Violet Summer Zine Issue 1 by Violet Summer®️ Zine

Violet Summer

Issue 1

Violet Summer Issue #1 a zine about style and maintaining relationships

1. Watering Plants 2. 31 Day Detox 3. On Accessories 4. Tindering In London 5. Black Girls Tan, Too 6. Interlude to June

I’m trying to figure out a good weekday schedule to water my Tulip. It hasn’t grown yet. That’s the hardest part - trying to make something that doesn’t exist beautiful. It’s frustrating to experience so many plants die before your own hands. Not everyone has a green thumb. At my first job, I was charged with watering the flowers in the lobby. There were so many pots that I had inherited that weren’t stated anywhere in my job description. I couldn’t keep up with these potted plant schedules, let alone my own. As time progressed at this company, I became weary of my place at this establishment and where I was going in life. In Yoga, I dedicated my practice to becoming aware of complacency and how to maneuver with that notion throughout life. To be efficacious in one’s practice means taking steady breaths on the street and the mat. Each day, I’d walk in the office and the plants looked at me sadly. I’d glance back with the same sentiments. There wasn’t anything appealing about them, sitting on the window ledge, hanging out on coffee tables. Everyone who entered the office had something to say about these sad looking plants, and what I should be doing to them. But who really cared about these potted plants anyways? They were supposed to survive indoors, and I was convinced my once-a-week watering schedule would suffice. Consequently, their leaves started drying out, and on days I was absent playing hooky for facials, they died

a little bit more. And so did my empathy for my job. I tried to bring them back to life! Nurtured them with jugs of water, but nothing peaked! Day by day, I’d be surrounded by dying plants, and so too, my ambition, was dying within this place as well. It wasn’t until those last days in that office when I trashed the last potted plant. Like my own track record, it too was trash. Slowly, I started throwing away stuff around my office until nothing was left and I didn’t even receive farewell flowers from my colleagues on my final day at that company. Our first jobs, first loves, first apartments, first interactions are just an afterthought as we wander through life like a broken compass. Trying to make nothing out of something is like watering plants. Through this so-called journey of our twenty-somethings, a lot of silly things happen. Frustration is inevitable. It’s when wishes do not align with the most current and recognizable reality. Then comes anger, and emotions. But really, what is anger? Pull it apart. Think about it a lot and you may just become angry again. But, does it not feel the same way asfrustration? Because that is precisely why when we don’t get our way, we become angry and frustrated, and irrational. Like a friend of mine said, even if we owe thousands of dollars to said bill collector, are you not going to eat?And are they not going to take these twenty dollars from your last fifty?

Perhaps we are raising the bar too high with social media, materialistic items, things that appear to be pretty, which automatically help define what success looks like. We become too serious with carving out our own brick roads. It wasn’t until I noticed my ‘seriousness’ when a friend said he was collecting the business cards I gave him every time we would hang out. It wasn’t that I was always switching jobs, or had some important title though. It was the fact that I had new business cards with unknown titles, a piece of card to make pretty, another item to ogle over in my purse, a game of show and tell, a conversation starter, really just trash on my bedroom floor. Its things like these that are becoming obsolete in a world full of items and eternal digital presence. Accumulation used to mean longevity. Now with minimalism becoming more attractive, the invasion of microchips and apps, a telephone book is no longer a vital entity for your phone stand - which is also irrelevant. So as we-you-I contemplate the arduous task of the infamous next move, when the seasons have changed, it’s only natural to figure out what to do next that will cohesively align with your passions - or whatever makes you fucking happy. Until that becomes the norm, I still have to figure out a plant schedule for the overpriced tulips I bought at Whole Foods. To try really hard to take all the natural elements and make something beautiful grow.

