Okay, dear readers. It’s Wednesday. Hump day. And if you’re on the East Coast it is BRICK outside and you, like me, are happy to be out of the cold. Let’s snuggle up together and have some fun.
It’s time for the first http://www.aliyasking.wordpress.com CONTEST!!
This was this issue in which my first Vibe story appeared. And it definitely wasn't this TLC cover story!
There’s always been something about VIBE.
If you’re an old head like me, you remember the first time you saw a copy. (I was at my boyfriend’s sister’s house. It was the issue with En Vogue on the cover, with a pregnant Cindy Herron showing off her belly).
It’s hard to understand what it was like to see a magazine like Vibe in the early ‘90s. In high school, I flipped through the occasional issue of The Source, thumbed through my mother’s copies of Essence and looked at the pictures in Ebony and Jet. But nothing was really written for me: a girl who lived for New Jack Swing and R&B.
When I saw En Vogue on the cover of this beautiful, oversized magazine, I couldn’t understand it. I kept turning it over, thinking it was a promotional poster. I turned the pages very carefully, afraid of creasing the pages. My mouth was gaping. There was a magazine with young Black people in it? With first class photography and glossy pages?
I just couldn’t fathom its existence. Seriously.
I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer but seeing a magazine like Vibe crystallized it. It gave me a place to fantasize about.
Fast-forward a few years and I was out of college and after teaching for a few years, I was working as an editorial assistant at Billboard magazine.
I subscribed to Vibe and poured over each issue every month. How on earth would I get a chance to write for this magazine? Was it possible? It honestly seemed like a pipe dream.
A Glamour Magazine-style "Don't" bar was used across this woman's eyes to shield her from embarassment.
Dear readers, let’s talk about the woman above. Based on what she’s wearing would you say that she is:
A. A stay-at-home mom on her way to drop her kids off at school.
B. On her way to the gym for a quick workout after work.
C. A fashion reject who thinks this is an appropriate outfit to wear outside of the house.
OR
D. A writer who doesn’t come into contact with other professionals on a daily basis and so puts together ridiculous costumes like this because she’s always dashing out of the house and doesn’t put enough thought into what she’s wearing because hey, who cares, I’m just going to sit in my office all alone all day and no one will see me but Alberto, who manages the building, and he doesn’t care if I look insane.
If you chose D, you’re wrong. It’s C.
My ex-boyfriend deleted me as a Facebook Friend.
And I’m bothered by it. Probably way more than I should be.
I don’t pay much attention to my Friend List. I have my Friends neatly compartmentalized. When I get a friend request, I don’t just confirm them. I put them in a neat list that helps me to reference them properly. It took me hours on a rainy Saturday night to get this together and I’m quite proud of my system:
I'm a bit obsessed about my Friend Lists. I like order.
See, isn’t that soothing to the eye? I love looking at my Lists, so orderly and neat.
Because of my system, I pretty much add anyone who asks. I’m using Facebook as a marketing and network tool, no sense in being picky about Friends. If you ask, I add. At least 99% of the time. I even have a special category for people I just don’t know at all. It’s called Who Is This?
And I’ve never deleted anyone. Ever.
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Aliya S. King 