaks five languages beautifully. He never met a meme he didn’t like. The other night, after a match, he pulled an Afro wig out of his racket bag and danced to “Get Lucky.” A book he recently enjoyed was “The Secret,” by Rhonda Byrne. He absolutely believes one hundred per cent in that kind of philosophy of life. You attract things the way you think. You are what your thoughts are!
He is Serbian, but he lives in Monte Carlo. After he won Wimbledon, in 2011, a hundred thousand people gathered to celebrate in front of Belgrade’s Parliament. He wore a white blazer. It was the best night of his life. The President of Serbia told “60 Minutes” that he could win the nation’s highest office. At one point, a rumor went around that he had bought up the country’s entire supply of donkey cheese.
For eighty-five weeks, he has been the No. 1 tennis player in the world. In addition to Wimbledon, he has won thirty-six other A.T.P. singles titles, including a U.S. Open, and three Australian Opens straight. In 2011, he played what some people think is the best season of tennis in history, winning seventy of the seventy-six matches he played and recording a forty-one-match winning streak. He hasn’t lost before the semifinals of a Grand Slam in three years.
He bounces the ball a million times before he serves. His play is plasmatic. He seems to flow toward the corners of the court. He is an origami man, folding at the waist to dig up a drop shot, starfishing for a high forehand return, cocking his leg behind his head in an arabesque as he blasts a backhand down the line. He lunges, he dives, he beats his pecs. He once yelled—in Serbian—“Now you all will suck my dick!”
He is dominant, but he is not universally adored. His showy personality and subtle game are a niche taste. Haters call him Djokobitch. Jerzy Janowicz, the Polish player, said recently that he was “a fake.” But now, with the waning of the Federer-Nadal duopoly, which has fixated tennis for the past decade, the love he craves is within his reach. This week, at Flushing Meadows, where he was once booed, Novak Djokovic will attempt to assert his sovereignty.
The Friday before Wimbledon began, Djokovic was sitting at an outdoor table at Le Pain Quotidien, on Wimbledon Village High Street. He looked as though he’d just towelled off and stepped into a watch ad. His clothes were from Uniqlo, his sponsor: trim trousers, blue leather shoes, blue linen blazer, good white shirt. His nose had caught the sun. When he sat down, he said to the waitress, “Maybe a water, please, would be nice. Still water—not too cold.” (He avoids ice water—it inhibits the flow of blood to the muscles.) He also ordered a mint tea.
Two weeks earlier, Djokovic had lost, painfully, to Rafael Nadal in the semifinals of the French Open. The French Open is the only Grand Slam that is played on clay, tennis’s slowest surface. It is also the only Grand Slam that Djokovic hasn’t won. (It seems impossible, but Pete Sampras, Djokovic’s childhood idol, never won there, either.) Nadal, who is nearly untouchable on clay, which he grew up playing on, in Mallorca, had won the French Open in seven of the past eight years. But he had been out for seven months with a knee injury, and Djokovic, surging, had beaten him, for only the third time on clay, a month earlier at Monte Carlo. (Djokovic’s career record against Nadal is 15–21.) Djokovic was scarily fit, and he was no longer distracted by a series of health problems that had afflicted his father in 2012. There was talk among the tennis cognoscenti about the prospect of his surpassing his 2011 season.
Over a gruelling four hours and thirty-seven minutes in Paris, Djokovic had failed to prevail by the slightest of margins. Up a break and tied at deuce at 4–3 in the fifth set, he attacked with the diabolical incrementalism of a medieval torture master, stretching Nadal ever wider across the court, then charging forward to put away an easy overhead, after which he tripped and accidentally tapped the net, forfeiting a crucial point. The set, the match, and the coveted title soon fell away. Djokovic had been so upset that he booked a last-minute vacation and retreated to Corsica with his girlfriend of eight years, Jelena Ristic.
But now, resurfacing in England, he seemed at ease. The day before, he had played an exhibition match at the Boodles Challenge, in Buckinghamshire, against Grigor Dimitrov, a twenty-two-year-old Bulgarian comer known as Baby Fed. The stands were filled with suburban women. During the changeover between games, the crowd had kept up a slow clap. As the noise mounted, Djokovic stood up. Like a magician revealing a marvel, he peeled off his top—poof, abs!—and whirled it above his head, gyrating his hips. Then he pointed at Dimitrov. “We’re too sexy for our shirts!” the next day’s Daily Mail headline read. “Djokovic and Dimitrov send crowd into raptures by comparing torsos in Wimbledon warm-up.”
Djokovic seemed pleased that his impromptu striptease had caused a sensation. “They put in a photo?” he asked, at the café, stroking Pierre, who whimpered on his lap. “I heard many comments during that match yesterday. It was a lot of entertainment and fun—and, also, getting the crowd involved in the tennis match like never before!”
Djokovic’s reputation as a ham—his other nickname is the Djoker—obscures a difficult heritage. He was born in May of 1987 in Belgrade, which was then part of Yugoslavia. His parents, Srdjan and Dijana, owned a pizza parlor and snack bar in the mountain resort town of Kopaonik. Novak (Nole to his family), the eldest of three sons—Marko, who is twenty-two, and Djordje, who is eighteen, also play professional tennis—enjoyed what he described as a “beautiful” childhood. “You know, I grew up in restaurants,” he said, recalling afternoons spent washing dishes and dolloping Nutella on crêpes. “The job I’ve done most often was with my father, cleaning the snow in front of our restaurant with the shovel.” Once, it snowed so much that they chiselled a picnic table out of ice. Djokovic’s opening line as a trainee waiter: “Good afternoon, welcome to our restaurant. What would you like to drink? I might seem young, but I will be able to remember your orders.”
It was a fluke that Djokovic started playing tennis. His father had been a competitive skier; the family was athletic, but racket sports were not a part of its repertoire—nor, particularly, of that of Serbia, which, as a nation, favored team sports. For some reason, the government decided to build a tennis complex in Kopaonik, an improbable development that Djokovic interprets as a sign of providence. Djokovic loitered around the courts until Jelena Gencic, a pro who had once coached Monica Seles, finally invited him to join her clinic. He showed up the next morning, and by the end of the week Gencic was proclaiming that “the golden child” possessed “the biggest talent I have seen since Monica.” (Gencic became a lifelong mentor to Djokovic, encouraging him to read poetry and to listen to classical music; she died a week before the Nadal match, at the age of seventy-six.)
When Djokovic was six, he told his parents that it was his mission to become the No. 1 tennis player in the world. When he was eleven, NATO began bombing Belgrade. Each night at eight o’clock, as the air-raid siren sounded, the family would run to an aunt’s apartment building, which had a bomb shelter. For seventy-eight nights, they crouched in darkness, praying amid the screams of F-117s. Djokovic kept up his tennis throughout the bombardment, playing on cracked courts bereft of nets. He writes, in “Serve to Win,” published this month by Ballantine, “We’d go to the site of the most recent attacks, figuring that if they bombed one place yesterday, they probably wouldn’t bomb it today.”
In the aftermath of the war, as sanctions crippled Serbia’s economy, the family struggled to support Djokovic’s ambition. Srdjan recently told the Serbian newspaper Kurir, “We lived seventeen years in rented accommodations, landlords evicted us. I could not sleep at night and I was walking down the street. Sometimes the police arrested me. . . . After I explained, we’d sit in the station, laughing and drinking brandy until the morning.” The family debated whether to flee to Germany, or Britain. “But in the end we decided we needed to be with our people,” Djokovic told me. Gencic told Srdjan and Dijana, “If you want him to keep progressing, he has to leave the country.” Srdjan sold the family’s gold and borrowed money from a loan shark. Novak went to a tennis academy in Munich.
Tennis, perhaps alone among sports, does not necessarily thrill to a hard-luck tale. It is an oddity of Djokovic’s career that his story is not primarily told as an inspirational one. Along with Venus and Serena Williams, he is the player that a certain sort of enthusiast—“tennis ninnies,” as the writer Stephen Rodrick has called them—cannot abide. The objection to him involves his extreme self-belief, supposedly unbecoming in a tennis player of his accomplishments, when it is the very thing that has enabled them. At the café, Djokovic mentioned that he had just watched a documentary on the Williams sisters. “I can identify with that,” he said. “They came from poor neighborhoods, without really any kind of conditions to become what they have become, but their father and close family believed in them, and now they rule the world.”
Wimbledon is the rare hallowed site that exceeds its reputation for grandeur. Hydrangeas line the walkways. The hush is only more touching for being a parody of itself. Demonstrating the English flair for imposing class systems where informality might otherwise flourish, badges dangle from the lapels of men in panama hats, identifying them as debenture holders, or non-voting investors in the All England Lawn Tennis Club, which was founded in 1868 as a croquet association. (Major Walter Clopton Wingfield, who brought tennis to the club, originally tried to call the game Sphairistiké, alluding to a Greek word for “ball.”) The place where the line judges eat is called the Officials’ Buttery.
Djokovic, who rents a house down the road from the club each year, has called Wimbledon his favorite tournament. The year he won, he crouched, plucked a tuft of grass from the court, and stuffed it into his mouth. “I felt like an animal. I wanted to see how it tastes,” he later explained. (It tasted “like sweat.”) Chris Evert, Cliff Drysdale, and Brad Gilbert, among other analysts, were picking Djokovic to win the title. He had been spotted at a local Buddhist temple, meditating under a tree. An air of calm expectancy surrounded him. There had been a bumper crop of strawberries.
The day before Wimbledon began, Djokovic was practicing on the club’s back courts.
“Speak to me in German a little bit, man!” he yelled as he fired serves at Tommy Haas, the world’s thirteenth-ranked player and his hitting partner for the day.
Djokovic’s team—an omnipresent clique consisting of Marián Vajda (his coach, Slovakian), Dusan Vemic (the assistant coach, Serbian), Gebhard Gritsch (his trainer, Austrian), Miljan Amanovic (his physiotherapist and confidant, Serbian), and Edoardo Artaldi (manager, Italian)—hovered on the edges of the court like bouncers, hands clasped behind their backs. (Jelena Ristic is also an indispensable part of his entourage.) The men had more hair on their faces than on their heads. The only chink in the tableau of steely professionalism occurred when, once the session was over, Djokovic toted away his shoes in a crumpled shopping bag.
I asked Artaldi whether Djokovic had recovered from Paris. “The French is over,” he said. “One of his capabilities is to forget.”
Djokovic’s first opponent was Florian Mayer, an ungainly German whose service motion looked as though he were scraping a bow across a cello. Djokovic played commandingly but dispassionately. When a high short ball floated his way, he tapped it over the net, as though his challenger didn’t quite merit the exertion (or the small amount of risk) that a slam would have entailed. He was a McKinsey man, hitting his percentages. His approach was scientific. He brought to mind a diagram on the side of a workout machine, isolating the necessary muscles required for each stroke, and no more, as he dismantled Mayer in fifty-seven minutes.
In the second round, Djokovic faced Bobby Reynolds, a journeyman American making his Centre Court début at the age of thirty. Reynolds told me later, “I would have had to have played an unbelievable match, and he would have had to have played C-level, for me to have even had a chance.”
