Violet Summer Zine Issue 6

VIOLET SUMMER ZINE ISS. 6 1

© 2019 Violet Summer Zine, All Rights Reserved.

Published by: Mel Writes, LLC

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Melissa Henderson

Ashley Uzer

Melissa is a writer on a quest to make cool stuff. She loves telling stories, shopping, and working with other likeminded people. She is currently helping people run their business while starting her own. For selfcare, she goes to barre class three times a week, walks 10,000 steps a day and drinks lots of water. She wants people to stop saying they grew up in predominantly blah blah blah nieghborhoods because it diminishes one’s self worth. This summer she will be working and going to the beach. Meet her there.

Ashley is a writer, artist, and blogger with a focus on affordable fashion, plantbased food, travel, and lifestyle. She also sometimes get on her soapbox and talk about her soberish lifestyle or her obsession with gratitude journals.

Ashley has written for DC Magazine, Galore Media, Bustle, HelloGiggles, VICE, and more.

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Nicole Lockhart

Nicole Lockhart is a writer living in Harlem, NYC. Her first novel, “ Inadequate” was self-published in 2014.

She is also an accomplished filmmaker, her visual-poem “All My Black Sons” was an official selection of the Harlem International Film Festival. Her work focuses on the giving narrative voice to our greatest wishes and our deepest fears.

Her forthcoming title is a memoir, “Mrs. Putnam & Marcy” and will be published fall 2020.

Aramide A. Tinubu

Kendall Alexander

Nina Singh

Aramide A. Tinubu is a film critic and entertainment journalist. Her work has been published in EBONY, ESSENCE, Bustle, The Daily Mail, IndieWire and Blavity. She wrote her master’s thesis on Black Girlhood and Parental Loss in Contemporary Black American Cinema. She’s a cinephile, bookworm, blogger and NYU + Columbia University alum.

Kendall Alexander is not here to sugar coat the shit that happens to her in her day to day life. Kendall doesn’t have the time to make you feel comfortable, because she’s too busy trying to figure out how she can be comfortable in her own skin (society hasn’t really made it easy). Her blog “Let’s Get Into It” spits the truth about catastrophes that everyone goes through, but prefer to remain silent about it. So she’s here to save them from their catastrophes and to convince them to live in truth.

Nina’s career began nine years ago in NYC. Though her career began in fashion, upon moving to Los Angeles she moved into the beauty industry where her career propelled. Despite moving up the ladder quickly, Nina found that she was never fulfilled. On a quest to understand her dissatisfaction, she began her healing journey. While on this path, Nina uncovered many powerful tools that helped her break free from limiting beliefs, release childhood trauma and become a more confident

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Genail McKinley

Genail is passionate about health, wellness and sustainability while making it in New York City. Genail is a Certified

Fitness Instructor, based in New York City. and teaches

#GetFitwithGennymack

classes, which were founded in 2017. Additionally, Genail is learning to share with the world a whole food plant based diet to live a cleaner and more sustainable life.

When Genail is not teaching fitness classes and cooking wholesome meals, she is working as a full-time FS consultant.

Morgan Mosley

Raina Asid

My name is Morgan Mosley from Wilmington, Delaware.

I started photography my senior year in high school with shooting and developing black and white film. My favorite Photography technique is leading lines because it gives your audience more of a vivid capture from the eyes of the photographer.

My favorite photography to shoot is Street, Beauty, and Nature. I’m eager to see where it will take me in life.

Raina Asid is a graphic designer trying to make the world more aesthetically pleasing one image at a time. She is a consistent creator of some pretty dope illustrations. When is she not infront of her computer, she somewhere deep in The Golden Girls universe.

To see more of her work, follow her on instagram: @asidchronicles

Collaborators 6

Features Stay Ready

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Trading Freedom for $

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Deep Questions about Money

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Beware of Male Gold Diggers

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NYFW Drama

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Keynotes Ashley M. Fox

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Elaine Welteroth Interview

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Chyna Layne from She’s Gotta Have It

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Defacement: Basquiat’s Secret Painting

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For Love or a Manuscript

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Beauty Supply Store = Sustainable?

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Managing My $35k to $100K Salary

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Sanity Addiction: Part 4

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CREDITS

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the fashion flock Trend Alert:. Peacock, ostrich, flamigo, and other exotic textures are everywhere these days.

Curated picks from us to you. Click the photo to shop now!

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Doesn’t matter what happens to you, money is the only thing that can change your life real quick and give you the confidence to finally say, “screw you” for anyone who has ever felt stuck, lonely and defeated. Green makes the world go around. But good morals will keep you alive. melwritesnyc

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Stay Ready.

By: Melissa Henderson

My first job was when I was 14 years old and awarded the title of Junior Tennis Instructor for a summer program lead by Arthur Ashe & Youth Tennis and Education Center. It sounds really boujee but overall the job situation was hot and tiring. Basically, I every day reported to my neighborhood tennis court located 8 blocks away from my house, taught the local camp kids super basic tennis lessons, went to lunch a few blocks away at the Tennis Lead’s parent’s house, and then went to our own tennis lesson in the afternoon. Former tennis pros would come and coach us and some of them were super hot. I use to reference “tennis boyfriend theory” early on in my writing and so that’s where that whole thing came from. This wasn’t the ideal job I had in mind. Working at a mall was way cooler but I was too young so I had to settle for eating angel hair cake at some white girl’s house during our lunch break. She was normal but something about her home didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t get any racist vibes but something was definitely off. Drama ensued when one of the tennis pros thought he could talk to me any type of way. My sister and I put him in his place. There was a lot yelling and screaming one day on the court. I don’t remember for what, but someone’s racket broke. Then Tina stepped in. People who know whatsup, know that Tina does not play. She was what the woke feminists call an Alley. She wasn’t going to let some man talk to us any type of way. Besides we were kids! The tennis pro who was outta pocket ended up moving to a different tennis court across town. And that pretty much describes the many of the jobs I’ve had in my teens and now young adult years. I got laid off a few times, fired, and quit many, many jobs but through it all, I survived when I thought I would literally die from all the drama. When shit went down, of course, I felt ashamed. What would my friends think?

Philly is such a small town. People talk about the dumbest things. And being in this tennis league with all the best public, private and prep school urban kids was like a social group of its own. This experience taught me a lot about navigating these groups. First things first, keep your business to yourself. If it’s truly a secret, don’t tell even your best friend. Your secret isn’t safe. It took me a while to figure it out. But with age, you become immune to it.

Then maturity creeps in and those same actions we’ve grown up participating in become detrimental to our very existence. I’m the head of so and so. The reason why I had beef with that tennis pro is that he had a big ego that stepped in the way of my own. These people put on a big front until someone else 10

challenges them. I hate to call out social media, but here we are using titles as bate to garner followers. Instagram is no longer a place to have fun but a breeding ground for data collection and money. “Artist” “Fashion designer” “Creator” All 21-st century job titles that meant nothing in the 20s but now translate to sponsorships and ad dollars. I don’t want to be defined by any other job title than the one I’ve created for myself. That I own fully and that defines who I am. Over the years, friends, colleagues, relatives, have put me in a box. That’s “Melissa, she works at so and so.” or “Melissa is a writer for the …” While I liked the titles back then, I quickly realized they were temporary when I was laid off or fired. I didn’t want to be defined by such companies if I was so disposal. I had to believe that my dreams, who I wanted to be in the future, had more longevity than these fleeting titles. Every time, a PR girl or editor would hit me up about writing or whatever, they would reference and introduce me to their own people as “Melissa… from such and such.” Well, this started to get under my skin, I felt like my narrative was being written without me it. I was just a body. Then I started Violet Summer Zine and my outlook started to change. It wasn’t just a project. It was my company. An entity that was successful. It served as my chance to take back my own narrative to own what I did, to be proud of what I built and the opportunities I was creating for myself and others.

As we move into a world of self-examination, our careers shouldn’t be held on such a pedestal that we put it before our own families. We should push for more work-life balance. We should be proud of who we are as a person and not lean on a fleeting job to define moods. We should be empowered to find meaning outside of monetary gains. We should hope for the best even if they are jobless. Is being alive not enough anymore?

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Trading Freedom For $ By: Ashley Uzer

I Quit Being a Digital Nomad And Went Back to a 9-5, Here’s Why If you are part of the same corners of the internet that I am, having a 9-5 sounds like a death sentence. Working for “the man,” being stuck in the office for eight hours a day, having to request off and ration your vacation days so you can take that trip to Thailand that you’ve been lusting over via friends’ Instagram posts.

Of course, a lot of this rhetoric comes from people with motives — motivational speakers wanting you to attend their conference about “being your own boss,” or travel bloggers hoping you’ll purchase their course so that you, too, can be a “digital nomad.” But a lot of it just comes from other self-employed or freelance people—like me, tweeting about how great it is to be able to run my errands during the day when the stores are empty, or posting an Instagram photo from a new location every week.

But, just like I quit my staff writer job at a magazine in NYC to become a fulltime freelancer (or digital nomad, if you will)—I eventually quit my job as a digital nomad to go back to a 9-5, and I have no regrets. Here’s how it happened, and why.

You know how when you’re at a corporate job and in the same position for a while, you know it’s time for either a promotion or a move-up career wise? After doing the digital nomad thing for about a year and a half, I knew it was time to take the next step—I just didn’t know what that next step was. After lots of discussion and introspection, I narrowed it down to two general options: I could either try to build my freelance business by hiring people to work under me, or I could try going back to a full-time job.

After weighing both options, I still didn’t make a decision, but I started applying to jobs in Los Angeles, the only place I really saw myself being happy settling down (side note: I was very burnt out from traveling at this point, all I wanted was a place to call home). When I got a job much more quickly than I thought I would, and with a starting salary higher than I expected, I figured I’d try it out, and worst case scenario I could quit and go back to freelancing if it wasn’t a fit.

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It’s been about five months now that I’ve been working in my 9-5 role, and I have nearly zero complaints. Here’s why going back to 9-5 was the right choice for me right now.

Let’s start with the monetary benefits, since money was my main my motivating factor for taking a new direction with my freelance career.

The fact that I make more money at a corporate job may not surprise you, but it may surprise you that I’m actually spending less time working.

