The Efforts of a “Bad Bitch”

See I’m in a moral pickle here. I’ve noticed that I take more time tending to my physical aesthetic. Watching hair videos on the daily, glancing at brief makeup hacks and checking out my booty in the mirror is the side effects I once deemed to the culture zombies better known as American millenials. But now I soak in the swampy hypocrisy of my once confident, forthright statements- while I rub coconut oil on my edges for optimum baby hair slayage.

The amount of sugar- induced hipsters sipping on overpriced lattes, briefing themselves on Kylies’s new Instagram pic is reaching an epidemic level; so it’s only logical that this savagely materialistic way of life claws onto my rebelling soul like a desperate blondie to snakeskin uggs. The odds are set against me to be an aware and active public servant for my country. I can’t even remember the last time I sat to watch the news- yet I could probably quote a line or two from Love & Hip Hop. All praises to the divine Cardi B- infesting my life with a fake hood mentality; I think I finally know how to appropriate “Dub” in a sentence with it sounding quintessentially New York- I mean “Yawk.” Drop the ‘r’ my guy.

To be or not to be a Bad Bitch is the question…

Did I put aluminum foil in my teeth as a kid? Of course I did, who didn’t do that? I mean I still do it now, with a thick wad of brown lipstick to show a brief Lauryn Hill-esque inclination that I’m not all surface beauty. Or in my case was I ever? I can’t say that I’ve been fully consumed by the great pop culture monster. I throw my figuratively greasy hands lathered by overwhelming fumes of Bath&Body lotions onto the now shrimpy tree of knowledge. Maybe I can bridge the fiery gap between, like Beyonce did when she proved she could crossover not only to Hip-Hop but Country as well.

And I haven’t even mentioned my internal conflict with the moniker. I’ve never been keen to call anyone a ‘bitch,’ even if I was called one. So how come, a sudden flow of chart topping, high life, celebrity moments encourage me to even use the word? No one can fully cure the delusive power of VH1 without totally dismantling their identity and essence as a person. And I am not doing that today because that causes me to critically think about my actions.

So am I a Bad Bitch? *sips sugar loaded tea* Maybe…


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