Reynolds could hardly analyze the match, because, as he pointed out, Djokovic’s game has no obvious flaws. The way to beat Federer is well known, if difficult to execute: hit high to his backhand. (All the better if you play left-handed, like Nadal.) Nadal’s serve, particularly his second serve, can be unintimidating. The same is true of the Scot Andy Murray, the third-ranked player. But Djokovic’s game is encrypted in versatility. He has few tendencies. He can hit powerfully on both the forehand and the backhand sides, cross-court and down the line, with varying spin and pace. In isolation, you might take Federer���s serve, Nadal’s forehand, or Murray’s backhand over any one of Djokovic’s strokes, but, while Djokovic’s opponents are only infinitesimally better in the areas in which they exceed him, they are poorer at the things they do worse. Nick Bollettieri, the tennis coach, has called Djokovic “perhaps the best put-together player that I’ve seen in over sixty years.” Reynolds told me, “If there’s one thing I can say that I had any success with, it was serving straight into his body. But you have to be so precise—if you miss by, like, a foot, then it’s one hundred per cent in his strike zone.”
Djokovic’s nominally defensive play—his ability to transform into winners shots you think he can barely get his racket on—is the most distinctive element of his style. “When he’s on defense, he can actually win the point with one shot; that’s an evolution of the game,” Andre Agassi has said. His quicksilver conversions of vulnerable moments have the added benefit of tormenting his opponents. Tim Mayotte, a leading American player in the eighties, who is now a coach at the Mayotte-Hurst Tennis Academy, in Queens, told me, “I think his defense is just astonishing. To be able to take points that feel like they’re yours, stay in the match, and turn them around—that would just drive me loco.”
A classic Djokovic point: 2011, the semifinals of the U.S. Open, Federer serving for the match at 5–3, 40–15 in the fifth set. Djokovic had fought his way back from a two-set deficit. The crowd was egging on the rivalry while remaining, as ever, solidly behind Federer, the lordly seigneur of tennis for nearly ten years. “There is near-hysteria here,” a commentator intoned in the broadcast booth. Djokovic, with ice in his eyes, pushed his tongue into his bottom lip and gave a macho jerk of his chin.
Federer served wide into the deuce court. Djokovic swung and hit an impossibly angled cross-court forehand across the net—a blazing vector that just seared the line. The sheer insolence of the shot seemed to rankle Federer into collapse. “Are you kidding me?” Federer complained, after losing the match. “I mean, please. Look, some players grow up and play like that. I remember losing junior matches, just being down 5–2 in the third and they all just start slapping shots. It all goes in for some reason, because that’s kind of the way they grew up playing when they were down.”
Djokovic entered the Top 100 in 2005, at the age of eighteen, but, prior to his spectacular 2011 season, he was considered—even by himself—something of a choke artist, an erratic malingerer whose fitness and focus wavered at crucial moments. In “Serve to Win,” he catalogues his implosions: in 2005, at his first appearance in the French Open (after winning the first set against the eighth-ranked Guillermo Coria, he wilted and resigned); three months later, at the U.S. Open (“I lay on my back like a beached whale,” winning the match after calling an unsporting four time-outs); in the final of the Croatia Open, in 2006 (“Something was pinching my nose closed, bear-hugging my chest, pouring concrete into my legs”). In the book, Djokovic calls his affliction the Curse, suggesting an unpredictable scourge, but it struck most often when his game was failing.
In 2007, Djokovic became the third-ranked player in the world. In 2008, he won the Australian Open, his first Grand Slam. But no matter what he tried, and he tried a lot—lifting weights; biking for hours; changing coaches; undergoing nasal surgery, to improve his breathing; moving his training camp to Abu Dhabi, in the hope of acclimating to the heat—he could not break through to the highest level. He was No. 3 in 2008, 2009, and much of 2010. The Crassus of tennis, an eternal ankle-biter, he got little respect. “There were two men in the world who were the best—Federer and Nadal—and, to them, I was nothing but an occasional annoyance, one who might quit at any moment when the going got tough,” Djokovic writes.
Djokovic’s dodgy conditioning suggested a sort of moral flabbiness, a lack of mettle, that made him unpopular with some of his peers. The usually courtly Federer said, when asked about Djokovic’s injuries in 2007, “I think he’s a joke.” In 2008, Djokovic was set to meet the American Andy Roddick in the quarterfinals of the U.S. Open. At a press conference before the match, a journalist brought up the subject of Djokovic’s health:
JOURNALIST: When asked about his injuries today, you know, mentioning the right ankle, supposedly the left ankle—RODDICK: Yeah, I know, both of ’em? And a back?JOURNALIST: And a back.RODDICK: And a hip?JOURNALIST: And a hip.RODDICK [sneering]: And a cramp.JOURNALIST: O.K., yeah, yeah. Do you get the sense right now that he is—RODDICK: Bird flu.JOURNALIST: Yeah, a lot of things?RODDICK: Anthrax. SARS. Common coughing cold.JOURNALIST: Do you think he’s bluffing? That seems to be what you’re saying.RODDICK: Nah, if it’s there it’s there. There’s just a lot. He’s either quick to call the trainer or he’s the most courageous guy of all time. It’s up for you guys to decide.
Djokovic ended up defeating Roddick, a crowd favorite at Flushing Meadows, in a raucous evening match. Afterward, he gave a courtside interview. In response to a boilerplate question, he said, “Well, obviously, you know, Andy was saying that I have sixteen injuries, so obviously I don’t, right?” The stands erupted in jeers. Djokovic looked uncomfortably defiant, as though he had provoked a monster whose strength he had not quite known and now, a little scared, or sad, he felt forced to maintain his bravado in order to see out the fight. The interviewer noted that a New York crowd can turn quickly. Djokovic shrugged. “Well, they’re already against me, because they think I’m faking everything, so it’s all right.” It’s excruciating to watch the video, which captures the discrepancy between Djokovic’s desire to be fêted as a winner—he had, after all, won—and the crowd’s perception of him as a punk.
During his period of attempting to exorcise the Curse, Djokovic brought in Todd Martin, the former No. 4 player, as a second coach. “I think one of the attractions was that they were looking for someone who was calm,” Martin told me. “Because, at that time, his surroundings were not calm.”
If Djokovic was a family business, the corporate culture had become overwrought. Srdjan and Dijana were nervous about whether their many years of sacrifice were going to come to fruition. His longtime collaborators were “incredibly emotional,” Martin recalled. “This is everybody’s child, and they all had a lot vested in the success of this individual.” Still, Martin said, “the team was, is, and always will be excellent. I thought Novak’s way of doing business probably needed to change more than anyone else’s.”
Martin recalled his attempts to prepare Djokovic for the 2010 Australian Open with a mixture of exasperation and affection: “Novak was very anxious about being in the heat in Australia, and because he felt like he didn’t breathe well, and the heat got to him, he would not practice. Literally, he would just go and basically stand on the court for an hour until he felt like I could possibly be appeased. And I said, ‘Listen, if we’re not going to practice you have to do something other than be inside in the air-conditioning. Why don’t we go play nine holes of golf?’ It was just excruciating heat. But I had told him, ‘You need exposure to the heat in order to prepare for competing in the heat.’ ” Martin and Djokovic went to the golf course. Every time Djokovic hit a shot, he would yell “Ex-po-sure!” at the top of his lungs.
Several weeks later, Djokovic had reached the quarterfinals. He was playing Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, a French player who was then ranked tenth. Tsonga had won the first set; Djokovic took the second in a tiebreaker, and won the third, 6–1. Then, in the fourth set, with Tsonga up 1–0, Djokovic began to hyperventilate. He ran to the locker room, sank to the floor, and vomited into the toilet. He lost the match after double-faulting at 1–3, 0–40 in the fifth set, a moment that he calls “the lowest point of my career.”
In the third round of Wimbledon, Djokovic faced Jérémy Chardy, a French player who has been ranked as high as twenty-fifth. Djokovic lost six points on serve in the entire match.
Next up was Tommy Haas, his hitting partner from the weekend. Djokovic won the first three games in ten minutes. Another demolition.
Tomáš Berdych, a giant from the Czech Republic, fared only slightly better, despite having beaten Djokovic in straight sets at Wimbledon in 2010. Pummelling Djokovic with forehands to the baseline—one gargantuan rally lasted thirty shots—Berdych managed to stretch the first set to sixty-three minutes, surrendering in a tiebreaker. Berdych coupled his power with a balletic aspect, leaping into shots like a satyr. Djokovic was a break-dancer, contorting himself into splits that stretched parallel to the court.
Djokovic possesses the best return of serve in tennis. His reflexes in this match were freakish, as though he were a missile shield. The final point of the second set was illustrative. Tim Lewis wrote, in the Guardian, “The Czech crashed down a one-hundred-and-twenty-five-mph hammer blow and stood back to admire his handiwork. The ball practically decapitated Djokovic but he somehow returned it. It landed mid-court, but a shocked Berdych, his feet an illegible squiggle, could only blast a forehand into the net.” The exchange was a real-life enactment of a commercial Djokovic once made, for Head, in which he succeeds in firing back a shot so putatively decisive that his opponent has already turned around and started walking away from the net. Berdych served as fast as a hundred and thirty miles an hour but managed only six aces; Djokovic, serving ten miles an hour slower, tallied sixteen.
Part of the poignancy of sports is the mismatch they create between physical maturity and emotional development. An athlete’s career is unlikely to flower in perfect concert with his self-knowledge. Imagine if politicians, or businessmen, reached the height of their professional powers just a few years after adolescence. Internet moguls do, but, unlike athletes, their tenures are open-ended. Rafael Nadal writes, in his 2011 autobiography, “I am very, very keenly aware of how short the life of a professional athlete is, and I cannot bear the thought of squandering an opportunity that might never come again. I know I won’t be happy when my career is over, and I want to make the best of it while it lasts.”
Djokovic and his family were slow to internalize the codes of tennis, a sport that derives its prestige from its sense of itself as a gentleman’s game. Among the offenses regularly cited by Djokovic’s detractors is the fact that his parents, cheering him on at a match, wore T-shirts imprinted with a picture of his face. Modesty is a fetish in tennis. “I would like to see him show a bit more humility, like Nadal and Federer,” Roy Emerson, the Australian former champion, said, of Djokovic, in 2011. “There is too much of this chest thumping and roaring when he wins.”
It was true that Djokovic’s parents could be mildly obnoxious. (“The king is dead, long live the king,” Dijana said, in 2008, after Djokovic beat Federer, predicting that her son would soon be No. 1.) His entourage did not exude dignity. (To celebrate his 2011 victory at the Madrid Open, they draped the Serbian flag over a Lexus. While Djokovic cheered, Marián Vajda, his forty-six-year-old coach, climbed on top of the car and began humping the hood.) He could be annoying, with his bluster and his cheesy pranks. (He once pretended to show a reporter his vibration dampener and then hit him in the crotch, gasping, “That’s a basic joke of tennis! Sorry,” as he doubled over in hysterics.) His sensibility recalled the soccer stadium rather than the country club. He seemed the type of person who, at a magic show, would die to be picked for audience participation. “He was like the guy who’s a bit uncomfortable at the cocktail party and had to do something different to try to be at ease,” Thomas Ross, a longtime agent, told me. If Federer was the foxtrot, Djokovic was the Harlem Shake.
One could also detect a tinge of cultural superiority in the disapproval that wafted toward Djokovic from the guardians of the game—a suggestion that he was perhaps not a real European, an old-regime, advertiser-pleasing, tradition-respecting champion in the mode of the feisty Spaniard or the elegant Swiss. According to Ross, Djokovic’s sponsorship portfolio—he signed with Uniqlo in 2012, after the sports-apparel company Sergio Tacchini reportedly fell behind on bonus payments—is not all one would expect of a player who has been No. 1 for several years. Last year, Djokovic switched agents, moving from C.A.A. to I.M.G. According to Forbes, he makes fourteen million dollars a year in endorsements, compared with Federer’s sixty-five and Nadal’s twenty-one. “I think he’s gotten a raw deal,” Martina Navratilova, who defected from Czechoslovakia to the United States in 1975, told me. “Some of that stuff gets lost in translation. It just comes off a little bit more cocky than you mean it.” Djokovic told me, of his missteps, “I was somebody that was coming up and showing no fear on the court and trying to be very confident in my statements.” He continued, “Some people saw it as ignorance and arrogance, but I didn’t ever feel that way. I felt only confident in knowing what I want to achieve and what I want to do.”