It’s Day 31 of my detox and I’m feeling like I haven’t missed much with drinking wine or champagne, nor do I think I deserve to have a drink just yet. I mean, shouldn’t that type of indulgence be reserved for a special occasion? Are we over-indulging, rewarding ourselves so often that we’re not actually challenging our abilities of how we manage pleasure or a stressful day? There’s the option of going to the gym at 6 a.m. All successful people get up super early, or so I’ve heard. But let’s face it; drinking is considered a sport in some cultures. If they say: do something that scares you once a day, then we should proceed with a little more strategy. In truth, the detox may have influenced another way to look at plant-based dieting. Richroll.com’s podcasts are a great indulgence on vegan lifestyles.Where does the willpower to give up so many delicious things for a purer lifestyle come from? Whenever the plant-based lifestyle is evangelized by West coast entrepreneurs on platforms like iTunes, they don’t even live in a metropolitan city, it’s always backed by disease data; it’s never in person with a rawfood tasting event to make a truly persuasive argument. These trends are often published in journals and recapped in specialty polls. For example, on how Americans are 80 percent more likely to die from diabetes and that eating processed food definitely won’t cause weight loss. The rate of illnesses brought on by eating unhealthy food is alarming. But this 7

is hardly new: fast food and fast fashion is apparently all bad for society. So it seems like the solution would be to adopt a fruit and vegetable-based diet, case and point. But I don’t think I can handle food restrictions. Try to detox on cheese… That’s a challenge too! If you suddenly can’t eat anything in a typical dinner because you’ve decided to become plant-based, then you’re going to have to change your entire approach. And that is precisely where people who believe in these lifestyles fall short with including in a worldly new idea. On the other side of the spectrum, there are people like YouTube beauty - come - vegan bloggers who think that there are negative connotations in the idea of how eating healthy means you’re missing out on the good stuff. It’s like this scary phenomenon the general public is passing on entirely because Whole Foods is too expensive and contains too many unidentifiable brands that are not on TV. Although there are a lot of foods in an organic supermarket that look appetizing, try eating a plate of steamed kale for dinner. Here’s the thing - ultimately, these totally spacey third wave lifestyles are trying to suppress being destructive. Indulging in cheetos and Hoagies for lunch because that’s what it takes for you to make it through the day, eating dollar fries with french dressing, with extra sauce and a refill of Coke Zero to wash it down, because that’s what feels good. So if being destructive is somewhat appealing, then you can also ascribe to the notion that (sometimes) being destructive is embracing the vices. That’s why detoxing (for me) meant looking forward and distinguishing between the good stuff and the cheap, and the tasteless stuff. It’s about Eating lots of pastries and licking my fingers because, yea, it’s that good. Reaffirming my taste palette, yet telling my happy butt to chill out on the unlimited brunch mimosas and happy hours that turn into proper bar nights with ridiculous tabs. 8

Smoothie Recipe

1/2 c almond milk 1/2 c strawberries (fresh or frozen from a bag) 1/2 c canned or fresh pineapples 1 banana 1 spoon full of peanut butter 1 c of crushed ice

I don’t remember wearing my first piece of jewelry, but I do remember distinguishing between gold and silver, fake and real, meaningful and decorative. At age 10, my beaded bobby pin business was looking great at five dollars per pin, but the labor and skill it took to create each pin was arduous and I couldn’t commit to a specific design style. However, making things for myself and for my hair even at a young age was rewarding. In grade school, I’d wear a combination of silver and gold bangles and cuffs that I was gifted for birthdays and holidays. The idea of owning a jewelry box fell into a childhood fantasy category I was happy to fulfill, but it wasn’t until my teen years that I delved into the many roles of how wearing jewelry transpires in one’s life. In college, when I studied abroad in Spain, I remember buying a silver wired ring with a huge crystal gem that was too heavy for my fingers. It was my first day in Galicia and the idea of buying anything from an outdoor festival, on the steps of an 800 year old church was romantic and it was more than motive to shop for precious metals. I ended up spending thirty-five euros on a ring that didn’t make it out of Europe with me, but I felt like a gypsy while I was wearing it. By the end of my eighth week residency in Santiago de Compostela, I decided to buy another piece of jewelry from some a Middle-Eastern store that was sort of hidden in a dark passageway of an outside mall. A gold-plated woven choker necklace caught my eye because of its unique hand-woven quality with gold-plated square beads clasped tightly together. I wore that necklace almost every single day for months when I was attending Hofstra on Long Island; and then one weekend, I remember being home in Philly and not having the necklace on anymore. It disappeared, just like my purple and Indian gold inspired harem pants, along with other missing, priceless souvenirs. During college and throughout my teenage years, wearing jewelry meant fulfilling a need to remember the places I’ve travelled to in addition to the memories of birthday milestones, as well as accessorizing my newfound style influenced by Spanish culture. However, it was years later that I would come to realize how I connect jewelry with milestones in my life. 10

