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https://www.essence.com/lifestyle/diabetes-and-genetics/
By Taayoo Murray ·
The post Three Generations Of Women Bond Over Their Shared Diabetes Diagnoses appeared first on Essence.
Photos by Korrin Dering. By Adora Mehala ·Updated May 11, 2024
I’m no stranger to being the ‘only one’ in a room. It’s nostalgic— not preferred or cherished, but regrettably familiar. Akin to an old friend I don’t particularly wish to see again, but we run in overlapping social circles and I’ve learned to play nice. Comparably more diverse, the modeling world feels similar to the world I grew up in. An unwritten standard for appearance exists with little (albeit slowly growing) room for exceptions.
When I first became a model, I was signed to my agency’s new curve board. My agents were supportive and never expressed my size or racial background as being a barrier, but rather something to celebrate. As I began working, however, the unspoken division between models who fit archaic standards and the modern exceptions to the rule became clear to me. Many times I found myself back to being the only one on sets after booking jobs where the casting wassrc="https://www.essence.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/IMG_2102.jpeg" alt="This Set Made Me Feel Truly Seen As A Beauty Model" width="400" height="500" />
So when I showed up on set for the mysterious celebrity beauty brand shoot I booked and was met with diversity in every corner of the room– from hair & makeup to the marketing division– I knew I could put my anxiety to rest.
After I sat down to eat breakfast with the other models, I headed over to makeup. At this point, the identity celebrity I was working for remained mysterious. I noticed that all of the makeup to be used on my face were untitled bottles of Wyn Beauty products. This isn’t common with beauty campaigns. Commercial advertising laws only require the specific product being advertised to be used for the focal point of the ad. The rest of a model’s face is regularly done with whatever products the makeup artist brings in their personal kit.
To my left was my hairstylist, a Black woman teasing a massive afro wig. I thought back to a shoot I did earlier in the year where the hair artist looked at me with a slight grimace and said, “Well, we’ll see what we can do with this.” He was sent home by the brand to retrieve a wig of a more suitable texture than mine to shoot me in. My confidence was crushed and the set was delayed. My hair was a problem.
Throughout the day I chatted with various members of the Wyn team and observed the room. Directors, all levels of staff, and us contractors shared an ability to collaborate creatively and share excitement. At this point, I knew who I was working for. Her employees gleamed on the years-long journey they embarked on to create the brand. There was a clear sense of pride coupled with a joyful anticipation for the launch.
After finishing my hair and makeup, I caught a ray of sunshine peering down from a high window. I instinctively grabbed a massive 12 foot tall white board and brought it to the light. I angled my face upwards while posing with another model for an impromptu BTS shoot with the Social Media Photographer. It came together naturally, there was a mutual freedom for creation.
The energy in the room was electric, and I was a happy conductor. I swayed to music with the other models as we waited to shoot our respective portions. The last step before shooting is styling, where my experience with the team was seamless. They happily consulted my opinion when choosing my look.
By the time I was ready to shoot, I felt an assurance that I hadn’t felt before while working. Typically I mentally repeat affirmations in an attempt to squash the nerves riddling my body. This time the affirmations were calm. My brain and body were in unison, knowing I’m doing exactly what I need to do, exactly where I’m meant to be.
I came off camera and the Chief Brand Officer approached me with a smile. She told me how impressed she was with the range of photos; each shot a wyn. I thanked her and expressed my gratitude for how kind everyone had been so far.
I gushed my praises on the marketing vision, and told her about my experiences studying and working in integrated communications. She listened and stayed with me briefly to discuss her story working for Serena’s other ventures and her own career. We shared chats about our ethnic background and stories of second generation immigrants.
By the time the set wrapped, the energy hadn’t left my body. I thanked everyone and left the set beaming with another model, who I gushed with the moment we left the building. As the sun began to set, I said my goodbyes and searched for a Citibike. I cycled into the sunset back to Brooklyn.
Models have a unique and intimate experience with brands that the average consumer or press don’t. We often have the first outside interaction with beauty products or apparel, and we work closely with corporate teams. We can candidly observe whether or not a brand is true to what they sell, whether that be products or messaging. Nevertheless, our perspective often goes unmentioned when discussing a brand’s corporate social governance or ESG – environmental, social, and governance. After all, we’re just models.
On a personal level, working with Wyn Beauty was the kind of experience that left an undeniable imprint on my confidence. Moving from a university and corporate background to working as a model has come with its changes. I went from being respected for my intellect or work, to being acknowledged for my physical appearance, performance, and perceived personality.
From the highs of being on a Times Square billboard, to the lows of being ignored on set or having my hair fried off because I’m “just a model,” I’ve learned to adapt. Working with Wyn reminded me that there are people who truly acknowledge both. It was an experiential affirmation that reminded me how I can be valued in this profession. My skin is not a token, and my hair is not an inconvenience.
The post This Set Made Me Feel Truly Seen As A Beauty Model appeared first on Essence.