Here’s the thing about freelancing: you may not be in an overly air-conditioned office for eight hours a day, but you’re probably at least halfway in the “office” for minimum 12 hours a day.—even if that office is a beach in Bali. Your clients text you at odd hours, you bring your laptop everywhere, and if you have 30 minutes to kill before meeting a friend for dinner, you are probably busting out your laptop and trying to cross something off your to-do list. I would estimate my “average” work day was about 10 hours. At my current role, I work exactly from 9-5, with an hour lunch break, every day. Oh, and I’m making double the salary I made freelancing.

People tend to say they like working a 9-5 because of the “consistent” paycheck.

As someone who is very responsible with my finances and is always saving

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money, the inconsistency of being paid on time as a freelancer isn’t what bugged me (although it could definitely be annoying), it was more just feeling like I was always working, but not having more to show for it than my friends who were clocking in to an office every day and spending half their desk-time watching YouTube videos.

As a freelancer, any free minute I had felt like it should be dedicated to making money. You know that meme about freelancers trying to monetize all their hobbies and activities? That has always been me, especially so when I was freelancing full-time.

Sure, I did a lot of traveling and I could make my own schedule—but because money was inconsistent and there was always something on my to-do list, I still spent so much time working, or thinking about work. Even when I had enough clients that I had to start saying no, I was still always keeping my eyes peeled for the next, better paid or more interesting, opportunity. Working as a freelancer is sort of like using dating apps. There’s always something (or someone) to fill your time, but you’re still predominantly feeling unsatisfied, insecure in your position, and wondering if you’re one swipe away from something better.

When I got home in the evenings after working my 9-5 job my first week, I was almost in shock and at a loss: WTF was I supposed to do with the next five hours before I’d be ready for bed? I literally didn’t know. People always asked me what I did in my free time, and I never knew how to answer them, because I was literally always working in some capacity, unless I was hanging with friends (and even then, sometimes I was still working).

Going back to a 9-5 has blessed me with two things that are completely new to me: free time where I don’t have to think about work, and disposable income that I finally don’t feel guilty about spending on myself. Yes, I was making okay money as a freelancer and putting away a couple thousand dollars into my savings account some months, but it was always for a “rainy day” in case all of my clients decided to drop dead unannounced. I was also able to put away that chunk of money each month because I was barely spending money on myself unless absolutely necessary—I also didn’t have rent or car payments, or a Wi-Fi bill.

Not only do I now have more time and money to spend on going out to eat with friends, trying new workout classes, and self-improvement stuff like therapy and meditation and creating a beautiful apartment for myself—but I’m learning to stop feeling guilty for spending money on “impractical” things that make me feel good, and to stop feeling guilty when I’m not productive every single day.

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For the first time in my life, I feel like I am making more and more decisions based on how I feel and what I want. Since moving to LA, I’ve spent entire weekends without opening my laptop—that’s something I don’t think I’ve done since sophomore year of college, if that. I’m learning to better go with the flow, because I don’t have to allot time in my schedule every day for a little bit of freelance work.

Everyone says that working for yourself is empowering because you call all the shots in how you spend your time, but I feel much more empowered where I’m at now because I don’t have to wait for a guy to take me to that restaurant I’ve been wanting to try, I don’t have to spend an extra hour taking the bus because I don’t want to pay for an Uber. Time is money, and when I wasn’t making what I felt was enough money, it ate into my time.

Of course, I could have easily moved to Thailand and lived like a queen and kept doing what I was doing. Would I have been happy? Maybe, for a while. But knew I wanted to live in a big city in the US, and when I lived in NYC on my 32k salary, I was miserable because I felt like I was always stressed about money. I knew I needed more money to build the life I wanted for myself. Money may not buy happiness, but it definitely helps build a nice foundation to find that happiness.

Not to mention, living in a transient space all the time is tiring. As a bit of commitment-phobe, I loved it at first. I wasn’t chained in to any one job, or any one city, or any one schedule at any time. But studies have shown that being in an inconsistent relationship is actually worse for your psyche than being alone—and I feel that it weighed on me by the end of my digital nomad stint.

It’s easy to feel like you don’t have your shit together when you don’t have the “typical” markers of success in our society— a full-time job, an apartment, a romantic partner, a car—but what I felt towards the end of my digital nomad time was more than that. It was almost a lack of connection. Now, I like having my own apartment to return to at the end of each day, I like having my handful of coffee shops that I regularly frequent, I like having my friends that live in my neighborhood that I can hit up at the last minute for dinner or a hike. I didn’t have any of these things when I was a digital nomad. Yes, I had a lot of friends all over the world, and I had my own little morning routine, and shit was exciting— but that routine could be thrown out of whack on any given day, I never really knew the next time I’d see my friends, if our relationship would last through the distance, or if we’d even be on the same continent.

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The thing about not owing anyone anything, is also feeling like nobody owes you anything—and I’m trying to undo that mentality and learn to appreciate obligation and commitment.

Will I continue working at a 9-5, make my way up the corporate ladder, and retire in my mid-60s with a nice pension plan? I have no idea. But I had no idea what my future looked like when I was freelancing either. At least now, I have a pretty good idea of where I’ll be in a year, whereas digital nomad-ing had me clueless of what I’d be doing just next month.

What I do know is that right now, doing the whole 9-5 thing is the right decision for me. I like my routine, I like my financial situation, and I absolutely love the abundance of beautiful people and things to spend my free time on in LA—free time that isn’t interrupted by an annoying client text or anxiety about if I’m going to have time to finish a deliverable that day. Truly, the only downside I can think of when comparing my 9-5 to freelancing is that I can no longer take a last minute week-long trip to see my family or friends whenever I feel like it. But life is full of sacrifices, and considering I’m still feeling pretty burnt out on traveling, it’s a trade-off I’m willing to take for now.

Deep questions I asked myself about money. Here are my responses. By: Kendall Alexander I am currently a senior in college and the thought of making a sustainable living sounds slim to none. Once seniors graduate from college their chances at trying to sustain anything other than their IG account is slim to none. I am 21 years old, I have an apartment off campus where the rent is $350/ monthly (my parents pay this) plus expenses which are about $100 (I pay this). I am blessed to have a family who pays my rent and tuition at a school that is located 7 hours away. But as soon as I graduate, I’m on my own as far as sustaining myself (understandably of course, parents have done more than enough). My major is dance and psychology. Dance is an unpredictable job to have, and to make any real money in psychology I would need to go to graduate school (and I don’t plan on doing that after college). Right now, the only way I am making money is through a library job at school that pays $7.25 an hour, and by freelancing my writing (but that has been put on hold because of all of the school work I have to do). The library is an on-campus job, and this means that due to school regulations I am only allowed to work up to 20 hours a week, and I work 16 hours. My parents 16

have tried to give me lessons on handling money, but the only true way you know how to handle anything is through experience. I am learning as I go, and it’s fucking hard to say the least. I’ve been trying to get my money “thick thick”, but taking seven classes, working, plus dance rehearsals have been making it a bit hard to say the least. Juggling all of those things and still trying to figure how I am going to sustain myself after college has been driving me crazy. But I am learning as I go, and it as been a bumpy ride but still fulfilling nonetheless.

How Do You Plan on Making Money After College?

I want to be able to make money through all of my artistic capabilities (I know this sounds very GenZ of me). I write, dance, model, and draw/paint. I think that I can make a living out of these career goals, but I won’t be doing them at the same time (my head might explode). I know it takes hard work and connections to be able to accomplish these goals, so in the meantime I intend to get a job that I enjoy even if it’s not in one of those categories. All I know for sure is that I don’t want to work a 9-5. I’ve seen my parents work a 9-5 job that they had no initial interest in and while they didn’t seem miserable, I know damn well I will be.

I’m not just saying I won’t like it based off of observing how it has affected others (although that is a valid argument). However, having worked a 9-5 for three months, I know from personal experience that it isn’t for me. I’m not trying to give advice on career goals (because I don’t even know if mine are going to work out), instead I believe that no matter what you decide to do you just need to genuinely enjoy doing it. If the 9-5 is what you want then do your thang! I come from a generation that values individual expression and avoids labels. While I hate to admit to being apart of this big ass group of people because essentially I am my own person, I definitely embody these two factors of my generation.

How do you budget your money?

I was taught from a very young age how to budget my money, and I am grateful to my mother for teaching me how to budget everyday. Many of my friends struggle with saving money because the only experience they have with money is spending it. My mother struggled with money when she was young, and no one was there to help her the way that she has helped me. I was taught divide my money into 3 categories that were labeled “Save, Spend, Give”. Sounds weird, but easy enough doesn’t it? No matter how much I would receive at any point in my life I would be forced to divide it three ways. The “give” money would most likely go to the offering at our church on Sunday. As I grew older I realized how important dividing up my money would become. In the present day I have a budget book where I write down all of my expenses for the month ( groceries, phone bill, weed, 17

miscellaneous things), and decide how I should split up my money. My money mostly goes to expenses and savings, because I spent the summer traveling and I am BROKE. ( you can read about my adventures on https://violetsummerzine. com/author/kendallalex/) The hard part is keeping up with my expenses and not buying anything I can’t afford (sometimes I like to splurge on a new pair of jeans, but I don’t have that “splurge on a new pair of jeans” money). For me, the trick is guessing a little higher than the ballpark of what my expenses would be. This way I will always have a little money left over just incase I need to use it for some reason.

Budgeting for me has been a learn as you go type of process, and with my fluctuating income it’s a bit hard to know how much money I can or cannot spend.

What do you want to know more about handling money in the real world?

TAXES, INVESTING. STOCKS???? None of that shit was taught to me, and no one in my family really knows anything about it. These are things that I wish I was more knowledgeable about but just thinking about it bores me to death.

How do you acquire and negotiate your money?

My dancing and writing career is taking off slowly but surely, and while this is happening I realize I know nothing about negotiating my money. Negotiating brings an extra level of anxiety to my plate, and I’m already struggling with the anxiety that I currently have. Proving my worth as come to be an exhausting task, the constant back and forth of what my rates should be makes me want to quit the project before I’ve even started. Because I am so young, freelancing both my dance and writing has proved to be difficult. It feels like I am supposed to go through the trenches first before I come out on top (which is understandable, isn’t that how everyone makes it to the top?). But this does not mean I don’t have bills to pay like everyone else. I deserve to be paid what I am worth. Most of the time my employers already have a set stipend so there is no need for negotiating there. However, when it comes to discussing my rates, negotiating feel like an argument that I’ll never win. Slowly I am learning to say “no” to employers who don’t see my worth in whatever they are asking me to do.