My trip to San Francisco last winter was when I finally purchased the Miansai cuff that I first discovered as a brand at a Brooklyn flea market. My obsession with skulls lead me to purchase a set of skull earrings from a consignment Shoppe in Bridgehampton, Long Island, not to mention my super rad onyx -talon earrings that I snagged on sale from All Saints on New Year’s day 2012, and then my BCBG Max Azria silver-plated ring which I’m sure I lost at some pool party on the peninsula of Rye, New York - all of which have since disappeared. Items that were lost, but never to be forgotten. Jewelry presents a whole other dimension of personal style. It spices up a dual outfit, brings to life a basic dress, adds a little extra intrigue to a person, gives meaning to a status, and marks many life milestones. Wearing jewelry has been ingrained basically in all cultures as not only a symbol of beauty and adornment, but of social status and class. Accessories are what give the person a layer of armor, a unique personality, a diamond in the rough. Wearing jewelry is empowering, and it calls to attention a level of self-awareness and projects to the world an attitude that means: Yes, I take myself very seriously, thank you very much. People struggling with depression could wear jewelry as a cure for feeling unimportant. Before there was anything like a Tiffany’s or a Van Cleef, there were gold crowns in 3000 BC Egypt, maharaja crowns for the Indian royals, Italian pendants from Tuscany, Queen Victoria’s lavish garnet necklaces, Coco Chanel’s pearls and her bold introduction to cocktail jewels, not to mention old Hollywood diamonds acquired from centuries of European influences. Jewels are an automatic indicator of what you’re about, and what type of things you like. There are many choices available for adorning your earlobes, collarbones,wrists, ankles and basically your body in general. It’s so easy to pick jewelry with so many choices. Personally, something with a little bit of weight is better because you can feel it. Or maybe jewelry is something that only becomes important when getting engaged, because now all of the sudden you’re wearing a gem every day, and it feels weird to be wearing a diamond or emerald or blue sapphire. But it’s nice to wear a ring that sparkles, and that may be so huge that you get finger cramps and can’t really type, text, or pick up the phone because it’s soo heavy. Yes, that’s what it’s about; in that case of wearing something that’s supposed to signify love. It’s the sparkle we all want. 11

Somehow I was inherited a ring with sparkly gems. I wore it on my wedding ring finger for a few months, because that was the only finger it felt good on and I like wearing real diamonds. It’s a gold band with four stones. I would wear it often because it matched my other gold jewelry and it was subtle enough for me to feel casually fancy. One day, I was at an editor’s dinner and one fashion editor and I were talking about dating and she asked me why a diamond ring was on my ring finger and I had no plans of marriage at that time. There was no real answer to give her except that it was a ring I felt good about wearing very often. Deep down, I knew it really didn’t belong on my ring finger and I may be scaring off the “man of my dreams” but I could care less about that, it was more about style. So, the fashion editor proposed I stop wearing it to see if I get a different response from potential suitors. I took her up on her offer, and I gave the ring a rest for a few weeks but I had limited findings and my finger felt bare. No one to note has volunteered to buy me one of those blue diamonds at Cartier, so I’m over that experiment. I’m over that societal restriction. I’m just over following the rules. What I did find within the promise ring experiment was that a lot of women are on different ends of the spectrum when it comes to wearing valuable jewelry and really cheap jewelry, and it does not necessarily correlate with the clothing that they may wear daily or a current relationships status. Young women who opt to wear valuable and more meaningful jewelry are more inclined to wear a ring on any finger because a cute ring is a cute ring. There was an experience in fourth grade where my newly engaged public school teacher let me try on her 3-karat diamond ring and it was there when I realized how a platinum wedding ring would looked like on my hand and I liked it. I made a mental note for the birth of the platinum wedding ring trend and what I wanted to strive for as I got older and more strategic with accessories and boys. Today, from observing a few of my friends suddenly becoming asphyxiated with rings from their newfound marital engagements, I realized that there’s a divide in how stylish women categorized jewelry as an adult thing and how some women perceive it as a necessity. In many ways, wearing jewelry should make you feel just as connected to your emotions and overall well-being than wearing a power suit. It’s been proven that wearing jewelry is 12