Djokovic has also faced the challenge of coming of age in the era of Federer and Nadal, who have nurtured the greatest, most sentimental rivalry in the history of tennis, and, possibly, of sports. The paradox of Djokovic’s career is that the better he does the less he is liked, at least among those who cling to the binary model perpetuated by Federer and Nadal. By a fault of timing, he is the forever crasher, the automatic odd man out. “Why did people not like Kobe or LeBron as much as they liked Michael Jordan?” Todd Martin said. “Because, in some way, they don’t like the comparisons that are made between them? I think it’s going to be a long, long time before we find two dominant figures in our sport that have the respect of everybody as much as Roger and Rafa.”
In the Wimbledon semifinals, Djokovic faced Juan Martín del Potro, a big-hearted, six-foot-six Argentinean with a puppyish air that belied his grit. The match, the longest semifinal in Wimbledon history, was a marvel of huge strokes of extreme precision at exorbitant speeds. Del Potro’s flat, steaming forehands were so effective that Djokovic, every few points, was forced to seek asylum at the net. For his part, Djokovic turned grass into clay, treading like a panther across a surface that Andre Agassi, in his memoir, likens to “ice slathered with Vaseline.” The rallies were primal. Watching them made your guts hurt.
The match was somehow both brutal and congenial. With Djokovic serving at 15–15, 2–3 in the fourth set, del Potro hit a down-the-line forehand that seemed to just nick the baseline. When the line judge ruled it out, del Potro crossed the court to solicit Djokovic’s advice on whether he should challenge the call. (Djokovic thought that he should, but del Potro declined.) After the chat, he tugged on the zipper of Djokovic’s shirt, making everybody laugh. In the fourth set, in a tiebreaker, del Potro saved two match points. Djokovic outlasted him, eventually winning 7–5, 4–6, 7–6 (2), 6–7 (6), 6–3. The back-and-forth was so depleting, so tense, that, at one point, del Potro, having failed to run down a ball, stepped up onto the wall in front of the stands, pantomiming surrender. “I had to hit five or six big forehands, and it’s not enough to win the point,” he told me later. “I said, ‘O.K., it’s too much, it’s too good!’ ”
When I asked Djokovic about his striptease at the Boodles Challenge, he said, “It felt great on the court, because I got to expand my vision and focus, not just on the dimensions of the tennis court but outward, to the stands.” He pointed out that we think of tennis as a two-person contest, but that, at any given time, there are actually a dozen people on the court. Del Potro said, of the Wimbledon showdown, “I think it was the best match of my career. Something special happens with Novak—only with him. My feelings are much easier, more comfortable and fun.” If Federer and Nadal are the stars of a buddy film, Djokovic is the leading man in an ensemble cast, raising his competitors’ games, and his spectators’ spirits, as he presides over a sort of tennis-in-the-round.
Djokovic’s life changed when Dr. Igor Cetojevic, a physician and acupuncturist, picked up his television remote. It was January of 2010, and Cetojevic, surfing channels in his living room in Cyprus, flipped to the Australian Open. Cetojevic was not a tennis fan, but his wife was, and he was happy enough to spend a few minutes cheering on a fellow-Serb. Except that the fellow-Serb was melting down, in the midst of his dire match against Tsonga. The commentators, who could see that Djokovic was having trouble breathing, speculated that asthma was the cause.
“It’s not asthma,” Cetojevic said, turning to his wife. “I think I can help him.”
Six months later, Cetojevic met Djokovic in Split—he asked some friends who knew Srdjan to arrange the introduction—and announced that he was fairly certain that Djokovic’s mysterious breakdowns were the result of an imbalance in his digestive system. Cetojevic had been able to make the diagnosis at a distance of thousands of miles, he told me, on the basis of his study of Chinese traditional medicine. He recalled, in an e-mail, “Most asthma symptoms appear in the early morning, and Nole’s match was in the afternoon. If he really had an asthmatic condition, he would not have been able to play two excellent sets in the quarterfinal match of the Australian Open before the breathing difficulties appeared.”
Cetojevic suggested that Djokovic undergo a series of tests. For instance, he asked Djokovic to put his left hand on his stomach, extending his right hand straight out and pushing up while he pressed on it from above. “This is what your body should feel like,” Cetojevic said. Then he gave Djokovic a slice of bread and told him to hold it against his belly, while again straightening his right arm. In “Serve to Win,” Djokovic writes, “With the bread against my stomach, my arm struggled to resist Cetojevic’s downward pressure. I was noticeably weaker.”
Cetojevic concluded, “This is a sign that your body is rejecting the wheat in the bread.”
Cetojevic suggested that Djokovic eliminate gluten from his diet. After commissioning some blood work, he recommended that Djokovic also eliminate dairy products and cut down on tomatoes. (In solidarity, Miljan Amanovic, Djokovic’s trainer, underwent an assessment and had to forsake egg whites and pineapple.) The program was hard to fathom—his parents owned a pizza parlor!—but Djokovic was desperate enough to try it, and, once he did, he experienced it as a complete rebirth. As he recalls in “Serve to Win” (subtitle: “The 14-Day Gluten-Free Plan for Physical and Mental Excellence”), “I was lighter, quicker, clearer in mind and spirit… . I could tell the moment I woke up each morning that I was different than I had been, maybe since childhood. I sprang out of bed, ready to tear into the day ahead.” One day, as an experiment, he ate a bagel. He writes, “I felt like I’d spent the night drinking whiskey!”
Now that he had the Cure for the Curse, Djokovic rededicated himself to tennis. Whether the new diet was a panacea or a placebo—or whether the reboot was due to something else entirely—it launched Djokovic into an elevated phase of his career. By July, he had lost eleven pounds. Finally, he prevailed at Wimbledon. “Here, on the biggest stage in tennis, I could sense the whole world realizing that, at last, I had truly arrived,” he writes, of his 2011 victory over Nadal. In January of 2012, after Djokovic beat Nadal again, to capture his third Australian Open, he allowed himself a single square of chocolate, his first in a year and a half.
The life style of an élite athlete rivals that of an inmate for abstemiousness and monotony. (Tennis players seem to spend half their lives in the shower.) If many of his competitors reside in a county jail of their own making, Djokovic inhabits a supermax prison. A typical day:
7:30 Wake-up. Tepid glass of water. Stretching. A bowl of muesli with a handful of mixed nuts, some sunflower seeds, sliced fruit, and a small scoop of coconut oil. Chew very slowly.8:30 Meet with coach and physiotherapist. Hit with training partner. Drink two bottles of energy drink, adding a hydration drink with electrolytes if it’s humid.10:00 Stretching. Check color of urine.11:00 Sports massage.12:00 Lunch. Gluten-free pasta with vegetables.1:30 Work out. Drink organic protein shake made from water mixed with pea protein.2:30 Stretching.3:00 Hitting practice.4:30 Stretching.5:00 Business meetings.7:30 Dinner. No Alcohol. No Dessert. Protein. Vegetables, but not beets, potatoes, parsnips, squash or pumpkin, which are too high in carbs.
His associates guard the details of his training program as though they were nuclear codes, but Gebhard Gritsch, his trainer, did allow that Djokovic prefers to exercise outdoors. “We are not so keen about gyms,” he told me. “We do a lot of stuff in nature, and I think we are different from other players in this regard. There’s a mental advantage, but also a coördinative advantage, because the challenges are much more complex in the real world as opposed to the controlled environment of the gym.”
In 2011, the Wall Street Journal reported that Djokovic had been trying to improve his performance by sitting in a CVAC pod, an “egg-shaped, bobsled-sized” hypobaric chamber that, according to the company that manufactures it, can increase muscle tone, and perhaps even stimulate stem-cell production. (The machine, which costs sixty-five thousand dollars, belongs to Gordon Uehling III, a New Jersey tennis coach and friend of Djokovic’s.) While the pod wasn’t illegal in tennis, it wasn’t exactly kosher; as the Journal noted, the World Anti-Doping Agency has ruled that such apparatuses violate “the spirit of sport.” Djokovic’s lab-rat-like regimen, combined with his clinical style, prompts critics to label him a “manufactured player,” as Simon Barnes wrote in the (U.K.) Times. This is an aesthetic objection, rather than an accusation of malfeasance, but it helps to explain why Djokovic, despite his primacy, still strains for the adulation that seems to be the birthright of his peers.
“Over the course of the last few years, I’ve developed the ability to cope with stress and emotions and to understand myself and the way I work,” Djokovic said on the phone in August. Gebhard Gritsch told me that, prior to his magical season in 2011, Djokovic had undergone “a very advanced process in maturing.” Gritsch said, “An example of this is very simple—since the middle of 2010, there was not one time where he said, ‘Ah, again, do we have to do this and that?’ The opposite—he would say, ‘Should we do more?’ ”
I asked Djokovic if he had registered the criticisms of his attitude. He said, “I never wanted to step away from who I am and what I do and what I want. I wanted to fully commit to this life, and, on the other hand, I needed to understand how I needed to go about things on and off the court in order to be the world’s best, and that’s where the adjustment comes.” (So, yes.)
Djokovic can be the idiot, but he is also the savant, a self-aware self-improver fascinated by the workings of the human psyche. He seeks enlightenment with the same broadmindedness that he applied to getting in shape. Most nights, he writes in a journal. He does not see a regular psychologist, but he incorporates elements of philosophy, positive thinking, inspirational speaking, animism, and meditation into his routine. “My girlfriend and I have been creating some mood boards!” he told me. At one point, I asked him about the Winston Churchill quote (“We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give”) that serves as the epigraph of “Serve to Win,” and he quoted Plato on altruism before launching into a homily:
It’s important to be humble, and important to be very open-minded toward all the people in the world. It doesn’t matter who it is, really, or how much amount of success that person has made, because you don’t measure the person through the success the person has made, but through his behavior. There is one actually great quote from Pavle, our Orthodox priest—we are not Catholic, so we don’t have a papa. He’s our spiritual leader, in a way. He passed away in 2009, and he’s actually one of the greatest people that, really, Serbia ever had. Because he was a very modest man—his sister was very ill, so he would go every day with the public transport to visit her. He never used cars; he always talked to the people. So, one great quote—he says to one kid that was saying to him that he has the best grades and so much success in the school. So Patriarch Pavle said, “That’s all great, I congratulate you, but it’s not the grades that make you a man, but your behavior.” So that’s what I try to implement in my life.
He seemed so keen to soak up knowledge, and then to demonstrate it, that he reminded me of a much more polite Kanye West, his eagerness for a shortcut to gravitas occasionally leading him to stumble over his ambition. He is not without a susceptibility to mumbo-jumbo, but his intentions are generous. “I believe that food can deliver positive or negative energy,” he writes in “Serve to Win.” “Before I tell you why, remember what I said: ‘Have an open mind.’ ” The revelation is that he once saw an experiment in which “a researcher” filled two glasses of water, swearing at one of them and whispering kind thoughts to the other. After a few days, Djokovic writes, the latter was “tinted slightly green,” while the other “was still bright and crystal clear.”