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beware of gold-diggers By: VSZ Team Once a upon a time I dated a few male gold-diggers. When someone shows you who they are, believe them. Save your coins ladies because if you are fooled more than once, it’s a shame on you.

Let me tell you about these male gold-diggers. They are a different breed these days with their fragile masculinity on 10 struggling in between a liberating female empowerment movement. That’s the truth!

I used to be blind to see until a therapist advised me to analyze all the tons of money I was spending to hang out with this dude that I dated for three long ass months.

And guess what y’all? On average, I spent $242 a month on uber, $120 a month on weed, and $367 a month on grub to feed this hungry gold-digging ass $%^$! That’s a whopping $2,187 wasted on a fuck-boy. Whatever you want to call him. {Song starts to play: I ain’t saying he’s gold-digger, but he ain’t messing with no broke bitch...}.

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I know. I sound bitter. That’s because I was hurt. I didn’t listen to my intuition on the first date when something inside of me told me he seemed “off ”. His personality was hyper-exaggerated, plus, he was way too nice. But was he nice though? (Add hands up emoji) Everything he bragged about screamed entitled.

But wait, why did I fall for this guy? Well, I was attracted to his educational pedigree. And I thought he was a fun time. We partied together and shared the same music preferences. That was really it. But back to this entitled conversation.

I soon realized that we were not compatible. There were many things that bothered me like him constantly expecting me to come see him, ditch the subway and hop in an uber at his becking command, and purchase groceries to bring to his apartment and even prepare the meal. All these things contributed to him expecting me to spend my money on him. We argued profusely about all of this, too. It was exhausting. But there was more. I found out that I was not the only girl that was feeding into his weak masculinity. But that is another story for another day. But what was the derivative of this gold-digger? How did all this happen? I realized that this stemmed from his childhood upbringing where he was getting bussed out to go to a “different school”. I felt that it made him super removed from the Queens community and when it came to his reality, he was far removed from it. An entitled, male gold-digger was created.

Let me backup and recount to you why there is an alarming rate of male golddiggers dwelling in urban and suburban areas, so ladies be aware. In a recent New York Times article published September 2019, a guy posing as a military soldier managed to finesse $93,000 from a young female who was based in Baltimore, Maryland. He sent a “photo of himself ” with a Syrian official after he managed to persuade her he was overseas and needed help with getting a few millions back into the US, which is why she sent him the money to come back to the US. The woman was told by her military ken doll that he would meet her at the Baltimore airport, but when he failed to show up, she killed herself! Although this may sound like an extreme story, it is reality ladies. You can get bamboozled in a frugal way like I did or get robbed blind like this.

According to urban dictionary, A male gold digger is “A male that makes it a point to be noticed via expensive material possessions. He is charismatic and charming, yet, is easily able to manipulate funds from empathetic souls. He rarely works, has a sense of entitlement, lacks close peers and has a devoid of family.”

Let’s continue to use Queens dude for example. Queens dude was charming.

Queens dude reads books and Queens dude can cook and clean. However, Queens dude has inconsistent jobs in “social work”. Queens dude still has his mom do his laundry. Queens dude had no male figures in his life.

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For years, urban culture has defined gold diggers to be females. Now look at us, we females have our own shit. It’s the guys that are struggling to keep up and rely on their natural gaslighting techniques to keep good women around. Ask Wendy Williams. She’s on a campaign to restore the narrative in her own failed relationship. Appearing on talk and radio shows to clear up who was paying the bills and carrying the relationship. Doing her best to blacklist her ex-husband from the industry she hustled so hard to stay in throughout the years.

And you know what else is fucked up? Once us women date these broke dudes, their dick value automatically increases. They will say, “Oh I dated such and such...blah blah”. Congratulations you played ya-self! Lesson Learned: Keep your purses close and count your relationships like an investment.

Issue 5 Reading party Hudson yards / June 2019 On June 21, friends and zine collaborators gathered at Spacess, Penthouse for a chill friday night to set the summer off right. Guests were treated to mini- reiki sessions and a soundbath healing group experiences by @alannaheavenly. With chakras open, EIC and Founder of VSZ Melissa Henderson, and fellow collaborators Genail Mckinley and Naria Symone baptized the audience reading a few pages of their essays on selfcare and wellness. Check out our photos below and see you at the next turnup.

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NOW PLAYING...

Summer’s Over Martha’s Vineyard native and lyricist Troy Smokes released his debut EP entitled, Summer’s Over this month and it’s a beach banger. Queue the smoke sessions. Featuring the homies from the Tribe Wild collective, the songs are about money, ambition, summer and LOVE! About relationships with your family and bae ( past & present), and how we navigate these situationships. Or not. Maybe we make art and then share it for our own healing journey. Listen to Summer’s Over on all m music streaming platforms.

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NYFW: the drama getting in the shows By: Melissa Henderson

The person on the other side of the PrettyLittle Thing event email chain told me specifically, “NO plus ones.” Written just like that. I was like damn. OK, so I’m going to this thing by myself and getting there dumb earlier. It’s PrettyLittleThing x Saweetie’s first New York Fashion Show and they chose to host the event at The Plaza Hotel. My favorite hotel to pass the time when I either have to go to the bathroom and I’m around Central Park or need to get a bite to eat. Misahara Jewelry store is also located at The Plaza but when I walked into the hotel entrance on 58th street, there was a flash mob of influencers crowding the store.

Didn’t even have time to browse Misahara’s latest collection. Literally WTF. It was 10 minutes to 6 pm and the fashion flock were already acting cray. It’s a fashion show but people wanted to get in, in. I was like OK, I’m by myself let me just see who else is in the crowd that I can make friends with while I wait for the PR girls to start checking the list. Turns out no one wanted to talk to me and network because they were so anxious to get a good seat or fixing themselves – hair, eyelashes, it was the strangest seen. I didn’t meet not one blogger. Everyone had IG followings. “Most of my NYFW is going to beauty events,” I overheard one girl saying to another cool dude. She was wearing a cheap red suit. OK. Fast forward a few minutes and it was clear the crowd was out of control.

There were no lines and once the PR girls wearing black fitted tees with “pretty little thing” written in pink embroidery checked me in, there was ANOTHER checkpoint at the top of the stairwell. I stood in line for another 30 minutes. I this point is was 6:55 pm. The invite said the show would begin at 7 pm. Next thing I know people started making their way up another stairwell. Bum-rushing.

I followed because I wasn’t too boujee and remember I was there to get content for you to read!As soon as you know it some guy proclaimed himself security and tried to stop people from making their way up the stairs to the actual ballroom.

He tried to stop me but I quickly whipped out my media badge and said “I’M 23

MEDIA” with an attitude. And they didn’t ask me questions. They let me go through. I mean cmon folks. Don’t play. I can come correct, too.

I gather myself up the stairs in 4-inch heels when the PR girl who let me through yells at me, “hey do you know this girl.” “Huh?”I said turning towards her.

“Do you know this girl in pink? ” Fake security and the PR girl both ask me again.

“Yea. She’s with me.” I responded in my media voice.

I was so taken aback , my nerves were all over the place. Not only did I vouch for a girl I didn’t know ( my street code came out), but I also had to show my media badge just to get into a fashion show that I had a confirmation code to attend. So, New York! So me and my “new girlfriend” made our way up the stairs and she’s rattling in my ear about how her manager had her RSVP and how she lost them in the chaotic crowd. I was like girl bye. She told me I could sit with her but I b-lined it to the open bar. We weren’t quite in the runway space, either.

I ordered a vodka soda with lemon and sipped until my nerves were normalized while standing next to a guarded locked door. On the other side was the runway show. I was sure of it. If they made me go through another checkpoint, I was going fucking leaving! I swear! I still had no seat assignment so I had to stand there to figure out where exactly I was going to sit when the Temple of Eros finally open. My feet weren’t hurting just yet but I knew at some point they would in the 4-inch heels I was wearing. They happened to be from PrettyLittleThing.

All types of people tried to get through this “locked” door that the guard couldn’t even open. An unknown rapper wearing a bunch of diamond chains made his way through the crowd with his entourage. Someone said he was “performing.”

I giggled. People will say anything to get into a fashion show. Still, he was denied entrance.

Atlas! The flood gates opened and revealed a runway set up like a Los Angeles mansion. The runway was lined with individual pink roses and the runway itself was pink. I walked over to the left side. There were clearly no seat assignments.

I spotted B. Simone, who’s on MTV’s Wildin’ Out and tried to take a cute photo of her on my dusty ass iPhone. It legit took me 4 minutes to capture something because everyone was struggling to find a seat and they kept walking in between me and her. I knew I was here to get content so this was my only chance. After I took a few photos I managed to grab a seat in the second row.

The front row was filled with celebs — Kehlani, Offset, Fat Joe, Remy Ma, Ter24

rance J ( who I swear tried to hit on me after the show), Youtube influencers, etc.

Kehlani ended up tipped toeing out with Golden Barbie to make her way to Zendaya x Tommy Hilfiger’s show that was taking place in Harlem. The show was running behind by like two hours. Boo had to make appearances. Side note: Anni ( our model for Issue 2 and lil cousin) also walked the Tommy Hilfiger show!!!!

When the lights finally dimmed at like 8:30 pm, the girl who I vouched for was sitting pretty in the front row, opposite me!!! *I’m hollering* I could not believe she was there, because of me!! Isn’t it funny how life works out in NYC? If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.

Christian Cowan

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The Looks: Everyone was talking about the soulfulness of NYFW thanks to Pyer Moss, Zendaya x Tommy Hilfiger and Made in Africa hosted at Pier 59.

Preaching to the choir: The show was set at the historic Kings Theatre in the semi un-gentrified Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn. Designer Kerby JeanRaymond of Pyer Moss delivered a collection filled with monochromatic looks amidst a choir singing 90s R&B hits. The audience was shook. We are still shook.

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Q&A with Ashley M. Fox VSZ: When people say, “know your worth,” what does that mean to you?