linked to a human’s overall emotional behavior and I’d like to apply that fact every time I buy a piece of jewelry that’s too expensive for my own good or when I long for a necklace at an online Christie’s auction, or when I reach a milestone and I want to celebrate with buying some cool new pieces of jewelry. But that all goes to waste when I wake up and realize my precious ring or whatever is suddenly missing.

In fact, I’ve been toying with these situations when I observe how different groups in society deal with jewelry. It’s often when I’m in transit, on a train or at an airport. I wore a 81 carat sapphire-encrusted green amethyst necklace for a whole week, and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced so much power from one chunky necklace. From dogwalking on a random Wednesday in Central Park with this fairly heavy presence on my chest, to wearing this subtle chunky necklace to bed, I felt like Princess Diana. It took over me, I didn’t know what I was missing out on in regards to people who love accessorizing with foreign gems and other exotic stones that are complete ancestors of the ocean, and let me just come out and say it, are valued at thousands of dollars, people who live like this have been trill. It cultivates a self-awareness that lets you know that you’re the shit, you care about yourself, and it allows you to reaffirm your actions because you’ve already put yourself on this pedestal, so your need to constantly remind yourself that yes, this is me, this is the image I want you to see because I care about myself is all shown clearly through jewelry... 13

Did you know sunglasses can help prevent wrinkles? Squinting your face from the sun rays can further contribute and increase wrinkles, so wear your favorite sunnies often. Keep a pair for the beach, for commuting to work and for traveling.

Melissa’s Summer Must-Haves The IT bag of the summer is the bucket bag you will carry every single day. A go-to bag that has all the space to store your makeup, wallet, books, loan checks and real checks, nail file, phone. A bag that goes with everything. single outfit.

One of my few rules is to travel with a swimsuit at all times. Summer is a time to be half-naked, and indulging in a little sun and water is always a good idea. You never know when a happy hour wil turn into a hot tub party (if you let it). I love surfing Instagram’s best vixen pages for the sexiest and most affordable bikinis. Search hashtag “MintSwim.”

Everyone keeps talking about the importance of sunscreen, so itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s always nice to have some nearby at all times. The type of moisterizer that doubles as your face cream, body lotion, primer, etc. Whether itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Astral, La Priaire, Glossier or Clinique, keep your skin hydrated at all times!

For girls on the go, boots are the perfect footwear. Sandals can be flimsy, attract dirt and break when you need your shoes the most. Boots are great for maintaining your personal style through the seasons. I love to wear Chelsea boots with chiffon, cotton and silk dresses. My favorite boots are the Selina boots from MONKI in the UK. Every smart girl has a bright and colorful pair of strappy heels to wear with anything and everything. Wear these must-haves with cutoffs, floral dresses, and skirts. For date night or in the boardroom, they are the perfect heels for any occasion.

A simple red lip can glamourize any dual outfit or face! I love Revlon or YSL lipsticks in red for long wearing color.