We are all sensitive to how hard Mother’s Day can be for women who have lost children, are unable to have children, or wanted children but made a difficult choice not to have them. It’s common to experience feelings of emptiness if you are a mother, you’ve unsuccessfully tried to become a mother, you have a mother, or you no longer have a mother. There’s pressure if you don’t want to be a mother but the world is saying you must. A mother wound exists inside many of us, and it cuts deep because the umbrella that “mother” covers is our first safe space. Inevitably, this covering changes for us in one way or another.
Having a child is indeed a blessing to many women. The truth is that not every woman can relate. All through history, women have been expected to become mothers. Many people believed, and still do, that a woman’s primary role in life is to bear children. So, choosing to be childfree wasn’t really a thing. Instead, women who didn’t or couldn’t have children were often shunned by society. Not to mention, Black women were forced to raise white babies and their own during slavery.
Black women still experience joy in bringing new life into this world, even with the reality of Black mother’s experiences in America: a global health pandemic, a nationwide racial reckoning, and horrifying rates of Black maternal mortality. Our choice to be joyful in the face of all this is often weaponized against us. It’s the idea that Black women are not human; that we’re not worthy of anything good in the world. As scholar Imani Perry wrote, joy is a choice for Black people that, while intimately tethered to pain, simultaneously “exists through it.”
A Black mother choosing joy is in glaring contrast to the most flagrant ideas about Black motherhood. Throughout generations, society has reduced Black mothers to being: the Black matriarch of the 1960s, the welfare queen of the 1970s, and the crack mother of the 1980s. In her 1998 book, Killing the Black Body, Dorothy Roberts states that “white childbearing is generally thought to be a beneficial activity: it brings personal joy and allows the nation to flourish.” Black mothers, however, are seen as degenerates that must be controlled and disciplined, even within Black communities themselves.
I got married shortly after finishing college, and we agreed to wait at least two years before starting a family. Two years came and went, and my then husband revealed he wasn’t ready yet. Three, four, then five years came and went. Finally, he was ready but my body wasn’t. Years of birth control pills had taken its toll and my cycles were all out of whack. I had to take medication to stabilize my cycles which, in turn, caused weight gain and mood swings. We tried and tried. Nothing. Naturally, my doctor thought it was me. Yet, after every test imaginable, it wasn’t me. It was my husband. Ultimately, we were unable to have children which contributed to our marriage ending.
Even though it is a story of many married couples, I never wanted it to be mine. There I was in my mid-thirties, divorced and not knowing if I would ever become a mother. When I got married, people were asking me when I was going to have a baby before I even left the church on my wedding day. “When are you going to have a baby?” “You’re not getting any younger.” “Who will take care of you when you get old?” “Who’s going to give me grandchildren?” After my divorce, those same people painted me with doom and gloom because I didn’t fulfill what I was supposed to. More so, what was expected of me.
Mother’s Day has been complicated for me since then. I’m reminded of being without children, as well as without my mother. Then I have to deal with friends and family members who are determined to call me every year and say, “Happy Mother’s Day!” When I remind them, I am not a mother, I am swiftly told that I am indeed a mother to my siblings. No, I am a sibling to my siblings. Some are actually offended that I don’t accept their good tidings, which for me is simply trauma and loss.
While children are a blessing to many women, what works for one doesn’t always work for another. Throughout history, women have always been expected to become mothers. Women are still fighting for the choice to say no. I have friends who have never had a desire to be a mother, and that’s okay. Now more than ever, women have the opportunity to decide what’s best for them. Motherhood is a choice and some people choose otherwise. Oftentimes, they receive public surveillance, scrutiny and judgment that is on a whole other level.
The Center for Disease Control (CDC) reports that Black women are three times more likely to die from pregnancy complications that white women. Even celebrities such as Serena Williams have opened up about their difficult pregnancies. In a personal Vogue essay, Beyonce even shared her experience. “I was 218 pounds the day I gave birth to Rumi and Sir. I was swollen from toxemia and had been on bed rest for over a month. My health and my babies’ health were in danger, so I had an emergency C-section.” She says, adding, “I was in survival mode and did not grasp it all until months later.”
To the women who are mothers, unable to have children, or wanted children but made a difficult choice not to have them. If you’re missing your mother because of distance or loss, I see you. The world is a better place because we’re here — and not necessarily because of the choices we’ve made, or the difficult situations we’ve been through. But simply because we’re making the conscious decision to keep going, despite what we are told or what happens despite our best intentions.
The love you willingly extend to your children; to yourself; to your nieces and nephews; to your neighbors’ kids; to your fur babies. It’s the care you show them and yourself. Whether the pain is nearly impossible to manage, or it just started to become a little easier this year, you’re doing great. This world may place its expectations on you, or even hold you up for the time being because you checked all the boxes.
If you don’t have children, you may experience loneliness from friends and family sharing experiences you can’t relate to. Maybe you’re like me and considered the cool auntie that gives the best gifts. Maybe you do want children one day. Maybe you’ve been silently trying for years and it just hasn’t happened. Maybe you are content with fur babies, or not having any babies at all.
Regardless of your situation, I see you. Just in case the world forgets to tell you, you are valued. You make this Mother’s Day exactly how you need it to be, even if it’s complicated.