AF: I think it’s knowing who you are and being confident. Your bank account grows as fast as you grow. If you are focusing on, “I don’t have money,” the you won’t have it. Focus on being grateful for what you have. Focus on what is going on in the inside. Be happy with who you are. If you are thinking about abundance... that’s exactly what you will attract. Wealthy people walk around feeling good that they have money and they deserve more of it.

VSZ: How can we start teaching our children/younger loved ones about money?

AF: Everytime your child makes or earns money, train them to pay themselves first. Every time you make money you have to pay yourself. Allow them to go to the bank. and fill out the deposit. Money and the way we manage it needs to be apart of our daily habits.

VSZ: We know we have to save our coins, but what is an unconventional saving mechanism that works?

AF: You want it to be automatic. If that automatic amount deducted from your bank account frightens you, you have to lower the amount.

VSZ: Why don’t people like talking about money?? Why is it uncomfortable for some and what are you seeing now with the culture of money?

AF: It’s a self-worth issue. The best thing you can do is talk about money.

Ashley M. Fox is the founder and CEO of Empify. https://www.empify.com/ 27

elaine welteroth By: Melissa Henderson

The Former Teen Vogue Editor Talks The Art of Finessing and Salary Negociation The Project Runway Judge and now the best-selling author of More Than Enough Elaine Welteroth has mastered the art of finesse. Not only has the former Teen Vogue editor-in-chief written a whole book worth of game for people who want to lead a purposeful career, but she’s also dropped major tea on her rise to success as a black woman in the fashion industry. During a product launch event hosted by Ancestry, Welteroth sashayed around the room in a bright orange dress that made her look super becoming and hard to miss! She got that TV glow. As she addressed the intimate audience about her own family lineage self-discovery just moments before, I knew this kween is, in fact, the real deal. Meaning, she talks the talk and walks the walk. “Everyone has a story to tell, whether or not they want to publish it, “ she said in her opening remarks. “This moment is particularly personal to me because my grandma Maggie just passed away and she was my ultimate influence into my own black identity,” she truthfully told the crowd. In More than Enough, you’ll read about her endearing trips to deep south Georgia to visit her grandma Maggie for a taste of culture and her socially awkward experiences as a bi-racial teen in high school and college. Through it all, she rose to the top. Go inside our conversation as she dishes on her career thus far.

Congrats on your Project Runway gig! Girl the show is lit, again! How has the transition been from writing the pages of magazines to being on tv?

Really smooth! I mean, really smooth! It has felt like a natural progression going from a career in magazine journalism to Television in front of the camera.

That was like an ultimate finesse! How can we finesse the career we want, too?

In terms of finessing where you’re trying to go, the first thing is knowing what you want. A lot of people don’t know what they want and don’t feel comfortable with giving themselves space and the time to figure it out by trying things and by making mistakes because that’s the way you will learn. People always talk about “finding your voice.” You don’t need to find your voice, you need to figure out what your voice sounds like. It takes lived experiences to understand what your instincts feel like and that’s what you’re the twenties are for.

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You spill some major tea about your Teen Vogue promotion, what really went down with the closed-door meeting with Anna Wintour. That was nerve-racking even for me to read!

Jeez! What is your biggest tips on salary negotiation?

1. Take your time. You are always entitled to a night to think through negotiation and how you want to approach it.

2. Know your floor and ceiling. Know what you’re aiming for, ask for it, you just might get it. And know what your absolute what your lowest number is that you will stay for. Be prepared to walk away if you don’t land on the floor. The best negotiators walk in with a readiness to walk away if there isn’t a mutually beneficial resolution.

3. Do your research and it’s not always going to be published online. It’s about tapping your network. Nurture your network and call on them when you need them.

Check out Elaine Welteroth’s book More Than Enough on Amazon.com. This interview was originally published by Melissa Henderson on Stylecaster.com. Read the full interview here: https://stylecaster.com/author/melissa-henderson/

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Chyna Layne

By: Melissa Henderson

Hollywood better make room for our sis, star of Netflix’s new series, “She’s Gotta Have It” It took me the whole summer to finish Season 2 of Spike Lee’s Netflix series She’s Gotta Have It. But with each new episode that I watched with a fresh set of eyes, Actress Chyna Layne revealed a new layer of Shemekka Epps, a character with a lot going on. “I was transformed as an actress playing this role, “ Layne confessed to me over the phone. “Spike really challenges you so that you don’t have no choice but to grow. I’ve gotten tremendously better in my craft from just working with him.”

Amongst the show’s heavy hitting cast, Dewanda Wise as Nola Darling and Rapper Fat Joe as Winnie Win supported her character growth, challenging what it’s like to have friends from different backgrounds. Yet, Layne’s professionalism in acting stands out the most through characters who aren’t represented as much on the big screen. Her “too hood for hollywood” and ability to relate is what really allows her career to flourish.

In today’s culture of women empowerment, the Kardashian body dilemma, the push to keep #blackgirlmagic authentic is a whole fulltime job. We got big hips, we got small boobs and big boobs, we love rap culture and yet we are paid 30 cents less than the white man’s dollar, aren’t fully represented in the women’s march campaigns and still battle with how to maintain our natural sex appeal. Even though this is just a show, these are just some of the issues the character “Shemekka Epps” has to cope with, which is why Layne says this role was made for her. So much so the day before the audition, she flew from New York to Los Angeles, determined to win over producers of the show. She tells Violet Summer Zine that the role was meant for her because of how she connected to Shameeka Epps.

So who is Shemeeka Epps of She’s Gotta Have It? Well she’s a struggle hairstylist and single mom on a quest to conquer and re-write the narrative her own womanhood.

And this is precisely why Violet Summer Zine had to go to the artist who made it all connect. “I’m too hood for Hollywood and that’s on my IG bio,” Layne reinterates proudly. She says that her dream roles started to materialize when she stopped trying to fit the average Hollywood producer’s role. She wasn’t going to get anywhere playing or auditioning for the typical “black girl” cookie cutter mold. “You’re from the hood, too.” Layne asked me during our call. “Yea I got ties there and like you becoming okay with merging that identity with my “mainstream” life. It’s why I wanted to brand myself as an urban lit writer.” I confessed to myself. It was the 30

affirmation I needed on a Friday afternoon sprawled out across my bed. Replaying the audio back, little did I know, our biz professional zoom call suddenly transformed into girltalk.

“Well, I think the thing with me is that I have not really played typical African-American Hollywood roles.

I was struggling with that because I didn’t fit into the girlfriend type or the girlfriend of the lead guy. I always wanted to play a role like that and it was so hard for me to book something like that. I booked it once in Barbershop 3 and then the role got cut.”

Layne grew up in Brooklyn and was raised in a mix cultural household.

Her mother is Filipina and her father is Jamaican. She recalls her childhood being a mix of traditional caribbean vibes in every sense - strict values, rich in history and in seasonings. She tells us about nostalgically falling in love with acting through watching caribbean sitcoms like Oliver and obsessing over the craft of acting because of actors like Paul Campbell and his movies that were on repeat at her house at a very young age.

But her rise to the big screen was not easy. It’s clear she hustled to get to Hollywood. As a New Yorker, she worked a 9 to 5 office job while spending her evenings and weekends building her resume, acting in and producing low-budget films. It wasn’t until her role in the Academy nominated film Precious did she quit office job and move to California to pursue acting full time.

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The roles that really made this Island Girl stand out included depicting larger social issues that affect the black community. Shit that no one wants to report on like illegal body augmentations accidents and messy domestic violence relationships. Layne’s recent IMDB credits include just that.

Give this woman an Emmy!! “At first, not many people understood why Spike put that in there.” she tells me when I ask about Shemekka’s obsession with

The thing with black people is that we live with laughter and we live with sadness. We cry through our pain and we laugh at inappropriate shit. We always find the light in the darkness. butt injections. “I remember seeing it [situations of illegal butt injections] happen quite a few times when it wasn’t on the news. “ Layne recalls. “In 2017 Latiesha Bynin died a few hours after getting illegal butt injections. She was from the Bronx. That was on News 12, which is the local news in NY. Barry Michael Cooper created the character Shemekka Epps. The writers wanted to bring to life how a young woman comes to pay for illegal butt injections because these have been issues silently existing in the black community.

It was what many people needed to hear to wake up and do something about it. For reasons most important 32

to a trans woman of color with few resources or a nightlife dancer looking to make more money if only her hips were more hourglass, ilegal body augmentation was able to make this one lady named Kimberly Smedley millions of dollars. If you don’t believe me, read her memoir, The Backside of the Story. Her illegal plastic surgery business operated out of motel rooms in Philly, NYC and Baltimore for years in the early 2000s. By the time she got busted by the FBI she already made over $1.5 Million from thousands of people looking for a cheaper way to fulfill their body goals. Smedley eventually got busted thanks to her ego, flaunting her lavish lifestyle to the public caught up to her real quick. Cardi B. also talks about getting illegal butt injections on Vlad TV. The Bronx rapper says she got ass shots because she didn’t have no fat for a fat transfer. Plus she was desperate. The Bodak Yellow rapper heard about a lady doing it in Queens, New York, so she asked a stripper colleague for her number. You can peep the full video here. Basically, Cardi B was on some “what are the odds type of thing.” But even through the BS, it’s storylines like this that can only be meaningfully portrayed by someone who knows what’s up. And this is how Layne rose to the top of the echelons in black Hollywood. She brings to life characters in storylines that historically don’t have a voice.

Spoiler alert! By the last episode of the She’s Gotta Have it series, Shamekka Epps reclaims her time and finds her passion in beauty entrepreneurship. She becomes like a hood Mary Kay and I shed a thug tear. This character did a total 360. You automatically want to root for Shemekka’s come up. It’s the type of urban fairytale we all hope for the hood girl who finally gets her shit together. In a different role, Layne plays a battered black woman named Jordan Boudreaux on TV One’s In Broad Daylight. Released this past July, the on demand movie was meant to raise awareness about toxic relationships. Her co-star Curtis Hamilton of Surviving Compton: Dre, Suge & Michel’le and Shad “Bow Wow” Moss of Growing Up Hip Hop: Atlanta slash sabbatical rapper, join Layne in this super dramatic and triggering story. With a mixed cast of actors with their own street cred, the feedback in general was great, especially amongst the urban audience. On the question of how Layne deals with acting out roles with heavy subject matter, she delivers with professionalism and optimism.