Djokovic is a devout member of the Serbian Orthodox Church. At Le Pain Quotidien, I asked him about a bracelet he was wearing—a black cord with a charm in the shape of a cross. He said that he had got it, along with a large wooden cross that never leaves his neck, at Hilandar, a monastery on Greece’s Mt. Athos, which was founded in the twelfth century by St. Sava, the first Serbian Orthodox archbishop. (In 2011, the church awarded Djokovic the Order of St. Sava, its highest distinction, praising his “active love towards Mother Church” and his “fervent and persistent helping of the Serbian people.”) In 2009, Djokovic travelled to Hilandar with his father, his uncle, and his brothers. He called it “the most holy place I ever visited in my life.” He recalled, “The only thing we did is pray all day, walk around, do some maintenance, and eat twice a day, at 6 A.M. and 6 P.M. It makes you go back to your roots and back to yourself.”
The church, in its commendation, acknowledged Djokovic’s value as an envoy: “This young Serb, the most outstanding athlete and ambassador of Serbia in the world.” Djokovic is the most famous person in Serbia; he is also the world’s most famous Serbian. This means that, in addition to being a very good tennis player, he is expected to massage the expectations and pieties of his varying constituencies while carting around a load of heavy historical baggage. Jon Wertheim, of Sports Illustrated, wrote a blog post that read, “Ask yourself: What’s the worst thing you could say about Djokovic in 2011? He once used a controversial egg contraption? He faded in the fall? His parents stopped showing up wearing those supercool T-shirts?” One reader, an Albanian, replied with a blog post of her own, calling Djokovic “a dangerous Serbian nationalist.” She argued, “Djokovic is intentionally emphasizing only Serbian suffering while refusing to acknowledge Serbian crimes.”
Djokovic is undoubtedly patriotic. I asked him whether he thought he had helped transform Serbia’s image, and whether Serbia’s image needed transforming. “Yes,” he said. “I don’t even try to judge these people, but I believe they are just misinformed. It’s all a product of the bad press that Serbia has been getting in the last twenty years.” He continued, “I’m not here sitting with you saying Serbia is the best country in the world—I’m saying Serbia does not deserve this kind of treatment from the world press. Me, as somebody who grew up in Serbia, who knows the history of our country, I know how much injustice has been done to our people.” He spoke of media brainwashing and of the public’s refusal to listen to “the longer side of the story, which is true.” In a speech recorded in 2008 on Serbian television, he declared, “We are united and we are ready to defend what belongs to us. Kosovo is Serbia.”
Perhaps unfairly, I asked him later whether he agreed with the Serbian President Tomislav Nikolic’s decision to apologize, in April, for the massacre of eight thousand Muslims that Serbian troops committed at Srebrenica in 1995. “Let’s not talk about that, please,” Djokovic said. “I really don’t want to get into this subject, because anything and everything I say can be understood in a very wrong way, and the only thing that I can say is that war is the worst thing that one person can experience.”
Victoria Beckham, Wayne Rooney, and David Cameron joined 14,997 others in the stands at Centre Court on July 7th to see Andy Murray and Djokovic compete for the Wimbledon championship. Murray, from Dunblane, Scotland, was vying to become the first British man to win Wimbledon since Fred Perry, in 1936. (Before Murray came along, the state of British tennis was so dire that, each year at Wimbledon, no matter who was playing, someone would invariably yell “C’mon, Tim!” in honor of Tim Henman, who made it to the semifinals in 2001.) The British public’s desire for a Murray victory had reached Serbian levels. “Andy, Make Our Day,” the front page of the Observer read, while the Independent on Sunday pleaded, “Now’s the Day, Now’s the Hour.” The Sun on Sunday distributed Andy Murray masks.
The match itself was something of an anticlimax. Djokovic, spent from his encounter with del Potro, never generated much momentum. The outcome seemed a foregone conclusion after Murray, with his roadrunner serve, delivered an ace at 6–5, 40–0 to win the second set. Less than an hour later, on match point No. 4, Djokovic hit a backhand into the net, giving Murray the championship at 6–4, 7–5, 6–4. (In contravention of stadium rules, Alex Salmond, the secessionist First Minister of Scotland, unfurled a Scottish flag.) Djokovic had seemed less than Zen during the match, but he delivered a gracious tribute to Murray, who has emerged as the less gutsy Nadal to his less regal Federer, playing to the heart-warmed fans. “He absolutely deserved this win,” he said, of Murray. “He played incredible tennis. And congratulations to his team, and to all of you guys in the home country. It was an absolute honor and pleasure to be part of it.”
“Is there a classier player in tennis than Novak Djokovic?” Jim in Fulham wrote to BBC Sport. “Three hours of dealing with an annoying crowd, and he is only complimentary to his opponent. True champion.”
Djokovic is on the verge of capturing the respect that has eluded him for much of his career. He seems to become more statesmanlike with every match—a grass-stained Mark Zuckerberg, outgrowing the gawkiness that characterized his early years. Even Roy Emerson offered a glowing assessment of his comportment. “He has definitely changed,” Emerson told me, in August. “I watched him play Murray at Wimbledon, and he seems to have grown up, and actually conducted himself terrifically in the final. He seems to be moving in the right direction.”
The night after his loss at Wimbledon, Djokovic put on a tuxedo and took a car to the Roundhouse, in North London, where he was hosting a gala in order to raise money for the Novak Djokovic Foundation. The foundation, which is run by Jelena Ristic—she has a master’s degree in management from Bocconi University, in Milan—focusses on early-childhood education. Djokovic writes, in a letter that is posted on the foundation’s Web site, “It is very important for me to start building my philanthropic legacy now, while I’m young and have a lot of people’s attention.”
The program featured a cocktail hour—the Top Spin (gin with lime juice), the 40–Love (strawberry liqueur and Prosecco)—followed by dinner, a performance by a mentalist, and a live auction, which would, by the end of the evening, raise nearly two million dollars. At eight o’clock, Djokovic stood with his parents, greeting such guests as Naomi Campbell, Goldie Hawn, Gerard Butler, and Andy Murray’s mother, Judy. (A diplomatic touch.) The grocery magnate Ron Burkle, who was listed as an event chair, advises Djokovic in an unofficial capacity. The foundation’s “global fundraising chairman” is a Serbian movie producer named Milutin Gatsby, who had brought in Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York, as a “global ambassador.” (Fergie said, of Djokovic, “I think he has a very pure heart.”) As dinner began, intense music sounded, and images from Serbian history—the inventor Nikola Tesla; a bombed-out Belgrade—filled a large screen. Djokovic took the stage after the montage and said, “I come from Serbia, where many kids do not dare to dream, but I always thought I might dream big, and I also have very big dreams for my foundation, and for my country as well.”
Ristic, who was sitting at the head table, resplendent in a striped Oscar de la Renta ballgown, held up her iPhone. “She’s just filming everything,” Djokovic said, and turned to her. “So maybe you can put down the camera, because I’m talking about you,” he said. “I need to look into your eyes. Thank you, my love—you truly bring emotional stability and big love that, hopefully, we can share forever.”
Djokovic, unlike Nadal, foresees a happy future after tennis. “I see myself forming a family first of all,” he said, during our phone call. He was in the midst of speaking about how his family was, at last, ready to buy a house when a voice cut into the line. “We have a car waiting,” his personal assistant said, and the line soon went dead.
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beauty-by-tyy · 4 years ago
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hon3ybabe · 4 years ago
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knb headcannons x black reader
kagami, akashi, kuroko
kagami
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- this man whew loves you from first sight, my boy fell head over heels for u boo
- i feel like since he lived in america he’s educated on black culture
- that’s includes racism, would beat anyone’s ass if they attempted to cross u or say some shit
- you mean so much to him and wouldn’t dare let a bitch say some shit
- he loves all the different hairstyle u do, from lace front to braids to afros to big chops he loves it all
- he totally steals your bonnet and durags all the time and denies it
- if you play basketball he wants you to play and practice with him(hell this man challenges you) but if you don’t he is more then happy to teach you
- if/when you get your nails done best believe he’s going to make you get red.
- if you get red nails/hair to match him, baby boy has heart eyes
- ohhh man and if you can cook he’s hearing wedding bells
- he’s loves to cook and eat so if he can do that with you he’s happy
- definitely cooks with your mom or grandma when you’re not there
- overall he loves you and wants to make you happy
- would love that shit out of your body if you ever feel insecure and tell you that he has never seen or met someone who is so beautiful and lovely like you
kuroko
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- tbh i don’t if this man can handle a black queen and that’s because you stand out
- your skin shining in the sun, making yourself look like you have gold in your skin
- he’s used to people not noticing his presence but with you, all eyes are on y’all
- (you definitely have momoi jealous and mad)
- head to toe this man loves everything about you
- i don’t think he’s knows anything about black culture but would love to learn it
- definitely loves helping you in your wash day, the feel of your curls soothes him
- the smell too
- now baby right here will steal your bonnets and have no shame
- you come home seeing this man wear it like: “hey baby....love the bonnet you got” “oh hey y/n, they look so comfortable i thought it would be nice to wear”
- deadass buys matching bonnets the next day
- and brags to kagmai about them
- now when dealing with racist homeboy will either try to educate them or get mad and try to beat their ass. (but he’s a lover not a fighter 💀)
- if you ever feel insecure about your skin, hair or body shape he will reassure you are the most beautiful girl he has ever laid eyes on
- baby just loves you soo much
akashi
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- god i love this man soo damn much 😩
- anyways he buys everything for you when i say everything i mean EVERYTHING
- you wanna get your nails done? boom appointment is set and paid for
- new wigs/hair done? done it’s yours
- more hair care products? you best believe you coming home new products sitting on your bed from him
- this man will buy the best and finest products for you
- you’re spoiled by him
- i mean you are his love so he’s going to make sure you are taken care of
- now as for his knowledge on black culture......he’s clueless lol
- but that’s not stopping him from learning all about it
- when he does he loves it, (deadass trys to use aave but fails horribly💀)
- would do anything and everything in his power to make sure that no one and i mean NO ONE is racist, rude or ignorant to his love
- remember that scene where he almost stabbed kagmai yeah....he would to that to the who was bullying you
- or would humiliate and put fear in them
- if you ever feel insecure about your hair or body he literally tackle you on his bed and shower you with love and affection
- would not get off of you till you stopped say those things about yourself
- to him you are his world, his love, his darling
- everytime you switch up styles he falls deeper in love with you
- his favorite is when you go natural, doesn’t matter if it’s a big fro, small fro or no fro/bald he loves it
- sugah is just in love with you
from trin 😊: hope you enjoyed! remember eat and drink something tonight don’t gotta be a lot! and u are loved! have a good day honey 🍯!
370 notes · View notes
iamvegorott · 3 years ago
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A fear that came true and led us to shatter to pieces
(I know nothing about relationships but i do know what sadness is so enjoy!)
"Ya sure your alright JJ? We could always ask Dark to check up on him again?" Anti says while watching JJ pace around his room with a surprisingly calm face but his body movements show worry and sadness. JJ pauses and stares towards Anti and signs. 'It's alright Anti! I think it's best if we leave Dark out of this.' JJ smiles at Anti and decides to look through his closet as a distraction, hopefully enough to convince Anti. The glitch sighed in annoyance but he didn't want to just brush it off again. "JJ look, I get that you think Wilford's out and about doing some random shit but this is the third time this week. If that pink of a shithole comes back drunk as fuck again then he's doing some shit behind your back!" JJ paused after he rose a sweater to his eye level. He slowly turns his head to stare at Anti, the anger and disbelief can be seen crawling up to his blue eyes. 'Are you implying that my boyfriend is cheating on me?' JJ carefully signs. Anti groaned. "As much as i tried not to say it like that. I am very fucking much saying that." JJ slowly and gently folded the sweater and places it back in the closet before he fully faces Anti. 'I mean this in the nice's why possible, but you Antisepticeye should not think of something like that about someone. I let Wilford do what he wants because I love him and he does the same for me. If this is jealousy crawling up to from that argument you had with Dark last week then I would very much like it if you do not rub it in with my relationship.' Anti froze in place once he finished signing. His glitches growing faster around him but soon slowed as he took a deep breath. He would never hurt JJ even if he hit him that hard in the heart, but he did have a point. "Right. My bad J" He muttered. 'Leave and close the door as you go please.' Anti went to the room door and looked back at JJ, absolute regret in his eyes. He closes the door behind him and goes on to walk to his room.