It happened when I missed my flight back to New York. I missed Fashion Week, I missed the first book launch party, I was running out of pounds to spend, and definitely out of vacation days. I was hungover from partying too hard, and sick from driving on the left side of the road. Still, when abroad, seize the moment. So, I downloaded the notorious dating app for the third time, updated my profile picture, and updated my profile bio that I was in London and looking to play. When my thumb was tired from swiping frantically on my phone screen, I matched with several lucky fellows - one was adamant in inviting me to his hotel near Kings Cross tube station to partake in the 24-hour spa facilities his hotel offered, but I was no fool for that game, and I declined very graciously. In addition to that rediculousness, between conversations with lonely travellers, I was also matched with a basic (by profile) British guy. We appeared to be hitting it off well on the messaging app, so we decided to meet at the Clapham North Pub for a drink. He came to pick me up in his douchey car. It was an all-black BMW coup, with chrome rims, and batman-style doors. As I came prancing out the front doors of my friend’s apartment building, dressed in a Helmut Lang asymmetrical skirt, sheer black silk tank top paired with my new Zara Mary Jane platform heels, British guy was leaning seductively against his ride, and I instantly sensed that my night wouldn’t be dull. He greeted me with a kiss on my cheek, took my hand to help me in (on the left side) of his car (which sat super-low to the ground), and we were off for a date night that felt like it lasted for hours in my hungover state of mind. During the car ride, obvious small talk ensued, as I wondered what exactly I was getting myself into on a night I was supposed to be hungover from an epic house party where a guy was serving a whiskey concoction from a huge pot and a soup spoon, when I was already supposed to be back in New York, when hours prior I sat alone perched on a wall overlooking the Royal Palace, awaiting the Queen’s Gaurds on their adorned horses. Our first bar was filled with lots of laughter, and surprisingly minimal drinking. I must admit, it was a great night. After that evening, me and British guy didn’t waste any time getting to know each other in person because we literally didn’t have time to waste. (contin16

Second-Degree Catfished Second-degree catfished is when you meet somone in person for a brief moment of time, spend the majority of the first few weeks getting to know each other solely online, and then, when you two finally meet in person, again, they are nothing like what you expected. What happened to that passion in the bar, sitting next to each other in the airport, meeting for a second on the street, locking eyes, wanting to exchange contact information? Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s because too much time was spent in cyber space. Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been second-degree catfished! The person you fantasized about for weeks (maybe even months!) is nothing like you imagined when that digital wall comes crumbling down. All that texting, calling, facetiming, emailing, and writing through Soundcloud, but nothing trumps a few in-person hang out sessions. Feelings that only seemed to exist online and fall short with materializing something magical in person. Want more dating theories? Google: When Your Crush Texts You Back

After he came home with me, I lost my mind a little. I didn’t know his boxer physique would be my weak spot, and every time he kissed me I felt a subtle nibble. I thought he had the sharpest teeth I ever. My behavior lead me to the Overground where I rode the train all the way to Canary Wharf station, and with no cell service, I navigated my way to a foreign University’s reception area where my tall, dark, foreign lover was awaiting my arrival with a smile, but I secretly wanted more, even flowers would have sufficed. He showed me around his office and introduced me to his coworkers like I was his future American trophy girlfriend. We strolled through a local British carnival holding hands. He bought me chocolate. We took selfies on a park bench, and drank from a glass of white wine that we had gotten from the restaurant nearby, while we watched children play on random oversized lawn gnomes. I felt strangely happy, but still distant from what was going on - it may have been the accents, or my lack of sleep, because I still thought this new relationship was abnormally going well, even though we both knew where it could end. By my third extended night in London, we agreed to not meet; I bailed on going to a boxing gym in Shoreditch to see him practice. It was too much of a time constraint. I was tired. I was nervous. My Lululemons were dirty. The thought of hanging out at the gym with my foreign lover was too much and frankly I just didn’t fucking feel like it. I ended up going to a media dinner party, pre-London Fashion Week in Chelsea. Even in London, work18