“The thing with black people is that we live with laughter and we live with sadness.

We cry through our pain and we laugh at inappropriate shit. We are at funerals partying and sending out praises to god. We always find the light in the darkness.

That’s what I had to do with Jordan.” On reflecting on her latest roles, Layne says “at the end of the day, it’s an inspirational message of hope and survival. What I love about Jordan is that she always tried to maintain positivity and always had something to fight for, even when it was dark. You can’t play a role like this and constantly stay in the place of darkness because you’re not going to find the light.” With a budding production company and many forthcoming roles to follow She’s Gotta Have It, we’re sure Ms. Chyna got a long career journey ahead. She’s making money moves for sure! There’s definitely a project inspired by her caribeaan upbringing in the pipeline, as her business acumen has always been aligned with her craft. You’ve got to learn the business too for longevity, not just play in it.

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defacement

By Melissa Henderson

Jean - Michel Basquiat’s Secret Painting 34

If you’re in New York between now and November 6, 2019, you have to spend time with Jean-Michel Basquiat’s never-before-seen portrait entitled, ”Defacement.”

When I RSVPed to attend the press preview of Jean - Michel Basquiat’s first exhibition at the Guggenheim Museum, I did it to support Chaédria LaBouvier, the first black woman and the first black solo curator at the best museum in the world. .

Someone tweeted that there needed to be black representation at this press preview so I rose to the occasion on the eve before Issue 5 launch date to see what all the hype was about. It was a humid damp morning on the Upper East Side, inside the museum, like museum’s do, froze time as the independent art curator spoke in a voice that was so calming, it made the words coming from her mouth that much more emotional. “...This is why this is my belief that defacement is Basquiat most personal painting” LaBouvier said. “And because of that, it was a painting I believe was never meant to be seen publicly. And that point has been one of the main features of my research for the last four years to understand why he created this painting and created a painting given to Keith Haring and later Keith Haring’s goddaughter, where it currently resides in her collection,” she reveals to the intimate crowd. One look at the infamous painting and you can tell it’s important and deeply personal.

What we know now as Basquait’s tribute to his artist friend Michael Jerome Stewart, who was fatally beaten by New York City Police Officers at the 14th Street subway stop in 1983. It was a tragic death and the whole artist community came together to protest police brutality through art. They created all types of murals, signage, zines, pins and protest flyers to mourn their friend. On the seventh floor of the museum, Defacement sits framed in this elegant gold frame in the middle of the room, lit with dramatic art light so that every little brush stroke can be seen. One look and there’s a feeling. It’s that art feeling. The type that makes you blinded from looking because it holds so much passion. I felt totally seen viewing Defacement. Maybe it was Kieth Haring’s diary displayed in a glass case that detailed his innermost thoughts about his friend’s death. Or maybe it was LaBouvier’s thoughts prior to viewing the work. It made me think about my own place in creating something meaningful that has staying power, tributes to friends who have passed away. These days, friend groups, social circles should be more intentional. Sometimes Jealousy about who’s making more money and who’s too boujee to keep up gets exhausting. What if I die tomorrow? Would someone protest my art for me? Will the VSZ still be relevant?

Who will show up for the sake of collaboration? Those are the questions that hit me while looking at this painting and the items surrounding it. Everyone was doing their own thing within the art and commerce world, but still needed to find that release to deal with tragedy. How many of us can say the same? The purpose of this zine has always been to fill a void the media world could not offer me. To cover up rejection with success in my own work. To collaborate with writers and fellow artist that I truly admire no matter what, which is why I take it personal when someone I feature or who has contributed doesn’t share the zine on social media. The finished work.

Maybe it was the few friends and friends of friends who were lost to gun violence, police brutality. Sandra Bland, Mike Brown, say their names to remember.

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For Love or a Manuscript By: Nicole Lockhart

A self-love story about pursuing your bliss and taking the risk to choose your happiness at any price.

“Are you alright?” he asks me.

I smile. My lover always knows when I’m sick or in a fowl mood. He even gets crampy once a month. The truth is I was fine moments before I texted him that Toni Morisson, literary Nobel laureate, had died. In middle school, I was a terrible math student who would sneak out of class and down to the library to read. In the section marked M, I find Morrison. As I combed the thick language of The Bluest Eye or Beloved, between the pages and paragraphs, she gathered the pieces of little black me and gave them back to me in all the right order.

I came to Paris to finish my manuscript. It was time to put to rest the five year endeavor to write a memoir. The job I resigned from two months prior served as more of a hindrance than a mentorship. There proved too little time in the day and too little gas in the tank to write even a mile of my memoir. Quitting is my way of giving myself permission to possess the dream, for one cannot carry the weight of ambition with hands perpetually full.

But I can’t sleep that night; a combination of anticipation and anguish, the likes of which keeps many a sojourner staring at the ceilings. Tomorrow I would arrive in Seville, meet my lover in a storybook alley after a month a part. The unfinished novel presses against my backpack as our lips meet in a precious embrace at last. My foggyeyed journalist looks at me as if awaking from a sueño, capturing the reunion with the same skill as his lens in fieldwork.

“I’d almost forgotten how to kiss,” he says.

I, ever the writer, could never lose the sensation and found ways over the month-long holiday to remind him how to trigger those blessed “tacqui cardias.”

“People who believe that they are strong-willed and the masters of their destiny can only continue to believe this by becoming specialists in self-deception,” says Baldwin’s David in Giovanni’s musty room.

And yet the reality of my arrival to this day is that I can neither cover nor retract the 36

stench of my own self-deception. Baldwin was a tortured writer when he escaped New York and arrived to Paris with $40 in a romanticized exodus to write. I idolize it. I envy it. So much so that I too traveled to Paris with less than a thousand dollars to my name. My companion, mon amor, as penniless as I, can, as lovers do at times, make a castle of our love. During the month, we are aglow with nights of wine and tapas for meals. Yet when the bill comes, the terror begins to quake. I lazily reach for my credit card, the dread of not knowing its limit with so many days ahead. It is our second time out together, and it is my turn to pay for our meal and I add an extra $9 USD for the conversion. I sign our bill, we take the hand of each other, and walk to bed.

“But you can make your time together anything but dirty, you can give each other something which will make both of you better—forever—if you will not be ashamed, if you will only not play it safe.” (Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room) The power went out the last night in Seville before our 7 hour road trip west to a music festival in Portugal. We finish a bottle of Manzanilla and each taking turns asking questions.

“What would you do if this was your last night on earth?” he asks, his hazel eyes ablaze in the dark of my own.

The truth is I wouldn’t ask for more than this. Few times before have I been contented with every part of life. This month, I decided not to play it safe, and wouldn’t change it—pennies and all. So when we fill our Fiat somewhere on the expansive highway that next day; I will ask the teller if she has change for a 50E, and I will not break over the bank that’s crying broke. I will not be ashamed.

On a leisurely stop in a mountain town, I offer an older woman a smile. She does not know me, but rues my holding the hand of my white partner. Her spit falls behind us as we pass. I do not admit how much my feelings were hurt until I get back to the car.

It pains me to have escaped shame so briefly, something I try to explain to him from the passenger seat. But we have a responsibility to our blessings, to protect them--and true love is a blessing.

We ascend the Douro Valley with brilliant sunsets and vines cascading the hillsides.

I hate traveling the unpredictable mountain roads and though his hand rests on my knee, I’d prefer he use it to help steer our tiny car which could at any turn combust like Camus on a holiday in 1960. “In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” Camus had with him the manuscript of his last book.

Our arrival is met by a shadowy frame in a barely lit farm, the fallen citrus is aromatic beneath our tepid footfall. We swim in the river, our clothes on the shore, with the 37

“Basking in the Osun River” -Eliana Murargy 38

company of only shooting stars to entertain us. I count seven and my lover only one. I wish for more money. I wish for nothing. I wish for freedom, hope in wartorn countries, a proposal one day, to own a farm like this one, and a job when I return to the city. Yet swimming, encased in shadow, I recall the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald in Tender is the Night.

“Somewhere inside me there’ll always be the person I am to-night.” (Fitzgerald) And I am living as I wish to be. Spending my days spoiled for beauty, making friends in foreign places, cooking from the earth which fed us. This farm-life sensibility shared by my urbanite lover. In sum this vacation will have people thinking I “fell off the Christmas tree,” as Jacek, our host, makes light. But pursuing one’s own happiness does not make us a wonky ornament no longer befitting the yuletide gayity of others. Indeed, I know people like our trio my lover, Jacek, and I, are the celebratory ones.

New York is beginning to feel like another me, the risk averse and calculated me. Yet the gambler I am sometimes persists to hope; although I am feeding my pennies in a machine, pulling a lever and praying for a big win to make up for what I’ve lost. I am jealous of the holiday ease of Europeans. The job-given ability to take a week or two and truly not work, leave emails unread, and connect with your life again. Here, and across the continent, they shutter even the most profitable businesses regardless of the tourists who simultaneously flood their streets during these weeks of rest. It is as if to say, “Hey Americans! Stop your errands, look around. Have your drink and really drink it.”

Seaside in Porto, bathing our tongues in green wine, we taboo conversation.. The good thing about having a true lover is that honesty is never so brutal, and it is as welcome as the ocean breeze over our lunch table.

“I wouldn’t’ve come on this trip if I couldn’t afford it.” he says. “The same is true of kids. I would want to get out of debt and make sure I could financially take care of us before that.”

There is at once a kick in my gut. Choosing one’s own happiness flavors of shame.

I kiss my gorgeous man and swallow a sardine. We already agreed that children for us would wait for better financial situations. I admit two things for the first time.

The first is that I had come on this trip in a financial pinch. The second was that early on in our dating I had worried about a pregnancy. But was I so opposed to life interruptions that I stiffen to the beauty of the unexpected? Some things are not so bad. I was not pregnant then--but if I was--would it be so bad? I may not find a job when I get back to the city, end up in a place-holder role once again, but maybe it 39

wouldn’t be life ending. No, I could not wait another day in the dead-end job while my aspirations stall like boats in the nearby harbor. We agree that it would be okay if we turn our pockets inside out and pool together to survive this month long holiday.

It is my turn to cover the bill again, but this time I feel the truth has paid the price.

