Toe to Toe: Same Bug

It's Soap Box Time. You know I usually give a disclaimer or warning before I start ranting but there's no time. I'm fired up. So a few days ago, I was in the waiting room of a dentist's office. While I have previously been a patient at that same office, I was there for other reasons that day on a much more professional basis. Needless to say This Bug was dressed to kill in a high-waist fitted pencil skirt, ruched blouse and some very cute shoes. What can I say? I clean up nice. When the receptionist saw me she remarked that I looked very elegant. We joked about how she is usually accustomed to seeing me: Hoodie, jeans and Tims on my feet. Told her that I come in ready for war if I expect pain- so I dress accordingly. While we chatted- a brother who looked like he was in his mid to late thirties was ear hustlin' our conversation. When it was over, he spoke. "So you usually wear Tims? Why is that?" I wasn't sure where he was going with this- so I gave the most honest answer possible. "Because I like to be comfortable" I replied. He goes on, "But what does that mean to you? The hoodie, the boots?" I explain that a lot of it has to do with my love for Hip-Hop and without trying, it is ingrained in my personal style. "But you mentioned comfort. Aren't you comfortable right now? What does that mean to you? Hip-Hop?" I tell him that I am absolutely comfortable either way, ladylike or B-girl; it matters very little what I'm wearing at the time. He looks confused. As if trying to picture me dressed down is the most difficult thing in the world at that moment. Suddenly I'm called further into the office and I leave him sitting there perplexed.

I can't front. As I drove home from that meeting, I was annoyed. Whatever allows people to make snap judgments or simply judge a book by its cover annoys me. This Bug can rock the hell out of Construction Tims or sexy Pumps. Simple as that. If homeboy in the waiting room couldn't fathom both, it shows how close-minded he is. Later that day, I have a similar conversation with a dude in a parking lot. He used to drive buses for the elementary school across from where I attended high school. Again, how I used to dress comes up. It's not much different except the jeans and hoodies are no longer three sizes too big. He says he always wondered why I covered up that figure back then. I'm wondering why the hell he was ogling teenage girls when he was supposed to be shuttling grade-schoolers home safely. I keep it to myself though. The conversation turns to music and he seems baffled that I could love a genre that is perpetually disrespectful to women. At this point I'm getting flashbacks from the dentist's office. I asked him why he thought that my liking Hip-Hop somehow diminished my self value in his eyes but he had no valid answer. He mentioned something about liking "some rap" like Lupe Fiasco and stated that if Jay-Z respected his woman- he would never allow Bey to shake her ample posterior for the world to gawk at. Really? Shouldn't he holla at her daddy for training his little girl to shake what her Momma gave her in the first place? How does that fall on Jigga? Negro Please. I'm sure Mr. Knowles was well aware of the history of the Hottentot Venus and still cashed those checks.

Anyway, I came away from both conversations slightly perturbed. Whether I am dressed to chill or thrill- it does not change what is between my ears. That I can appreciate lyrical skill and ill beats does not make me a Hoodrat. At the same token, just because I can classy it up and hold my own at a dinner party with jazz aficionados or intellectuals does not make me a snob. There are so many facets to an individual that it alludes me how folks can take things only at face value. Perhaps I represent an existent duality that few get the chance to examine close up. So when we speak- they have no idea what to make of me. Like I said before, I have more sides than an octagon and they are ALL a part of me. I have no problem stomping a mudhole in a lame with my Mac & Cheese Tims or red stilettos and then breezing off to high brow poetry reading or a Wu Tang concert. One thing's for sure: That is the last time I will defend myself and an entire culture rooted in music to the Elvins of the world ever again. People really need to free their minds.

End of rant.