JJ sighed and sat on his bed. He wasn't the only one that was guilty from bringing up a sensitive topic but the thought of Anti thinking of Wilford to do such a thing just angered him so much! The dapper man knew he needed to apologize but it was best it took time for it to rest. The mention of Wilford popped in his mind again and began to worry. It really has been long since he's gotten back, what if Anti was right? What if he was doing something behind his back? JJ's curiosity just couldn't stay put and the man stood up and went to ask the others if they knew where his lover went.
JJ looked back at the bright screen that showed a map of where Wilford was last tracked, thankfully Bing was able to help and gave the most recent place Wilford has been in. JJ closed the phone and dipped it back in his pocket before turning the corner and his fears started to crawl. It was bar.. A very popular bar to be specific, one where almost everyone in and out were drunk and making out. JJ only hoped his deepest fear wouldn't come true to break his heart. JJ was able to slip through the sweaty and drunk crowd before looking around in a more clear area, sadly no sign of his pink lover but something had caught his eye. A pink afro was spotted in a hallway leading to multiple occupied rooms. JJ picks the wig up and stares at the door where it's been left, the noises from behind were slowly fading as he tries to listen what was going on at the other side of the door. Then he hears something move, something very heavy and rough move. JJ had enough waiting and kicks the door down.
God he wish he never did
The sight in front of him shattered the poor man into pieces as realization washed on him.
Wilford was shirtless and was making out with a random blond woman with blue highlights, it looked like they were in the middle of taking of the woman's croptop. "Is something wrong blueberry?" Wilford slurred out. But he wasn't asking JJ, he was asking the woman. "who's that?" The woman also slurred out. Wilford turned and immediately stopped from what he was doing. "Jameson! What in the hell are you doing here?!" He says while grabbing his pink polo. "Blueberry it's not what it looks like I promise-" JJ took a step back but let him explain. "I got really drunk out of anger after another interview of mine failed and next thing I knew i was here!" "That's not what you said when you came to me Gumdrop" The blond slurred out again. "You came in sayin' you wanted to blow off some steam with your little girlfriend~. And what interview? You were on a date with meeee.." The woman passed out as they slurred the last word and JJ just stood there. His eyes dull and confused but sad, JJ slowly walked up to him and handed the afro before walking out.
"Look what you're fucking brother did to him! He cheated on Jameson and you never bothered to even consider checking up on him?!" Anti yelled, glitching furiously in anger while Jackie tried to hold him off. "It is none of my fault that Wilford decided to end their relationship in an unfriendly and unhealthy manner-" "Unfriendly?! JJ WALKED IN ON THEM ALMOST FUCKING AND HE DIDN'T SAY A WORD TO HIM! JAMESON LET HIM EXPLAIN BUT WAS JUST RETURNED WITH THE FACT THAT THAT PINK BITCH WAS CHEATING ON HIM FOR WHO KNOWS HOW LONG!!" A slam of the dark wooden desk silenced him. "IF YOU ARE GOING TO ARGUE MORE OF MY BROTHER'S DECISION AND NOT EVEN TRY TO LET ME OR HIM EXPLAIN THEN MAYBE YOUR BEST DECISION IS TO LEAVE!" Dark's aura almost surrounded the office in darkness as his eyes glowed blue and red. Anti finally stopped trying to break from the hero's grasp and just stood there. His glitches slowly fading. "You know what Darkiplier? Maybe I fucking should." He says and yanks himself off of Jackie and dragged him out. "Tell the others were leaving this shithole of a house." He mutters to Jackie. "What?!- But-" "Go." Jackie didn't want to pressure Anti after the very intense argument and decided it was best to follow and so he walks away. Anti looked back at Dark, his eyes now faintly glowing as his aura shrinks. "Looks like they aren't the only ones ending a relationship." Dark was taken a back by this as his eyes turned normal.
"Goodbye Dark"
'Goodbye Wilford'
After that night, two happy relationships were sadly broken and never fixed.
---------
AAAAHHHHH 😭😭😭
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theepisceswriter · 4 years ago
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STALLION’S 600 MILESTONE EVENT
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Who would’ve thought that I would’ve accumulated this many besties? Definitely not me, but I’m thankful for every last one of you nonetheless! I haven’t officially reached 600 yet, but I didn’t do anything for 400 or 500 so here’s something sweet for y’all especially for my black gworls and POC. So here’s yet another writing orientated milestone so I can spew more content out to you guys.  
MASTERLIST (tba once requests and things start coming in)
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HOW THIS EVENT WILL WORK 
♡ Underneath the readmore tag there is an assortment of characters, tropes/situations (both sfw and nsfw), and even reader specifics to choose from
♡ You’ll choose a hairstyle (character), accessories (situations/tropes), and hair wrap (reader specific).
♡ No, this event is not only reserved for black!reader, I just wanted to do something based around my black beauties and our culture for once. This event is open to everyone!
♡ The characters listed are not the only ones available, all characters from the fandoms I have listed on my page are available! The ones listed are just the ones I get requests for the most or ones I’ve been having brainrots for lately 
♡ You can send in all sorts of combinations and be as vague or descriptive as you want to be. You can list multiple characters, multiple situations, etc, etc.
♡ For example “Can I have box braids with baby hairs,  barretts and bonnet?” or “Can I have one night stand and mutual pinning with Benimaru & fem reader?” OR “Can I have Tengen and patching up injuries with a male reader who is also a demon slayer and maybe they’ve been together for some time?” 
♡ Enjoy besties !
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Box braids: Eren Jaeger
Lace front: Armin Arlet
Finger waves: Reiner Braun
Ponytail: Levi Ackerman
Dreads: Shigure Sohma
Twists: Hatori Sohma
Sleek bun: Kureno Sohma
Natural: Nanami Kento
Cornrows: Toji Fushiguro 
Passion twists: Gojo Satoru
Butterfly locs: Tengen Uzui
Wig: Kyojuro Rengoku
Pixie cut: Kaneki Ken 
Individuals: Zeke Jaeger
Afro: Benimaru 
Puffballs: Character of your choice that’s not listed (make sure to specify!)
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SITUATIONS/TROPES
SFW
Acrylic Nails: Sharing one bed 
Baby Hairs: Friends with benefits 
Chains: Mutual pinning that everyone sees but you two 
Scarf: Patching up injuries
Hoops: Arranged marriage 
Tattoos: Confessing true feelings 
Sunglasses: Over protective/Yandere 
Edge brush: Fake dating 
Grills: Right person not enough time 
Purse: Tracing scars 
Lip liner: Stargazing
Sneakers: Coffee shop AU 
Rings: Kiss an insecure area 
Lip gloss: Taking a hit/shot meant for s/o
Heel: Forbidden love 
Watch: Any dynamic you want to lovers 
NSFW
Gel: Skinny dipping
Eyelashes: Car sex
Nose ring: Oral fixation 
Head wrap: Mutual masturbation 
Barettes: Hate sex
Chapstick: Morning after
Flat iron: Sexting
Waist beads: Caught masturbating 
Bandana: Orgasm denial
Edge control: Overstimulation
Bangles: Sex tape 
Beads: One night stand 
Hair bands: Breeding
Curlers: Pegging
Clips: Cockwarming 
Brush: Aftercare 
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Pick: Fem!reader
Comb: Male!reader
Durag: GN!reader
Bonnet: POC!reader (specify what type of POC if you want)
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nuzgen · 3 years ago
Note
Uhhhh can I request a Wilford x male reader with some Wil providing comforting solidarity over bad memory problems? Sorry if that is too specific haha
Absolutely I can! I don't mind more specific requests at all, in fact I love em! As someone with bad memory problems I see you anon.💞
Length: 500 words
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Things have been slipping from you recently, and honestly, they have been for a while. What if you forget something or someone important? These types of thoughts have been eating you alive recently. You even find yourself envying others who can remember most things with ease. Why wasn't your brain wired like that? It's not like you can even do anything about it. Then you're interrupted.
"Y/N? I have something for you!"
Your lover is here with something, not unusual. You let the mustached man in, he's carrying something pink, bright, and fluffy.
"Here, put this on!"
you don't have a say in this because Wilford's plopped something on your head. "You look so handsome!" He has a big grin on his face. You take off the item and, it's- an afro?
"Sweetie, what is this?" You ask. It's nothing too surprising however, it's not any less confusing.
"It's a wig I found in my closet! I wore this when- when..." Wilford trails off, trying to recall something, "Oh! When I and my good friend Abe had a little run-in at the disco club. Catching up was so amazing, he was so tense at first but we had a little chat, and the guy finally decided to lighten up a bit. I must get in touch with him again, I'd love to tell him about my lover." Wil gives you a tap on the nose.
"You flatter me way too much." You say in a joking manner.
Wilford chuckles and then turns to you once more, "Well how can I not? My sweetheart is so cute, he's practically unbearably so!" He has the biggest smile on his face.
"Well, when'd that happen? The run-in with your friend." You ask.
Wil thinks for a moment, and then dismissively waves his hands around, "ah hell if I know. Honestly, things get jumbled so easily, who can keep track of it all?"
You decide to talk to him about what's been going on in your head. "On a related note, I've been thinking a lot. My memory's so inconsistent, must have messed up while developing I guess." you half-joke. Despite your light tone, Wilford could tell that it's been getting to you. He sits on the bed with you.
"That makes two of us then! You know, I think you're doing wonderfully. We could help each other out, or more realistically, both forget what we were supposed to remember and think nothing of it but not the point!" You have a laugh at this, that does seem like what's would happen. Wilford isn't done though. "You're the best man I could have ever asked for sugar! Guess we just gotta try a bit harder to get things through the noggin, and have em stay there. Just remember You'll always be up here-" he points to his head-"and I hope I'm right here." Wilford kisses your forehead.
You both lay down and share a cuddle. Nothing else matters right now, you're in the present.
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gottawriteanegoortwo · 4 years ago
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Darkstache - Green!
A short special for the ‘Dark is colourblind’ series, since I’m Irish and I’m making the most of it being St. Patrick’s Day.
Word Count: 621
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“What.”
Dark had to do a double-take when Wilford entered the common room the Egos would take breaks in. He even went as far as taking off his glasses and cleaning them to make sure that - yes - he was seeing it correctly.
“What is that.”
Spoken as a sentence rather than a question, Dark pointed to Wilford. The reporter, in confusion, looked at the inflatable hammer in the colours of the Irish flag.
“I dunno. Irish folk like havin’ ‘em at their parades. I think their Paddy fella used some sorta hammer ta squash th’ snakes -”
“No - no, I meant your hair. What did you do to your moustache?” Dark’s question hung in the air for several long seconds as Wilford’s brain clunked to life and processed the question. Eventually, the lights turned on in his mind as realisation struck.