We drive into Montejaque behind a parade, a comical return to Andalucia’s providential region after the misfortunes of Portugal. I see why Hemingway and Welles favored these little hamlet towns tucked into the mountains. Following a night of partying with locals in the square, I finished my book. I sit numb and close the laptop, sans wifi, and recline. It is finished. A mountain makes a manuscript feel insignificant, makes a man know that all that he is, is but a mustard seed. Man can build his Alhambra, his palace grandioso, but he cannot build a mountain. In some ways it is a writer’s job to build both the mountain and the castle. At times I’ve made in to mountains of the wrong things (money, my career, people, etc). And yet I am beginning to realize that the view from the top is not better than the climb.

On our first day in Tangier we explain to our Moroccan friend that he only needs seven friends to be truly happy in life. Love, if done to the best of its power, is perhaps the only thing that is beautiful on both the journey and the mountain top. When I and my lover meet eyes, or palms, or lips, I know that we are both journeymen traversing together. And yet I still wonder if he will ask me to marry him, and even in my frequent fantasies I hold back the answer.

We contemplate renting an apartment here. Well, my lover isn’t so much for the idea, but I am told by a widow named Trudy that an apartment in Tangier would cost a mere $750 a month. Nevermind I haven’t a job to keep me here or that my French is less with each passing year. On our hotel roof we also made friends with two girls who confess to quitting their jobs in pursuit of artistic careers. And even though it was my third attempt to find myself in the same sea of doubts, I shine a light for them (as I wish someone had for me) and illuminate a path towards the answers we were all sailing for.

“Who am I,” I ask them. “If I am not who someone pays me to be?” Fear creeps in all of our eyes, and I look to the lost one who is considering her answer for the first time. I point to the nearby veranda. “That’s where I sat three years ago when I reclaimed my life from my job and my heartbreak.” I promise them, as any lighthouse does to those lost at sea, that a new shore is coming. I promise that it is worth it to choose themselves, to take hold of their lives like our rolled cigarettes and inhale-deeply. Maybe today we cannot afford an apartment in Tangier. Maybe tomorrow, our debt collectors will call back and we will not let it go to voicemail. We will tell them that I spent all my money on my happiness. We will ask if they accept a check. We have recently come into a new kind of wealth from which we can never overdraft.

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Read our review of this runway collection: www.violetsummerzine.com

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With more than a week left to the trip, a large sum of money had at last been deposited in my account. I mourn the relief, much like a struggling actor does with sudden fame who must leave the restaurant camaraderie for the silver screen. Even with the recent deposit I find myself longing for home and the familiar waves of the city rhythm. I miss the paycheck which greets me bi-weekly and no worries as to who will care for my dog. It becomes impossible to rest, the Airbnbs so hot that it stirs both my companion and I with dreams of returning to working days. It will be easy enough for him to return, but I who have neither job nor interview, am still in danger of drowning in uncharted waters.

“Perhaps I should not have been a fisherman, he thought. But that was the thing that I was born for.” says Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. I treat him to coffee and a cigarette at Cafe Baba, in chairs sat in by our idols: Bourdain, Bowles, The Beatles... I know. Even with more money, I’ll never be able to recover from this sickness. That like old fishermen I will never lose hope for my next great catch. I could never be a high-earning doctor. I’ll always be an artist, unable to stop chasing phantoms of what I might create. And he will never stop worrying about if he will provide for me, and for us, or a family. I want to hold him until he knows, to bruise it into his bones that there will never be enough work. That he’ll never have enough money, and we’ll never be too broke or too in debt to choose a life with each other. For better or worse I tell him about the ring I bought for him two months prior, that I would honor a career as his wife. But this man’s heart is cursed, not by self-love as my own, but self-respect. To seek his own worthiness and build his legacy through his work. Or perhaps these are just our southern traditionalist values slowly surfacing for us to take a hard look at long-held limiting beliefs.

Somewhere in our discourse is the truth, straddling both the forthcoming and the not yet. What is true is that I am a writer and that he loves me. Tomorrow may not bring literary fame or a wedding ring, but there is contentment in knowing one’s self and being loved for that same self. It is in love that I have been liberated from the tightness of shame or fear. And like a ripe tomato I see summer – its bounty and blemish.

From this day forward on the banks of Triana, our Sevillian home, I will not worry of what I may become. For “If happiness is anticipation with certainty, we were happy.”

(Morisson)

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Will the beauty supply store ever become sustainable?

By: Melissa Henderson

Black Girl Church was screened at The Wing Soho and we’re feeling seen, again.

Although this new short documentary about Beauty Supply stores predominantly located in inner-city, low-income neighborhoods across America, depicts a unique narrative, there’s a lot going on behind the wigs and mirrored surveillance systems.

Yes, there are tons of cheap products for everyday beauty looks, you can’t pass up on the questionable ethics about these types of establishments. Where are these products imported from and why aren’t more small businesses allowed to distribute in them??

Created and directed by Audrey Williams and Marissa Pina, Black Girl Church documentary portrayed why these cheap stores are safe haven for black girls beauty and self - esteem. By the end of the screening, people were definitely talking about the cheapest beauty products scored in their local stores. BUT the ethics of the entire operation was definitely floating on the surface. While gentrification and black owned retail were debated by the panelists (who were members/editors of the fashion media community) another thought came to mine: Will these beauty supply stores adopt a more sustainable model in the future? Just think about it. Beauty supply stores contain enough inventory to run an Ali Baba 2.6. There’s never anything ever sold out. They either don’t have it or it’s being delivered tmrw. Plastic combs, plastic caps, weaves of all shades and textures, hair gels, mousses, tubs of toxic stuff they will label as perm activator, lip glosses and eyelashes. A visit to get one thing leads to a whole $100 bill, everything scored double - bagged in thick black plastic bags.

Literally, who can not, not stop at the beauty supply store! The very thought of this makes me a very concerned millennial voter and I beg to differ that the majorityowned Korean businesses of black hair products won’t be faltering anytime soon.

Unless our government starts sanctioning un-sustainable imports coming into our country. This includes the tons and tons of weave, wigs and expired bottles of weave glue. Growing up in inner-city Philadelphia, I use to live around the corner from a Korean beauty product factory. It was very incognito because their sign was written in the Korean. But me being nosy; I knew what was up. One day, something happened where a trashpicker got into their weave glue stash. I was walking to school one morning and thought it was gross and disrespectful that all these boxes were left for some idio to make a mess. When I stepped a bit closer to the chaos, I noticed it was — wait for it – HAIR GLUE! Hundreds of bottles of expired hair glue. Some of it was not that expired but I couldn’t believe that I was just now discovering what type of business was literally right in my backyard. Ever since they made the mistake of improperly not cleaning up their trash, there wasn’t anything to really see. By the time I came back from school, factory workers were all packed up and gone home.

This company’s whereabouts where super sketch and if any environmental police are really this about this sustaibility life, email us about what COULD have been going on in this factory full of brown boxes and unmarked cars.

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Zeroing in on managing my $35k to $100k salary By: Nina Singh

Things I learned about money thanks to my parents who manages rich people’s assets for a living Five years ago, I arrived in Los Angeles, by way of New York, and was making $55K annually. One of the many reasons I left New York was because financially I was spread too thin and the idea of slaving away to barely sustain myself no longer seemed appealing. Working in fashion and keeping up with my peers required balancing my shopping habit with social indulgences while ensuring I had enough for basic necessities like food and shelter. Like many, that required I take on credit card debt to “supplement” my income. As you can imagine my savings was non-existent as I put every extra penny towards the payoff of my several thousand-dollar credit card bill. Though at times I felt “reckless” in my decisions, I kept my debt at a level where I would be able to pay it all off by making a few lifestyle tweaks. Because of this I never found myself drowning or completely in over my head. I attribute this to growing up with a mother who works in wealth management.

My parents were financially savvy and spent within reason. They instilled healthy spending habits in my sister and I at a young age. Towards the end of middle school my parents gave us a monthly allowance for clothes to teach us the importance of budgeting. In those days Abercrombie and Bebe were the big splurges, but with only $50 to spend each month we quickly realized our money could not support the wardrobes we aspired for. Fast forward to Los Angeles where I was focused on changing my habits. With a goal of becoming more fiscally responsible, this childhood budgeting exercise came in handy.

But before I could craft a new budget I needed to understand the current state of my spending. So, I began by evaluating one full year of expenses and categorizing every activity. This once would have been a tedious process, but fortunately many credit cards provide end of year statements categorizing all expenses. After dumping it all into Excel, I was left to do a quick audit, recategorizing where needed. Next, I dropped in my debit card expenses and voila, I had a snapshot of where all my money went in 2014. No surprise to me, in the variable expense bucket I was spending a lot in the “entertainment”, “dining” and “clothing” categories.

I then spent half a day sitting with this expense breakdown and began making a priority list. The purpose of this exercise was to find ways to save more, but without 44

giving everything up. I still wanted to maintain a social life, but within reason. So, instead of four or five hangouts a week centered around brunches, lunches or dinners, I paired this back to once or twice a week. I identified other ways to connect with friends that were free or low-cost such as hiking, free concerts or potluck dinners. In cases where I had cabin fever and wanted to venture out, I would still eat beforehand and opt only for a glass of happy hour wine. This reprioritization was often welcomed by friends who also found themselves spending too much on dining out. Ultimately, it made my social interactions more intentional, focused on connecting rather than what we were eating or drinking.

While assessing my expenses I also identified patterns in my spending behavior that I could easily change. I was often buying groceries and then going out to dinner a day or two later. Coffee and teas were also adding up especially when I would make two trips a day. By the end of the exercise I had labeled each category as either increase, maintain, reduce or eliminate. Becoming aware of my behavior allowed me to become more conscious of my choices when I was tempted with the opportunity to spend.

With this new insight I then assigned target dollar values to each category or segment. The five major behavioral changes were the following: (1) buying fewer but higher quality garments instead of consistently buying fast-fashion, (2) selecting happy hour restaurants or bringing my own wine to dinner where possible, (3) cooking regularly and packing snacks to avoid grabbing while on the go, (4) reducing Uber and Lyft expenses by driving, which had a dual benefit-reduced my alcohol expenditure, (5) prioritizing saving, vacation and self-care expenses.

