Last week I got hit on by a clown. I’m not sure if I should be insulted or flattered. Should I consider it the ultimate high or have I reached a new low? Let me share the circumstances of the compliment. I was wearing a form-fitting sundress and a pair of oversized sunglasses. My hair was flowing free with bouncy curls and my black woman ass-ets were in full effect. He started with, “Excuse me…”. I thought it was a good enough opening line, especially since he said it from behind. I swear I am not trying to rhyme. He followed up with, “I just have to tell you that I think you’re beautiful.” I turned and saw that he was dressed in full clown regalia complete with hair and nose. Wow. WOW. I thought for a moment. Then, the words came. “Thank you,” I replied. “You look really nice… as a clown.” WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO SAY??? He shoved his business card at me. “I look nice underneath this clown suit too.” Me: A nervous laugh. Shudder. Breathe. Quickly. Take the card and leave. I thanked him and moved on. My girlfriend, translation: friend who is a girl, could not stop laughing. “Was that a clown?” she said. I couldn’t answer. I kept walking and chuckled to myself. When I stopped to contemplate the Pheromone exchange, I realized the clown couldn’t possibly have seen my face. So, then what part of “beautiful” had warranted me the forthright response? I determined it MUST have been the Hair/Azz combination.
I submit to you Exhibit A: the post-baby derriere. Opposed to the pre-baby derriere, the post-baby derriere is wider, plumper and sags with a certain umph. It is characterized by such terms as apple bottom, phat dunk, round mound… you get the point. It’s much more than most men can handle publicly. Usually met with a wince, deep breath, or a conscious effort to resist erection, the post-baby derriere is highly praised for ending slavery, solving the Cuban Missile Crisis (single-cheekedly), and preemptively nominating the first-lady to Maxim’s Top Ten Hot List. Seriously. Don’t underestimate the post-baby derriere’s power. You’ll lose every time.
Exhibit B: The long and flowy non-weave. Blame it on the potential “pullability” factor in a heightened climatic environment. Blame it on the endless Pantene commercials and Cindy Crawford ads of the 90’s. Blame it on the adverse affect of P!nk and Rihanna’s boyishly mod haircuts. The sex appeal of long, natural locks in a summer breeze is undeniable. Its importance is comparable to the ebb and flow of the tide to a seaman, and the star and crescent moon to a muslim. Oh yeah, it is that deep. If you don’t think so, ask the Koreans who have capitalized on the unbeweavable trend of merchandising pre-packaged synthetic and human hair to the African-American community. What’s that you say? Yes, I do know that white women wear weave. Right now, that’s not the subject. When you write your blog, you can talk about Taylor Swift’s extensions. Right now, sistas are the topic. At least the clown that day dubbed it that way.
I am a black woman. I celebrate black women in all their beauty – cafe au lait and creamy caramel to deep, dark, velvety cacao bean. I’ve worn my hair near bald, natural, pressed and permed. I love it all. This is not an exploitation of the features of black women or any other race of women for that matter. This is merely my observation of a series of isolated incidents, a simple cause and effect scenario if you will. I am here to testify about the case of one clown who accosted me with flattery not once but twice. (He also found me at the street fair 30 minutes later and said, “I see you!”) I’m here to testify about men everywhere from Waikiki to Washington D.C., California to the Cayman Islands, and Illinois to Italy, who have gawked, leered and incited riots on my booty’s behalf. The Hair/Azz combination is to be respected and feared. Many times they have stood alone and are a marvel to behold. Together they present overwhelming evidence in support of one hell of a case of merriment and wonderment. If you don’t believe me, ask the clown.
Persnickets Self-Adjustment: Be prepared for anything and expect the unexpected.