“Oh! Yeah! I made ‘em green fer St Patrick’s Day! I’ve done it every year fer years now. I forget ya never saw it.” He pointed to the moustache excitedly now he knew this was his lover’s first time seeing it. “Myself, Bing, Erik an’ Illinois get together an’ celebrate bein’ Irish!”
“None of us have Irish connections -”
“But it doesn’t matter! Th’ Irish are great an’ let anyone be Irish fer th’ day since it’s their way ta be all like ‘This is who we are!’. An’ Illinois has been ta Ireland a few times so it totally counts. So that’s why I dyed all my pink green today. Look look! Matching suspenders!” Wilford tugged one of them, just in case Dark didn’t notice the extra green. “Bet I could be an honorary Septic like this! Bring back th’ fans love of that green hair an’ get all th’ love!” Which reminded him! The hammer was dropped to the floor, giving a harmless squeak upon landing. Wilford pulled something that looked slightly fluffy out of his pocket. Upon seeing the green, white, and gold; Dark’s eyes widened as he stepped back.
“No. No no no. I am NOT wearing that.” Dark took a second step back as Wilford shook the colours to reveal it was an afro wig. The refusal was ignored as Wilford hastily hurried over and put it on.
“C’mon! Just fer a sec. I wanna see it!” The attempt by Dark to wriggle away failed as Wilford got to work tucking Dark’s hair under the wig. It gave him a chance to examine the green better. He lowered his head just enough to see the moustache without the help of the glasses, and it was clear how he would have missed it. The shade of grey didn’t even change. Moments like these really reminded him how much better life was with colour. 
“Hey Darkie?”
“Yes?”
The sound of a camera clicking caught his attention, and Wilford’s phone was quickly spun around to show Dark the image. It was of the entity, looking up at the camera with a hint of a smile on his lips. The colourful wig was in stark contrast to his overall appearance, yet he didn’t feel humiliated at the sight.
“I look ridiculous,” he said, the bizarreness of the moment making him laugh.
“But ya look so cute,” Wilford simply argued, leaning over to peck Dark on the nose. In response, Dark wrapped an arm around Wilford’s neck and pulled him in for a quick kiss.
“I’m quite surprised you would turn your beloved pink green for a day. You must be looking forward to the eighteenth.” 
Wilford simply grinned with mischief. He whispered “I dyed it” as he kissed Dark again, not giving the other a chance to realise he would be stuck looking at the green for at least a fortnight.
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teenslib · 4 years ago
Link
IT’S FINALLY DONE! Every year, the Rainbow Book List Committee has more books to review, because literature is slowing getting queerer, and children’s and YA lit are at the forefront of that change. This year, our committee of 13 people had to review nearly 500 eligible titles, and 130 (well, 129) were good enough and queer enough to make the list. There were so many terrific books that we got a special dispensation to create TWO Top Ten lists--the first time the committee has done so! The Top Tens are below, and please visit the link above for the full list.
I’m proud of our committee’s focus on diversity--along lines of race, ethnicity, queer identity, and even genre. At least half of the Top Ten Books for Young Readers and seven of the Top Ten for Teen Readers are about characters of color, and most of those were written by authors of color. We also tried to feature as many different letters of the alphabet soup as possible. I’ve noted the racial and LGBTQIA+ rep for the books that I’ve read.
Here are the Top Ten Books for Young Readers:
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Ana on the Edge by Sass, A.J. Ages 8 to 12. Sports Fiction/Figure Skating. MC is nonbinary and Jewish-Chinese-American. Ana is a champion figure-skater. She hates her new princess-themed program, but how can she tell her mother that, when it cost so much money? And why does it bother her so much, anyway? When she finds the word ‘nonbinary,’ she realizes why the program doesn’t fit, but she still has a lot of work to do repairing relationships that have suffered in the meantime.
The Deep & Dark Blue by Smith, Niki. Ages 8 to 12. Fantasy. One of 2 MCs is a trans girl, all characters appear to be Southeast Asian. A pair of twins flee after a political coup that puts their lives at risk. They decide to disguise themselves as Hanna and Grayce, two girls living in the Communion of the Blue, an order of weaving women who spin magic like wool. What one twin doesn’t know is that, for the other, being Grayce isn’t a disguise. This is a beautiful story about self-discovery, acceptance, and affirmation.
Drawing on Walls: A Story of Keith Haring by Burgess, Matthew and Josh Cochran (Illustrator). Ages 6 to 14. Biography. MC is a white gay man. This colorful picture-book biography traces the life and art of Keith Haring.
The Every Body Book: LGBTQ+ Inclusive Guide for Kids about Sex, Gender, Bodies, and Families by Simon, Rachel E. and Noah Grigni (Illustrator). Ages 8 to 12. Nonfiction/Health. Various identities and races included. Filled with self-affirming information, The Every Body Book uses inclusive language, illustrations, and facts to cover a number of important topics for young people including consent, relationships, gender, sex, puberty, and hormones.
King and the Dragonflies by Callender, Kacen. Ages 8 to 12. Realistic Fiction. MC is a gay black boy, his best friend is a gay white boy. King’s family–especially his father–have strong opinions about what it means to be a Black man, and they don’t allow for being gay. But King admires his friend Sandy for escaping an abusive home and living his truth no matter what. If King comes out, too, can his father learn to change?
Magic Fish by Nguyen, Trung Le. Ages 12 and up. Realistic Fiction/Fantasy. MC is a gay Vietnamese-American boy. A young Vietnamese-American boy literally can’t find the words to tell his parents that he’s gay, but cross-cultural fairytales help bridge the language barrier in this beautifully-illustrated graphic novel. 
My Maddy by Pitman, Gayle E. and Violet Tobacco (Illustrator). Ages 4-8. Realistic Fiction. MC’s parent is nonbinary, MC and her parent are white. My Maddy is a heartwarming story about a young girl and her parent. Readers learn that not all parents are boys or girls; some parents are just themselves. In this young girl’s case, that parent is her Maddy, a loving, caring parent who lives outside the gender binary.
My Rainbow by Neal, DeShanna, Trinity Neal, and Art Twink (Illustrator). Ages 4-8. Realistic Fiction. MC is an autistic black trans girl. Autistic trans girl Trinity wants to have long hair, but growing it out is too itchy! None of the wigs in the store are quite right, so Mom makes Trinity a special rainbow wig.
Our Subway Baby by Mercurio, Peter and Leo Espinosa (Illustrator). Ages 4 to 8. Adoption Non-fiction. MCs are white gay men, the baby they adopt is Black. Loving illustrations help tell the story of how an infant abandoned in a NYC subway station was adopted by the man who found him and his partner.
Snapdragon by Leyh, Kat. Snapdragon. Ages 10 to 14. Fantasy. Haven’t read this one yet, so I can’t comment on its representation. Snap gets to know the town witch and discovers that she may in fact have real magic and a secret connection to Snap’s family’s past.
And here are the Top Ten Books for Teen Readers:
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All Boys Aren’t Blue: A Memoir-Manifesto by Johnson, George M. Ages 14 to 18. Memoir. Author/MC is a gay Black man. “Memoir-manifesto” is a well-chosen label for this book, which relates stories from the author’s childhood and young adulthood and contextualizes them within a queer Black experience. Although the author’s family is loving and supportive, pervasive heteronormativity, queerphobia, and anti-Black racism threaten his mental, emotional, and physical safety.
Camp by Rosen, L.C. Ages 14 and up. Realistic Fiction. MC and his love interest are gay Jewish boys. For Randy, going away to Camp Outland is a breath of fresh air, a time to be exactly who Randy can’t always be at school. But this year will be different. This year, Randy won’t be the flamboyant theater kid, this year Randy will be exactly the type of bro Hudson would want to date. Changing a thing or too will be necessary for Randy to succeed, even if that means leaving some friends behind.
Cemetery Boys by Thomas, Aiden. Ages 13 and up. Paranormal/Romance. MC is a trans Latino, his love interest is a gay Latino. Yadriel accidentally summons the wrong ghost in an attempt to prove himself a real brujo to his family who struggle to accept his gender identity. Though he thinks he is summoning the ghost of his cousin, he actually summons the ghost of Julian Diaz, and finds himself with not one, but two, mysterious deaths to investigate.
Circus Rose by Cornwell, Betsy. Ages 12 and up. Fantasy. One MC is white and one is mixed-race, one is a lesbian and one is questioning. Ivory and Rosie are twins and half-sisters, born to a bearded woman who refused to choose between her lovers, and raised in their mother’s circus. After a long foreign tour, they come home to find themselves under attack by religious zealots. As tragedy follows tragedy, will Ivory be able to save her circus family?
Elatsoe by Little Badger, Darcie  and Rovina Cai (Illustrator). Ages 12 and up. Mystery. MC is an aro/ace Lipan Apache girl. In this OwnVoices novel, Elatsoe is on a mission to discover who killed her beloved cousin, and why. If not for her cousin, then she is doing this for her people, the Indigenous Lipan Apache tribe. Elatsoe has the ability to raise ghosts from the dead, a tradition that has been passed down through generations. On this journey it will take vulnerability, wit, and the legends of her people for Elatsoe to understand all that is hidden in the small town of Willowbee.
I’ll Be the One by Lee, Lyla. Ages 13 and up. Realistic Fiction. MC is a bi Korean-American girl, her love interest is a bi Korean boy. Skye Shin dreams of becoming the world’s first plus-sized K-pop star, and a reality TV competition may just be her chance. To win, she’ll have to deal with fatphobic beauty standards, fierce competition, and intense media scrutiny–as well as unexpected attraction to one of her competitors.
Miss Meteor by Mejia, Tehlor Kay and Anna-Marie McLemore. Ages 14 and up. Magical Realism. (I haven’t read this one, but I think both MCs are WLW Latinas.) Lita is a star – literally. After falling to earth several years ago, she’s now living life as a teenage girl. When the annual Miss Meteor pageant rolls around, Lita decides to enter – but will her ex-best friend Chicky be willing to help her? Will the pageant help her forget about the past and imagine a new future? Lita learns that winning isn’t about being perfect, it’s about showing your true self to the world – even the parts that no one else understands.
You Should See Me in a Crown by Johnson, Leah. Ages 12 and up. Realistic Fiction. MC is a black WLW (woman-loving-woman). In this affectionate rom-com, Liz Lighty finds herself an unlikely candidate for prom queen at her affluent suburban school. Shy, awkward, Black, and low-income, Liz has never felt like she belonged, and she can’t wait to leave for her dream college. But when her scholarship falls through, it seems her last resort is to win prom queen, and the scholarship money that comes with it. Liz’s plan is complicated when new girl Mack decides to run for prom queen also…and ends up running away with Liz’s heart.
War Girls by Onyebuchi, Tochi.  Ages 12 and up. Science Fiction/Afro-Futurism. Both MCs are Nigerian, one is a WLW. In a not-so-distant future, climate change and nuclear disasters have made much of the earth unlivable. In the midst of war in Nigeria, two sisters, Onyii and Ify, are torn apart and face two very different futures. As their lives progress through years of untold violence and political unrest, battles with deadly mechs and cyborg soldiers outfitted with artificial limbs and organs, they are brought together again and again and must come to terms with how the war has impacted their lives.
When We Were Magic by Gailey, Sarah. Ages 14 and up. Contemporary Fantasy. MC is a white bi/questioning girl with gay dads, her friends are racially, ethnically, and queerily diverse. This firecracker of a novel follows a group of friends who attempt to correct the accidental murder of a classmate. When We Were Magic combines magic, friendship, and awkward moments to create a captivating story. Each character brings their own uniqueness to the strong group of friends, but despite their differences, their loyalty remains. Author Sarah Gailey has written another page turning novel, with the quirky strange content to boot.