At the end of each month I then lined my expenses up against this budget, making adjustments as I went. There were numerous months where I was unable to adhere to my budget, but in those moments instead of panicking I recognized that

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improvements were still being made and made a conscious effort to do better the next month. Eventually, as the months went on, I was straying from the budget less often and six months later I had paid off all remaining New York debt, enabling me to change my credit cards to those that offered better travel rewards or cash-back programs.

With my credit card debt gone I then began tackling longer term financial goals like retirement which required that I increase my 401(k) contribution to maximize company matching. While making this decision I reviewed my company benefits website to calculate the impact. Because the contributions to 401(k) are pretax, the change in my take home pay was small even when contribution percentage was increased by 5%. I also designated a certain percentage of my paycheck to automatically deposit into my savings account, ensuring that it wasn’t spent by accident. Working in fashion, the bonuses were small and infrequent, but I made the conscious effort to put them towards savings or for larger expenses like a vacation.

While I was making these changes, my career began to progress and by 2016 I found myself at a Director level position finally earning over $100K. With more take home pay and by holding most expenses constant I was able to increase my rent so I could finally live on my own.

With each year that passed the budgeting exercise became easier and I was able to find room for larger, more expensive purchases like furniture while still saving in proportion to my income. At the end of 2017 I began planning a three-month 46

trip through Europe which would begin the summer of 2018. I referred back to my budget and ran numerous scenarios until I had a concrete plan which would afford me the trip of my dreams. By reducing my expenses and relocating temporarily into my sister’s apartment I managed to save up over $10K for the trip. Knowing the money I saved may not be enough for three months abroad, I planned to earn income while traveling via consulting work. The trip was magical and though I again took on some credit card debt it was paid off quickly and I was back on track. By early 2019 I made the decision to start my own business. I hunkered down to ensure I had at least six months of fixed expenses saved for so I could leave my job by June 1st.

It has been three months since I’ve left my corporate career. Income is not flowing consistently, but my savings has helped fill the gap. My budget looks very different than what it was just a year ago, but I have been able to make it work.

Reflecting on this journey, I truly believe that you can still enjoy life while being on a budget. I also believe that debt does not have to own you. As long as you have a plan and are willing to stick with it you can achieve your financial goals.

Nina’s career began nine years ago in NYC. Though her career began in fashion, upon moving to Los Angeles she moved into the beauty industry where her career propelled. Despite moving up the ladder quickly, Nina found that she was never fulfilled. On a quest to understand her dissatisfaction, she began her healing journey. While on this path, Nina uncovered many powerful tools that helped her break free from limiting beliefs, release childhood trauma and become a more confident woman. Being witness to her own transformation ignited a passion in her to spread this work through a new business, Healing with Nina (www.ninasingh.co), which enables others to find freedom from their past.

Nina is committed to continually improving herself and learning as much as she can to help others. As of October 1st, Nina has begun her Master’s in Clinical Psychology to build upon her business and spiritual foundation.

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@Shirlsthegirlsmoney A 30-something CPA working on Wall Street, here to give you tips to save and invest for a richer life. Dropping major keys on her Instagram @shirlsthegirlsmoney...

Here’s a snapshot.

For years I was addicted to caramel ice coffees, even in the dead of winter.

Yes that’s trash in many ways and I realized that a couple months ago: 1. I was throwing money in the trash, approximately $4 a day 2. Sugar is basically trash for your body - unused sugar/carbs turn into fat 3. It’s trash for the environment, all those plastic cups, lids and straws I’m not here to tell you to stop drinking coffee, but try making coffee at home, bring a reusable cup or stop adding sugar to your coffee. Your wallet, body and environment will thank you. If I didn’t stop, I was on my way to spending over $500 a year on coffee.

www.shirlsthegirlsmoney.com/

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Sanity Addiction: Rainforest Vibes

based on a true story

I was PMSing when I aimlessly sent an email responding to an opportunity to travel for ten days in South America. But then God stepped in. Within the week, I was transported into a different much slower society than New York, where international tourists travel to Ecuador to participate in soul cleansing activities on a quest to find themselves. I stared out the airplane window until I could see land, dosing off and waking up looking down at amazon rainforest. That was my first glimpse of this beautiful country located right on the equator line. Little did I know, I was on the trip of a lifetime. By the time I got through customs, it was 7pm in the evening, the sun was already setting, and my cab driver told me it would take two hours with traffic to get the 200 year old hotel I was staying the night at which was located in the olde town. When I finally did arrive, the bellhops greeted me at the front doors. They were expecting me. They brought my bags to my junior suite.

The highlight of the room was the golden clawfoot tub that took over nearly the whole marble bathroom. I immediately started to unpack my toiletries and place them on the vanity like I was gonna live there. I placed my chakrub by my pillow.

Now it felt like home. Aisha, my best friend from back home, insisted I bring this crystal to quell my hoe tendencies. Afterall it was essentially a pleasure tool, bigger than a yoni egg, that was there when I needed to scratch an itch. I was reminded of all of this as soon as I went down to the hotel resturant to meet some business associates for late dinner with the hotel manager.

Dinner was boring. We didn’t have anything in common but the fact that we were in this country together. But then when I locked eyes with a South African gentleman sitting by himself at the table right next to ours, things started to get interesting.

He was uncomfortably staring at me from the moment I sat down. Some time mid way into dinner, the South African fellow got the balls to come to my table and introduce himself to me and the other table guests. “American?” he said. Yes we all replied. Then he turned to me. “Queen, I would love for you to join me at the bar after dinner.” “Sure.” I said blinking slowly to 50

make my fake lashes appear fluttering, pouting my lip with attitude. And then he turned and walked out of the restaurant, vaping casually.

“I wonder if he’s in the oil business??” One of ladies at the table said to break the silence.

Around 11 PM and 2 hours after dinner, me and another woman from my travel group met the South African at the hotel bar. She was there for the company. The three of us took over the bar talking about gauyasa, politics and traveling because this guy was on his way to do Ayahuasca in the Amazon. It was about an 8 hours drive from where we were going and a much lower aptitude. We ordered 5 bottles of wine. It is was well into 4 am when we retired to the bedroom. He followed me to mine. I was only at this hotel for one night and I wanted to use the bathtub. So at 5AM, I took a bath and he watched. “ Go get my chakrub.” I said. It’s the amethyst laying by my pillow.

He dipped it in the bubbles and I felt it on my thigh. *** The next morning I awoke in a panic. I barely got two hours of sleep, knowing I had to be up to catch a transfer to this eco lodge in the rainforest. Me and the girl chilling at the bar both missed it. No one woke us up. Bitches.

I picked up the hotel phone and called her room. “ Sadie, dude, what the fuck happened? How come no one woke us up?!?”

“I don’t know but I called the coordinator and she said the next transfer doesn’t leave until tomorrow. So we’re going to have to take a cab. You got cash?”

“Yes. Meet me downstairs from breakfast.”

“Ok .It’s $200.”

“Ard. Bet.” I hung up the phone and started my mission. This time 7,000

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miles away from home.

I packed my bags in like ten minutes, including my toiletries and the toiletries the hotel left. Me and my colleague met up in the hotel dining room for breakfast. It was a full spread of Spanish omelette fixings, including caviar, which I had to devour in my hungover state of mind.

The South African gentleman joined us too. No he didn’t sleep over, I kicked him out at some point. Turns out he wasn’t staying at our hotel anyway. But he came back to give me a present - a beaded “prayer” bracelet, chocolate mushrooms, a small vial of pure guayusa, and another mini vile to make that makes you sleepy. He said it was good for long flights. For me, these were souvenirs. What a crazy night, but my adventure to the middle of the rainforest was my final destination. ***** “ Buenos dias, Señorita. Como servicios? said the attendant at the concierge desk.

“Buenos Dias. Mi nombre es Coca de La Noche. Estoy quedando en el cuarto 415. Necesito un coche para traslado de Mashpi.”

“Ah Si! Su grupo se fue hace dos horas pasados. No hay coches directo para Mashpi. Pero, tu puedes tomar una cabi allá y un otra en el centro de la pueblo, se llama. Me organizado para tu pf.” “ Si gracias !

Not to mention, I also woke up with the black out blues. Suddenly the shenanigans I escaped from in New York were creeping back up on me and then I felt bad and angry at myself. Was missing my transfer worth it?

I decided to just press pause on those feelings. I wasn’t about to torture myself with thoughts during a five hour drive into the rainforest. So I ate some of that chocolate and stared out the cab window while our driver escalated altitudes by the mile. ****** Around dusk, the van turned on to an unpaved road. We were told we will be on it for 30 minutes before arriving to the eco- lodge. All I know is that

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it got dark pretty quickly. I couldn’t see anything behind me and it wasn’t even nightfall. But when I entered the territory of the rainforest, I was playing by the rainforest rules now. That and at this point, I was definitely tripping.

The lodge was like the building from Jurassic Park. It was mostly glass and dark wood. Everything sustainable and environmentally conscious.

Condenast travel hadn’t even written about this place yet. That’s how exclusive. Upon check in, they told me to avoid flushing toilet tissue.

The hallways were long and dim, like a warehouse. When, I opened my hotel door and the room felt warm and safe.

“Welcome to your home above the clouds,” read a note left on the bed from the hotel manager. I finally made it. , It was the eco lodge of my dreams, 4,000+ feet above sea-level. it took four hours to navigate through all the green terrain of the Andes mountains, windy roads that just kept going around and around. When I finally arrived, I was speechless and couldn’t fully articulate what I was feeling that the rainforest evoked in me. I had been taken by its spirit and I surrendered.

That night, we went on a night hike with the head conservationist. All we had was a small flash light and ourselves for this “hike.” **** The rainforest was so eerily calm for me. At first glance, I saw nothing but green. I didn’t expect a full lion king experience, but there were no animals in sight. I keep telling myself I’m in an enchanted forest, all I need to do is say the magic word to quell my nerves, and when I do I begin to really see, to really be present, be calm, and be observant to the creatures.