release and thrill. I mingled with colleagues across the pond but it didn’t help that British guy kept texting me plans to meet, still hopeful that he would see me again. But, in the end, I decided to have dinner with my bestfriend on the patio, with the full moon lighting up our dinner plates. It all sort of felt like a dream, and a dream is a fantasy and I needed some space because I was on vacation. But the morning of my afternoon departure, I wanted him. I texted this and he came to me right away. When I opened the door in a silk negligée, he picked me up and brought me over the couch, kissing me and telling how much he missed me, and how beautiful I was at 11’o Clock in the morning. He was my English tea. My legs wrapped around his halfclothed body felt dirty and satisfying at the same time. This time, it was better than I expected, and it took me a while to finish with him. On my way to Gatwick airport to catch my flight to New York (again), British guy suggested I come back to London for his boxing match in a few months. I nodded my head because I knew that’s what he wanted to see and hear. And because, yeah, it would be super cool to cheer him on in one of those Herve Leger dresses, with full-on contour makeup and fresh as fuck rich girl hair. But after I got back to my CityGirl-On-The-Go time, my schedule started to fill up with engagements. I went on a few dates with what’s his name. And given the drastic time difference, those text messages on Whatsapp suddenly became super boring; perhaps we both should have made it a point to FaceTime. Still I found it in myself to respond to his “You alright” texts, with “Hey babe, I’m just waking up and getting breakfast” type of messages that were completely platonic to me. Still, when work was overwhelming and needed a distraction, I answered British guy’s texts. A few weeks of menial text messages led me to ignore British guy entirely. I knew he felt used and under-appreciated, and I secretly liked it for all the times I felt the same way from previous relationships that I experienced. Our pseudo-relationship was deteriorating, and British guy was emotionally not okay with it. An update on my iPhone, which had erased my WhatsApp, gave meaning to when I knew I had to end it. I was crazy for starting it in the first place. It was our only form of communication anyways. A few days after that, 19

British guy hit me up on Instagram, which was the only other form of communication we had at that point. He wanted to know where I was and if everything was okay. “I miss you.” he confessed. But what did he really miss? After a limited number of hours together, did this guy really think we had something that could last? Vacation was behind me and so was the relationship. A connection that started on Tinder had no weight on my life anymore. If a guy wants to see you, he will arrange to see you. End of story. It wasn’t like he was going to book my ticket to London for the weekend. And did I really have to ask that of him, that would be super unfair! A connection that started on Tinder had no weight on my life anymore. For the third time, I deleted the dating application on my phone. I was angry I even gave this device so much power over my life, and it sucked. It harvested incomplete, goal-less and artificial interactions with people you probably shouldn’t even have met in the first place. I experienced the demise of what starting digital connections could do to you, even if there have been success stories - it’s about the anomaly versus the rule. Weeks later, around the same time British guy was about to compete in his boxing match, an Instagram push notification appeared on my phone. It was from him. I opened it and it was some sad face meme with the words,” Damn it’s Like That Tho.” British guy had won his boxing match and was looking for some type of recognition from me. But by that time, I was on to the next. When I realized what British Guy wanted and digested the feelings I was left with after experiencing him, I felt like I was back in Junior High, circa summer camp relationships. Winter was in full force, summer was completely over. I moved on to other ideas, fantasies, and more concrete plans. Could this be all of what vacation lovers are made of? Summer camp lovers, love technicalities who are distant, people from chapters in our lives where we are experimenting with what makes us happy secluded from the thing we ulti20

Tips for Tinder Swipe right for full bios Swipe left for “where’s waldo” pictures Swipe right & move conversations offline ASAP Swipe left for penis pics (unless you’re into that type of stuff) Swipe right for same age and career interests Swipe left for habits you don’t like (ex. silly hats, wrong drink in hand) Swipe right for selfies