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pleasureactivism · 5 years ago
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An Annotated Playlist to Accompany Your Reading of Pleasure Activism
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2eoQwDJipqb2BpIZqCIscQ?si=bRg4s4uhSqOXw02Ai2Pc2Q
In Section Three: A Circle of Sex, there is an essay, a compilation of interviews, titled “The Highs, Lows, and Blows of Casual Sex.” Upon reading this title, I immediately thought of one of my favorite songs at the moment, “High Highs to Low Lows” by Lolo Zouaï. I put this song on while I read this essay, and while not directly about sex, the concept of peaks and valleys really resonated with the text. “High Highs and Low Lows” set the mood for me to engage with “The Highs, Lows, and Blows of Casual Sex,” not just because of the lyrics but also the multidimensional sound and authenticity and vulnerability of Zouaï’s voice. Singing in both English and French, she covers so many deeply human feelings, from sexy to vulnerable, cocky to depressed, sensual to silly. Intentionally pairing this song with this reading (instead of just putting a random playlist on shuffle) gave me the idea of creating a playlist- this book needs a soundtrack, which I have attempted to create below. 
A compilation of R&B, hip hop, pop, Latinx music and some 1970s Black feminist icons (namely, Nina Simone and Diana Ross), most of these songs are performed by people that identify as women of color, partly because that is in line with Pleasure Acitivism which “center[s] the experiences of Black women” and partly because that is what I often find myself listening to. However, as was true for adrienne maree brown and her book, this soundtrack “includes a few voices that are not Black or women-identified but that I trust in the human experience of finding pleasure beyond oppression” (brown 5). This playlist was inspired by and accompanied much of my reading of much of Pleasure Activism, shifting and growing as I read, enhancing the experience and adding meaning to both the text and the music. The songs in the soundtrack can be listened to while reading any section of the book, but there are some that deal directly with themes of the book, and for those I have identified a “pairing,” or specific essay or section that I recommend pairing with that song. The songs on the soundtrack are in the order of the recommended paired sections. It should be noted that given the time frame of this project and the fact that I am simultaneously finishing up my undergraduate senior thesis, I was only able to annotate a select few of the songs on the playlist, but in no way are the songs that are not described any less important, relevant, or magical. 
Oh My God by Sevdaliza 
Pairing: “The Legacy of ‘Uses of the Erotic,’ A Conversation with Cara Page” OR the Introduction to Section One, “Who Taught You to Feel Good?”
I originally added this song to the playlist because of its sound, described in one article as “a blend of trip-hop, avant pop, and electronica,” and its lyrics about self-discovery, realization, hope and dreams (Ingvaldsen 2020). Savdalize asks “Who should I be?” and notes that “I view myself from above/Roamin’ in the fields of hope/Will it make or break me/As my dreams are heavy, they outweigh me.” These comments about her exploration of self and the intensity of her dreams initially led to its inclusion on the playlist. However, after finding an interview with Sevdaliza, I realized just how crucial this song is for Pleasure Activism’s soundtrack. She is Iranian Dutch and a refugee who, according to the interview, “acnkowledg[es] the oppressive regimes and institutions of the world in an effort to reflect peace and solidarity through her aural artform” (Ingvaldsen 2020). In the interview, Sevdaliza says she “believe[s] in collective energy,” a concept not only explored in Pleasure Activism but also in our course throughout the semester. Additionally, she says that “heritage stands for a gift of profound insight, wisdom, and love. My heritage to me is like an inner-oracle. The one who knows. It is a mesmerizing voice, that becomes more clear as I am close to my authentic self. My heritage also connects me with deep feminine instincts; the wise woman within” (Ingvaldsen 2020). This connection to her heritage and ancestors reminded me of brown’s exploration of her own “personal pleasure lineage” and encouragement that her readers do the same (brown 21). Sevdaliza says, “our voices are meant to be heard, our stories meant to be shared,” a concept embodid by brown in Pleasure Activism. 
Feeling Good by Nina Simone 
Pairing: “The Sweetness of Salt, by Alexis Pauline Gumbs”
Video by India.Arie
Pairing: “Pussy Power, by Favianna Rodriguez”
Formation by Beyoncé
Pairing: “Wherein I Write about Sex” OR “The Pleasure of Living at the Same Time as Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter”
“High Highs to Low Lows” by Lolo Zouaï
Pairing: “The Highs, Lows, and Blows of Casual Sex”
How Deep Is Your Love (feat. Yebba) by PJ Morton 
Pairing: “Feelmore, A Conversation with Nenna Joiner”
Girls Need Love (with Drake)- Remix by Summer Walker
Pairing: “Liberating Your Fantasies” or “The Highs, Lows, and Blows of Casual Sex”
Girls Need Love is a seductive, passionate, and honest piece in which Walker creates a personal narrative about her desires for sex and love while also grappling with the double standard that “girls” can’t be sexually liberated. She pushes back against the societal norms that “girls can’t never say they want it/girls can’t never say how/girls can’t never say they need it/girls can’t even say now.” She also stresses that her desire for casual sex is okay, a topic which brown analyzes in Highs, Lows, and Blows of Casual Sex” (“I don’t need a reason baby/Please don’t get in your feelings”). Another soulful R&B track, this song has a simple production with a main focus on the vocals. 
BROWN SKIN GIRL (feat Blue Ivy Carter) by Beyoncé, Saint Jhn, Wizkid 
Pairing: “The Pleasure of Living at the Same Time as Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter” OR “Wherein I Write about Sex” OR “Black Woman Wildness by Junauda Petrus”
Q.U.E.E.N. (feat. Erykah Badu) by Janelle Monáe
Pairing: “Fly as Hell, A Conversation with Sonya Renee Taylor”
Multi-Love by Unknown Mortal Orchestra
Pairing: “On Nonmonogamy” 
Multi-Love is a song about polyamory, full of intimacy, vulnerability, and even discomfort and torment. Despite these intense feelings that are on display in Ruban Nielson’s (the lead singer’s) voice and in the lyrics, the instrumental aspect of the song is lighter and catchy, consisting of an upbeat keyboard tune and light, quick drum beats. These components come together to create a non-pretentious, spiritual, futuristic song that touches on many of the same topics as Pleasure Activism. For example, he talks about god, asking, “who is your god? Where is she?” Similarly, adrienne maree brown said that she “think[s] a lot about what god is, how god is, and where we are relating to and running from and surrendering to god” (brown 7). He sings about transitioning between single-love and multi-love (“We were one, then become three”), which reminded me of brown’s comments that “nonmonogamy tends to suit [her] best, even if [she is] occasionally focused on one lover” and her further analysis of multi-love in the subsection “On Nonmonogamy” (brown 8, 409). And finally, he talks about alludes to the non-binaryness of gender: “she doesn't want to be a man or a woman” (though the use of the pronoun “she” is somewhat troubling in this case). All in all, this song that is somehow at once crystal clear and mysteriously muffled belongs on the soundtrack because of its soulful, groovy nature, relevant lyricism and personal discovery about love, spirituality, vulnerability, and meaning. As a side note, I also felt like it fits well because Ruban Nielson’s delivery has been compared to that of Prince’s, who brown dedicates the book to. 
The Other Woman by Nina Simone
Pairing: “Being Second”
Golden by Jill Scott
I’m Coming Out by Diana Ross
Universe by Ambar Lucid
La Negra Tiene Tumbao by Celia Cruz
Pairing: “On Fear, Shame, Death, and Humor, A Conversation between the Rocca Family and Zizi” OR “On the Pleasures of Wardrobe, A Conversation with Maori Karmael Holmes”
Beyond being an absolute Afro-Cuban and Latin music icon, and the Queen of Salsa, Celia Cruz is known for her fashion style; she always had on colorful wigs, sequins, crazy high heels, and incredible makeup (for this reason her song is paired with “On the Pleasures of Wardrobe”). This song was chosen because of its multifaceted nature; it spans the genres of jazz, salsa, reggae, and hip hop. She talks about the style, attitude, swag and sexiness of a black woman (in Spanish). Igniting the spark of pride in Latinx and Black identities for many, “La Negra Tiene Tumbao” is a timeless anthem about being proud of who you are, embracing blackness, and never moving out of the way for anybody. 
Pelo Suelto by Gloria Trevi 
The Pleasure Principle by Janet Jackson
February 3rd by Jorja Smith
Satisfaction Guaranteed by Junglepussy
This song is lush and deep as it envelopes you into its mesmerizing tune. Junglepussy’s slow, intense words of confidence and encouragement to feel fully, both spiritually and physically, wash over the listener like a wave (“Yeah, I’m the brown hottie with the body, looking like Rum Spice… Relax, as the aura ease you/In the flesh, let the physical please you”). 
Soul Liberator by Kraak and Smaak feat. Sanguita
Feeling Myself by Nicki Minaj feat. Beyoncé
Cranes in the Sky by Solange 
Hurry by Teyana Taylor feat. Kanye 
Mujer Latina by Thalía
A Quién Le Importa by Thalía
I’m Every Woman by Whitney Houston 
                                                           Works Cited
Ingvaldsen, Torsten. “Sevdaliza Returns With New Protest Song ‘Oh My God.’” HYPEBEAST, HYPEBEAST, 30 Jan. 2020, hypebeast.com/2020/1/sevdaliza-oh-my-god-single-stream-premiere.
LS
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byneddiedingo · 2 years ago
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Alla Nazimova in Camille (Ray C. Smallwood, 1921)
Cast: Alla Nazimova, Rudolph Valentino, Rex Cherryman, Arthur Hoyt, Zeffie Tilbury, Patsy Ruth Miller, Elinor Oliver, William Orlamond, Consuelo Flowerton. Screenplay: June Mathis, based on the novel and play by Alexandre Dumas fils. Cinematography: Rudolph J. Bergquist. Art direction: Natacha Rambova. Costume design: Natacha Rambova.
It's hard to judge from her performance in this silent version of Camille why Alla Nazimova (billed in the film, which she produced, as just "Nazimova") was so celebrated an actress, especially if you've seen Greta Garbo's performance in George Cukor's 1936 version of the Dumas fils story. To us, Nazimova's Marguerite Gautier is camp: a series of pouts and poses, with lots of swooning backbends, and an unfortunate hairdo that looks like a cross between an afro and an explosion in a wig factory. But it's very much Nazimova's movie: Her Armand is Rudolph Valentino, but she constantly upstages him, even to the extent of cutting the usual ending of Camille, in which Marguerite and Armand are reunited for her great resurgence of life just before she expires. In this Camille Marguerite dies unreconciled, with just the faithful Nanine and the just-married Gaston (Rex Cherryman) and Nichette (Patsy Ruth Miller) as witnesses to her last swoon. It's as if she foresaw Garbo's grand demise and knew she couldn't compete. What the film mostly has going for it are the set and costume designs of Natacha Rambova (who may have been Nazimova's lover and who did marry Valentino). At some point, a decision was made to update the story from the 1840s to the 1920s, so Rambova's designs for Marguerite's Paris haunts are a fascinating version of Art Deco with touches of Art Nouveau and some hints of Aubrey Beardsley's drawings. Marguerite breathes her last in a round bed under a rounded arch in her Paris bedroom, which has a round window outside of which snow is falling. But Rambova seems less interested in Marguerite and Armand's country idyll, and the cottage is a rather drab affair, very obviously a three-walled stage set, and one that the director, Ray C. Smallwood, unimaginatively treats as such. As for Valentino, he's his usual handsome and dashing presence, but deprived of his final scene he makes less impact on the film than usual. In short, this Camille is a briefly tantalizing glimpse at some legendary figures, but not much of a drama.