A few hours in it, and beings start appearing in my rear view. I started to hear the songs of the colorful hummingbirds,the buzz of huge beetles, hairy spiders on the trees, and multi - color texturized killer caterpillars moving slowing and strategically on the treebark. My insides started tingling. ***** What I didn’t know was that the rainforest is a sexual place to co-exist and come to understand with your body. On Day 2 in the forest, I woke

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up at 5am, still baffled I’m in this hotel bed, pressing a button to open my electric blinds, so I can look out into the forest through my floor to ceiling glass windows. The other side is my playground, my spiritual bathtub. I felt like sleep while in the forest was just a meditation state.

The sun was shining through the trees. I could tell it was raining a few moments ago, because the forest was in its misty and wet state. I was anxious to start the day. The vast and deep elements of the forest were awaiting. I pull on a pair of jean shorts and a tee shirt with Timberland boots and skipped my makeup and skincare routine. I didn’t care what I looked like. *** Again, I was special guest here. Most people who visit this eco-lodge are foreigners from Australia or scientists. “Time stands still here but keeps going in the city.” one of the head naturalists explained to me while I ate my breakfast in the open glass dining room. The ceilings must have been like 50 feet. I thought about what he said to me for a while and thought about how fast I had been moving over the last three years. I shoke my head and said to myself “I surrender these thoughts,” because I didn’t want to think about what dumb thoughts would come next. “¿Qué actividad te gustaría hacer hoy? The naturalist asked me.

“Me encantaría caminar hasta la cascada. eso es todo lo que quiero hacer.”

I said.

Lucky for me, I was the only one among the four other American colleagues I was traveling with who chose a short hike to the 300 foot cascada. I didn’t want to be with them anyway after they left me in Quito. Two of the naturalists volunteered to go with me. I could feel the younger guide’s vibe on me since the day I arrived. I don’t know if it was my black skin or the fact that he hadn’t seen any truly black women in a while. Anyway, we set off for this hike around nine in the morning. It would take two hours to get to this newly discovered waterfall. I wore my favorite FENTY bathing suit under my long white pants, with a thin white tank top. I pulled my hair out of my face in a wet bun. I packed my crystal amethyst chakrub to bathe it in the waterfall, to cleanse it and restore its energy. It was in full use for the past few weeks since I got it and I knew that the rainforest would be some amazing energy to carry

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with me and remember for a few months. Besides that’s what the creator instructed me to do for cleaning purposes. ****** On the terrace, the young naturalist, let’s just call him Guiemmero, helped me get into my long rain boots that covered my calves. It was imperative to wear these boots to be protected by the rainforest ground because the paths weren’t clear. So yea, we were definitely going on a 3 person hike. I was nervous but thrilled. I sat on the bench, as Guiemmero kneeled down in front of me, reaching out to touch my foot and place it gently in each boot.

Upon his touch, I felt a calm energy pass through my blood. We had only just met at the guest orientation a few days ago, but from his glance up to me from my foot, an energy traveled through me at each touch. We locked eyes.

The first and really only rule of this hike to the cascada was to not touch anything without asking for permission first. **** I could devour him right under the waterfall he’s so beautiful and handsome and manly, like Tarzan, I thought walking through the forest to our destination. I had just ate another piece of that chocolate. It was the last piece and I was a bit hungry. I also offered him some. It was me, my young Tarzan and his uncle who was the president of a nearby village, located 2 hours from my home above the clouds. From our conversation in Spanish, they didn’t have electricity in this village and were still happy. We were just thirty minutes into hiking, when I fell into a deep fantasy as my two indigenous men guided me through the inner workings of the rainforest.

Along the way we talked about plants and other things that were in plain view. For example, I pointed to the oversized “Elephant Ear” leaves. Que es esto? y esto? I understood that they are deadly if consumed but are used to protect you from the rain. He pointed to another plant called “mother’s tongue,” which was and still is used as tea when boiled and consumed with hot water, it is a form of birth control for village women. I became so entranced by the sounds of the forest and the relaxing conversation. It was that feeling when chills come over your shoulders and travel down your back and you become more comfortable. So much so I forgot what day and time it was the further I walked. It also became harder to breath because I was experiencing so much new levels. Eventually, I stopped talking and

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started listening. Quiet as an ocelot, a vortex of positive vibes grew around me. I followed, they guided. I started to peel off emotional layers, hiking in my bathing suit, coverup and boots, careful not to touch anything. Even tree bark was secretly covered with killer ants. I didn’t care though, I just wanted to be free. **** Alas, we arrived to the waterfall. I heard it a few feet before actually seeing it and it was so glorious I could dance to its water rhythm. The guides both motioned me to get in. So I shed off the rest of my clothes and and dipped my feet in the small lagoon.

“Ven acá.” I said to Guiemmero.

He didn’t hesitate. He just ran right in, dipping his face and body into the cold water. He took my hand and led me closer to the waterfall. I drew back.

“Mirá, princesa,” he said pointing to some cove hidden through the waterfall. It was behind the 300 foot waterfall. He insisted I go through with him because it was a massage.

But for a moment, I sat 15 feet from the edge of the waterfall, where the rocks are tiny pieces of overgrown sand, and it’s still a bit of water just there. I grabbed my crystal chakrub out of my bag, to do my bathing ritual and meditate. Only thing was, I wasn’t alone and I was’t aware of my crystal’s powers! The guys took one look at it and coyly backed away.

They instantly knew it was something intimate even if there was a slight language barrier, and at that moment I forgot my Spanish. I couldn’t translate chakrub. It was shaped weirdly like an artifact penis, but it was also a beautiful purple gemstone, a glowing crystal that needed to be bathed and I wanted it with me at that moment. So the uncle took a cue from his nephew and disappeared into the rainforest for a bit, while Guiemmero joined me on the waterfall edge.

It was a bit awkward at first, even though I didn’t want it to be that way.

I kept saying, “this is natural in my head.” And everything about it was natural. I bent down to feel the cold rain water. I closed my eyes and dug

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my hands deeper into the earth, burying the chakrub just enough to retrieve it. It was with its cousins, I suppose. I gathered small granite rocks in the palm of my hands as I inhaled to take deeper breaths. I switched on my yoga practice to my current state of absolute bliss and peace.

(Inhale , exhale, inhale, exhale) I sat down in the waterfalls bayou, while I continued to be ( forgetting time) and listen to the natural wildlife that surrounded me. My chakrub still in my hands. My guide still in my sight, observing me in silence, my goddess vibes were free. The trees, the tuscan birds and insects around me, totally existing as well. I didn’t care that he was there too. I knew I wasn’t going to see him again, and he was apart of my experience. So I embraced the moment. I opened my eyes to see the most beautiful man, my guide, sitting right beside me. I stood up and put my chakrub back in my tote bag located a few feet away on dry land. Still, he was staring intently at the waterfall. I sat down to join him again. I knew exactly what he was looking at. He was feeling the ground below like me. Perhaps he was protecting me from anything that joined us. Afterall, we were in the choco rainforest, where green rules the landscape, where ocelots and viper snakes roam the ground, and run the entire forest. Yet they are still so fearful of humans. Moments past and I am back into my body, was this a dream? That’s when I opened my eyes and that’s when I remember I have company. I inhale a deep breath and then exhale out as I flutter my lids open to examine my surroundings. I’m on the edge of the waterfall this time this place looks much different and yet still I don’t quite know where I am. ******** I breathe in again and he leads me closer to the waterfall. The water is raining down heavy and it’s loud. As I get closer, my body becomes even more submerged in water. We swim to the corner of the fall, as he ducks under and leads me to the small cove on the other side. The water is at full throttle and pounding down hard and fast on my back. I test my head and shoulders through to feel pressure.

It feels like a back massage. It’s pounding down so hard my bikini bottoms struggle to stay on as I exert myself back out from under the beating water, fixing my already wet purple swimsuit hanging from my body, unapologetically exposing a nipple and pelvic muscles flex. He takes my

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hand and leads me through the cascada as I hold on to my barely there bikini to my body. We move closer as our bodies touch. He’s got me where he wants me, and the blood in my veins are already heated up despite the cold rain water.

I raise my arms to wipe the water from my face and adjust my suit in modesty. It’s no use. My skin wants to be exposed. It’s summer. I still don’t want to be too vulnerable but at this moment he’s my Tarzan, guiding me through the complex and maze like forest, protecting me from thorned branches and poison ivy. I am untouchable.

“Vas bajo el agua,” he says to me, leading me to the otherside.

I turn my back and my bikini strap breaks loose. Fuck it. I finally remove what’s holding me back and feel empowered. He grabs my floating bottoms as I duck my head under with my naked body following. We get close and I could feel his excitement. This is my chance to fulfill another fantasy, but I didn’t feel the need to for once in my twenties. I stared into his eyes and see myself. I felt sexual and I didn’t need someone else to secure it. So what I’m here and it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. For once, I felt satisfied for myself and I knew what I was doing when I was back in my hotel room alone. Suddenly, we hear a call, the sound of his uncle’s indigenous chant. He held up his head from mine. Breaking our bond to respond to his uncles’ call. I knew it was time to go. Carefully, because the cove was slippery to step through on rocks, we walked through the waterfall, bathing , getting sexually baptized. I retreat back to the dry shore topless. Emerging with even more energy. I felt hot and wet. I needed to sit down. So I perched naked, gathering rocks and sand to sprinkle on my belly, digging my feet further into the earth. I knew I wasn’t ever coming back so I wanted to savor every last moment. He followed, watching me. It was time to go back to the eco-lodge. The three of us hiked back in silence, listening to the soundtrack of the rainforest. When I returned to my hotel room, I laid on my bed, naked. Re-charged with a new set of purpose and principle. The bad bitch principles. I didn’t even want to shower. I was speechless. All I could do was sit and eat the exotic fruit the hotel left on my bedside table and take nude selfies for my own files. Then, a thought came from within me...Everything that is beautiful is not always good for you.

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CREDITS Cover Photography: Rou Leonard @routhemartin Elaine Welteroth story: Photo Credit: Astrid Stawiarz, Getty Images Eliana Murargy Photography: Pulled from the website Pyer Moss Photos: Fashion GPS © IMAXtree.com Christian Cowan Photos: Fashion GPS © IMAXtree.com Issue 5 Party Recap Photos: Joko Visuals Read More Zine Stories: www.violetsummerzine.com Shop Our Print Issues and Urban Decor Products: www.violet-summer.com Follow us on Instagram: @violetsummershop @violetsummerzine @melwrites.com Want to contribute? All Inquiries: info@violetsummerzine.com

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