Every summer, my whole family would spend a few weeks vacationing “down the shore”, jumping from house to house, playing boring miniature golf or going to the arcade on nights when we thought it might rain. The must-have items of the trip were always suntan lotion, sunscreen and mosquito repellent. “Nanny, where’s the tanning lotion?” I used to say on my way to the beach or pool. Sunblock and tanning lotion were interchangeable ideas in my mind. Tanning was inevitable to sun exposure during the long summer months of my youth. But these essentials were not enough to keep me from getting sunburned. My back- to-school conversations were always awkward and amusing to my fellow classmates who didn’t quite understand. What’s wrong with your face?” they would ask. “It’s because I tanned too much this summer,” was my response. My nose would start peeling, scaling. It would turn darkbrown, then red, then back to light brown, all in a few weeks; transforming like a bootleg chameleon. Further evidence could be seen through my eyeglasses’ tan lines, my face was a major beauty wreck, and there was no way I could hide it! Aside from being a brace face kid, I had to deal with this too. It was before I discovered magic weapons like Bobby Brown’s concealer stick in a gazillion shades or Tarte’s vegan CC cream. I would just have to deal with people staring at the random pieces of skin hanging from my nose. And, when I responded in defense, “It’s because I went tanning; I was in the sun too long.” I would get the funniest looks: because of my natural brown skin complexion and their lack of knowledge about black girls who tan. This winter’s polar vortex temperatures were a major skin-party foul for those of us who believe that our skin complexion and the sun gives us energy and brings happiness. The cold weather got so depressing, I desperately needed a pick-me-up. A past romantic interest suggested I go tanning because it would “make me feel better.” The idea was very tempting; who wouldn’t want to be bronzed during the coldest winter ever! When I mentioned it to a few people, they were definitely confused -- why would I need 24

Um, didn’t you know? Black girls tan, too. Here, I’d like to take a moment to shed light on the topic of skin cancer, as it is a topic that affects all different races. A recent study found that the 30 percent of white teen girls between the ages of 15-18 used indoor tanning devices. Moreover, melanoma skin cancer is the most common form of cancer among young adults, and one person will die from it every fifty-seven minutes. People who are genetically born with more melanin pigment are able to withstand the sun’s rays better, and their skin is stronger than that of light-skinned people, hence able to ward off cancerous diseases caused by too much sun exposure. These people typically have darker skin complexions. African-Americans, Indians, Latinos and some peoples from the southern regions of Asia all have a greater ability to resist the damaging powers of the sun, (i.e., more melanin), resulting in their being less likely to burn from the sun’s rays. Although the risks for blacks and Latinos is relatively low (.01 percent chance of developing skin cancer), there is still the possibility. Moreover, meteorologists are warning that this summer’s UV rays are expected to rise due to notable changes in the ozone layer. So, the daily use of sunscreen for any skin type is obligatory. So this summer, I’ve made it my personal goal to achieve brown lines. Laying-out as my skin glistens red in the sunset, feeling the warmth of the sun while contemplating what I’m going to wear or what makeup look to experiment with my new shade. I’ve been meaning to write something like this for a while, to put to rest any stereotypes that exist about skin and black girls who can get dark (er). And, I’m utterly tired of the both false and ignorant stereotypes about different races, specifically black girls. Furthermore, I’d like to stand up for all black girls and be a model representative of how beauty is universal. Because, yes, black girls get dark too. Skin changes, melanin is a cell that increases as the sun’s rays hit it! It’s a natural effect and darker skin just has more of it! But on the flip side of this cultural lesson, there are some black girls who prefer not to get dark. I am aware of the self-consciousness that comes with being a dark skinned girl, and I don’t want to ignore how being dark skinned has many complexities. Consequently, there are many types of ideologies related to beauty and skin that I really 25

don’t exist in our society, but they absolutely do. However, I hope that that some of these stereotypes carried through with the diaspora of black culture and even used as a way to distinguish blacks in the U.S., are becoming less important as we progress with time. Furthermore, I’m not ignoring the fact that there are a bunch of blacks who prefer not to tan, I’m just highlighting how there are some black girls who opt out of the nuances related to skin and who really enjoy their nature complexion with a little extra help from the sun. In fact, growing up I was more self-conscious about my acne than my skin color. My mom (who’s super lightskinned, if that makes a difference) use to tell me to “shut up and get a tan,” because the acne scars on my face would “blend in with my complexion.” I later learned that this was a laughably bad idea, although I hope you understand the point I’m trying to make. I grew up as a fifth generation American; and my mom or family didn’t have to tell me every day that I was pretty to enhance my self-esteem. To say that blacks can’t get dark because we’re already dark is to say there are no shades of sanguine. And for the black girls who think this is total bullshit, can you explain your obsession with Instagram filters? *This article has appeared in the Hufington Post.