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mybeautifulhair · 5 years ago
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HERE ARE THE BEST AND CHIC LACE FRONT WIGS FOR YOU
If you are tired of the same old hairstyle or if you are afraid of damaging your hair by the constant use of styling tools, then worry not! Here’s one of the best solutions for all your worries. HAIR EXTENSIONS OR HAIR WIGS can make you look like a diva without causing any damage to your hair. Hair wigs are the primary choice of all females around the globe for a perfect and flawless look. Wigs come in different colors, length, and textures that give you the choice to select the one according to your preference. The availability of different textures and lengths of wigs also lets you find the wig that gives your hair the best style! The most popular wigs among all are the Lace Front Wigs. Lace front wigs have a mesh lace front which helps it to blend with the hairline easily, giving the wig a very natural look. The natural vibes of the front lace wigs have essentially made them everyone’s favorite. In the past years, lace front wigs have been immensely popular among women as they have a number of varieties to choose from. We have listed down a few of the top-rated lace front wigs that help you attain the perfect look you desire. MAYA BY ENVY Maya by envy is exclusively designed for those who love wavy hair. This wig gives glossy cascading waves that look quite decent. It features a hand-tied lace front and monofilament top which adds to its natural-looking design. This also makes it possible to style the wig in any way you want without disclosing the secret. Maya can be considered a medium-length to long hair wig which gives an intricate style. It is available in quite a number of shades; Cinnamon raisin, Ginger Cream, and Toasted Sesame being the best picks. If you want to flaunt the Hollywood style, Maya by Envy is one of the best choices.
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K’RYSSMA OMBRE GRAY LACE FRONT WIGS       K’ryssma ombre gray lace front wig is one of the wigs that make any day a happy day! This ombre gray wig makes you fall in love with its color. It begins as a black color emerging from the roots and goes lighter gradually to dark gray and then to a lighter gray making it the absolute amazing it can be. The wig has a mix of ash grey and a blonde background to make it look more natural. This gorgeous wig has silky hair with natural-looking waves. This lace front wig classifies as a long wig having a length of 22 inches. The wig has a density of 130% which makes the wig seem fuller and avoids any wefts showing. You can slay a chic look anytime with this ombre gray lace front wig.
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TIMELESS BEAUTY BY GABOR The name, timeless beauty defines this wig in perfect words, undoubtedly. This wig has a synthetic hair front lace wig and a monofilament part which gives it the most realistic look combined. The monofilament particularly allows styling the hair in many possible ways. The timeless beauty lace front wig is a machine tied wig along with a machine-made webbed cap that makes it more breathable. The wig is a left-side parted classical bob cut. It is more of a middle length bob cut that falls below your jawline and has a few layers at the front. This wig looks beautiful on women of every age as it gives quite a subtle look and suits almost all face shapes. It doesn’t need lots of plucking or hairspray to make it look real as the wig itself seems quite natural. Another factor that makes it stand out is its affordability. Out of the many colors available, ladies are in love with the blonde shades of this wig that make them look timelessly beautiful indeed!
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OUTRÉ L PART LACE FRONT WIG Outré L part lace front wig can be an excellent choice as it is an invisible part wig. Some of you might not know about the L part wigs. L part wigs form an L molded opening with structures your part and hair is used to hide them, thus also called invisible part wig. These wigs come in different lengths and textures ranging from curly/ afro curly and long to straight and sleek, shoulder-length, bob cut wigs. It comes with three clips to attach it. Two at the front and one at the back to help it hold and stay better. The hair has a very nice texture and feels light on the head. The wig is tangle-free and breaks off less which makes it good for longevity. Outré L part lace front wigs are also an affordable choice.
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JYL HAIR 360 LACE FRONT WIG JYL hair 360 lace front wigs are human hair lace front wigs. They have a 360 lace front over the wig which means that the lace is not present in only the front part of the wig rather all around the wig. The best part about JYL hair 360 lace fronts is the pre-plucked hairline and pre-bleached knots. The wig has an amazing heavy density of 150% with baby hair. This is also glued less wig that comes with combs on the inside of the wig; 2 presents around the ear tabs and 2 at the backs. Another feature of JYL 360 wig is the stretchable tab making it easy to adjust. The 360 lace aids to provide a very realistic look. These lace frontals are present in various sizes from 10” to 22”.
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Lace frontals have been popular among the wig lovers since the beginning. The lace front allows the look of a natural hairline thus preferred over other kinds of wigs. Different types of wigs available in the wig market have been discussed in detail which grants you the freedom of choice to select the lace front wig of your choice. Find the wig that suits you the most and slay all day!
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beauty-by-tyy · 2 years ago
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youtube
Gorgeous Ginger 4C Afro (ft. Maforsoon Natural Wig) Unboxing & Review
This is a wig unboxing and review. The unit is a Ginger Kinky Natural Fro that I received from the Maforsoon Store of Amazon.
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In this video I will be unboxing and reviewing this unit.
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Brand: Maforsoon Store of Amazon
Material: Synthetic 70s Afro Wig
Texture: Curly
Hair Color: 30/33
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Sinful Colors Nail Polish Shade: Gogo Girl
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Sally Hansen Salon Miracle Gel Top Coat
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Beauty 360 Resurface Base Coat
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amuelle · 6 years ago
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Me and me....
Every time they meet it’s always in the same quite place. She waits for what feels like forever getting more nervous as time passes. Shy, timid and lacking the confidence to speak up. She would never complain about being made to wait. In a room full of nothing you could miss her because she is so meek. She keeps to herself demanding nothing from the world because she would rather observe, take notes about what not to do and the fun she doesn’t need to have. Her eyes are full of secrets and her energy is warm and comforting. A rarity, a diamond in a world full of cubic zirconia. Precious, delicate and a little jaded by the world. She possesses a special type of love reserved for those who take the time to get past the intricate layers of personality. A little crazy with a bad temper she is a puzzle to herself. This is Amo
Her date arrives….
She enters the room long after you have smelt her spicy rich scent wafting through the air and wondered where it came from. As if a spot light follows her and demands your attention she ARRIVES. Everything about her oozes confidence, self-assurance and glamour. Walking the fine line between being full of herself and knowing her worth she is also a diamond. An obnoxiously big, shiny diamond that refuses to the let the world jade her. Also a true rarity, from her perfectly manicured nails, to the immaculately twisted out afro. When she arrives she is everything you would imagine her to be but better because she is in person. Her eyes are nice, nasty and captivating all at once…This is Ms Elle
The dark chocolate skinned beauties sit across from each other, the perfect dichotomy of a woman.
Ms Elle: My God, you are a stunning beauty! I forget just how incredible you are. Give us a kiss!
She leans across the table grabs Amo by the chin and plants an affectionate kiss on her lips.
Ms Elle: I know you were waiting for me, thank you. I’m sorry you had to wait but you let him in the door and he took me from you.
Amo: I’ve missed you…
Ms Elle: I’ve missed you more…We shouldn’t have allowed it but it’s happened and we can’t use it as an excuse not to live life. We need to go on an adventure….
Amo: What if he comes back?
Ms Elle: He isn’t coming back
Amo: But what if?....
Ms Elle: But NOTHING! WE are back together. No one will ever hurt you again. I’m never going to leave you again.
I was going through a break up when I realised I had two fully formed grown women living in my head. Ms Elle resembled a fabulous villain from an 80s tv soapie. A well put together dame, who spoke her mind and let nothing dim her light. Amo on the other hand was more like Ms Ceile in the first half of The Colour Purple, unsure of everything. Unsure of her place in the world, her purpose, her passion and her path. Scared to venture out beyond what she knew and always critical of herself. Exact opposites but together, they made a whole Me.
I had let Amo be in control for too long and as the grief of losing a lover started to subside Ms Elle decided behaving like an invalid was unbecoming and it was time to take charge again or at least put up a fight. The sadness Amo had been going through had been overwhelming. She had suffered a devastating blow to her confidence that Ms Elle disappeared and she was left to fend for herself, she had done a terrible job but she had managed to rid herself of him and for that she had to be revered. He was gone now, Amo and Elle were back to be formidable.
Ms Elle: First, let’s stop wearing our hair in four plats like it’s attractive. It’s not!
Amo: It’s comfortable!
Ms Elle gave a hearty laugh and tilted her head back and wiped a tear from her eye.
Ms Elle: All the phenomenal things we have managed to amass didn’t come because we were comfortable. Do you remember…?
Amo: I can’t forget.
Ms Elle: Then don’t be ungrateful and act like you almost didn’t die a few times!
Amo: But I loved him….
Ms Elle: Oh no darling! You were drunk off affection and attention. It felt like love but once it started to devastate the bottom line we both knew he wasn’t the one.
Amo: Then why did you leave me?
Ms Elle: I needed to know for sure I wasn’t making us act off past hurts. I needed to give us a chance in the real world without my hardened heart getting in the way.
Amo: I needed you…
Ms Elle: You always had me. You choose him over me for a spell and looked how it worked out for you?
Amo: This is not an I told you so moment!
Ms Elle: Absolutely not! It’s a moment of affirmation, you knew better but you didn’t choose to act like you did.
Amo: It was better than being single…
Ms Elle: Nothing is better than having all of you to yourself. For a last born you have a very difficult time being selfish.
Amo: I’ve always had someone to share things with, I thought he would add to that.
Ms Elle: He said you were fat and belittled you! NONE of the people who love you have ever used the F word. Furthermore darling, you are going to have to put all the jewels you took out of our crown back in their rightful place! We are back in the business of matching the inside with the outside.
Amo: What does that even mean?
Ms Elle: That we have reached our quota of sadness for the YEAR! External affirmations mean nothing when you pay all your own bills and are worth six figures upon death!
Amo: What?!
Ms Elle: Don’t WHAT me bitch! You are putting on your wig, some good panties and going back to basics!!
Amo: Basics???
Ms Elle: Yes Amohelang! You are going back to your best. Our default is being GREAT! I realise that it might not be an instant transition, but guess what?!! You are mine to love and because the universe has willed it so the first thing we are going to do is remember who we are!
Amo: I’m not ready!!!
Ms Elle: When we watch the highlight reel of our life we can agree on that but today its wig and slayage. You have a date with some incredibly phenomenal women who have seen you at your worst and stuck around. We are totally wearing a bra and lashes. DAAARLING we are heading out!
With that Ms Elle got up and grabbed Amo by the hand and stood her up. She planted another affectionate kiss on her cheek looked her dead in the eye and pulled her towards destiny and they walked into the darkness of my mind.
I was having this internal dialogue as I was getting ready to meet friends for lunch at one of the really nice restaurants in Sandton where I had never been…after almost a year of living in Joburg I had never had adventures outside a 15 kilometre radius of where I actually stay. It all started with me looking at my wig wondering if I wanted to wear it or not. If I really wanted to go to lunch with my friends  (they would understand if I flaked) and if I really really wanted to wear heels and I heard a voice inside ask me “Who are you??? Who have you become…..Bad bitches aren’t FRUMPY!!!!!”
After this, Ms Elle went to meet Amo in the quiet recesses of my mind to make peace and the rest is fabulous, over accessorized, dressed to the gawds wearing four inch heels with a fantastic face beat history!
Your first, last and best love should be self-love. You are a blessing to the world, make sure you act like you know that. I forgot that for a little bit, but never again!!!
PS. Ms Elle is now the dominant in this relationship. Today is my birthday and because I've remembered who I am, I'm having a great fucking time!
Bisou…bisou  
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