As I write, winter is shedding its cold, dark, grungy skin. Everything is melting, it’s brightening up, and people are starting to ten times look better, but the winter months have been so long and hard. It was to the point where everything I did was damaging, mentally overwhelming to fight the urges that come with dealing with struggling in abnormally cold temperatures. And it’s been a struggle to deal with winter. I’ve been on a mission running from things I didn’t want any trace of, walking down long dark avenues, waiting in lines that weren’t going to equate to anything, waking up to catch early flights, beating the sun to its destiny, taking long car rides to escape it, and still having to listen to bad advice. Yet, there was a silver lining that always kept me going during my fifteenth takeoff, when I held my breath to avoid popping my ear drums, when the flight attendant told me to buckle up, when I just wanted black tea. It hit me when I woke the fuck up. 26

When winter loved the darkness so much that it always brought out strange characters, when failure and rejection lived at my doorstep, when stepping on poop was inevitable and when paranoia hung out at the local playground, that’s when I needed you the most. Countless of words that were sent via texts, emails that you haven’t replied to, forgetful words that could have been arbitrary or destiny - those words, my words, were lost in mounds of snow, so I patiently waited for the sun to melt away my heartache. That’s when I thought it was real, but I looked into those eyes and saw nothing. Even after the Dean & Deluca tastings. Even when I ate macaroons on my way to Philly, I secretly didn’t want to save any, I lingered in town for a bit until it was time to venture back to the suburbs. They were the longest train rides ever, from one shithole to the next. Graffiti-clad walls upon walls, reading like chaos in a spray can. I said you did not know me, but that was when no one could hear me. It was too goddamn loud. It was a bad judgement call. It was that moment you realized you screwed up, said the wrong thing, trying to backtrack, but it already happened and it’s too late. I’ve been sweating horribly, spending my money like crazy, but it wasn’t my fault. It was when I thought I was a rich girl, though now I realized, I’m just a poor little rich girl, with intriguing experiences & alluring features and thrilling stories. So, I sat my bare ass down on that toilet, then you asked to watch, when I ended up on canvas, when paint splattered, do you think I’m wrong for going? I ended it before it was anything to see. It wasn’t the worst conversation in the worst scenario; it was the thrill that mattered most. On top of that, I was shivering, it was too cold, there was no heat, and again, I just wanted winter to be over. For once, I didn’t stay for the memory on the carbon copy, the thought was enough to slowly back away. It was 5 a.m, and nothing appeared real. There was too much going on; smoke filled the back room as music calmly blared from behind us. We should have left hours ago. But of course, I never wanted to leave, we were having too much fun, we were being creative, there was no need to ruin the vibe. Still, it was cold, there was a draft by the window. The subway was too far off a walk. Perhaps you could have called an Uber, or I could have stayed over. I still hailed a cab uptown, still missed my flight, I still had my Uber drive me back to Lombard, and I’m still wondering what the 27

pened and about all the missed opportunities. I’ve made so many excuses. And yet, we’ve already shouted bad things at each other. Don’t you get it now? That was that time when I thought it was real. But I looked into your eyes and saw nothing. It was snowing, again. I had on my favorite boots, but my soul had already been overworked, as my feet lingered from destination to destination, from bus stop, to stopping ground from boarding zone, to custom counter. I had on my fur; I only had a t-shirt on and still felt fancy. I drunkenly gave away my red lipstick - she really needed it. I gave all of my beauty products away drunk. I’ve given away promises, I’ve broken bonds, I’ve ruined friendships, I’ve stayed away from relationships, I loved through a Marxist lens. That was when I realized who really had the upper hand. Seeing the other side, I knew I could achieve anything when the snow started melting, when the days got longer, and when the wind felt better on my skin. I could feel my feet in my Chelsea boots, and the heat of the sun finally shining through my window. I didn’t need an aid, and I didn’t feel like I was in a French sitcom. It was going to be okay. Welcome, summer.

About the Writer:

Melissa Henderson is an international lifestyle writer living in New York City. Her work often appears online and in print magazines, books, newspapers, zines, and films. Share Violet Summer: Use hashtags #FileThisUnderWhatever #VioletSummerZine #VioletSummer2015 #NotTheWorstConversation