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Blue isn’t blue about her nappy tresses

Nappy Isn’t As Nappy Does

Or am I wrong?

So, here I am again, addressing another issue that I would rather ignore — but my cravings will not let me be.

I have way more important shit to tend to than calling out a loser rapper who needs to be attached to other more successful cohorts in order for us to even recognize his crooked mug.

But, here I am again — trying to defend the women who look like me even though someone subtly hinted on Twitter — that I sound like a broken record with all these pieces that I churn out — that seem to echo the exact same sentiment with no concrete solution in sight.

Dude, I’m trying!

So, back to the shit. French Montana — a character, who looks like Arab but acts like he’s Black, and has a resume that reads like the stuff you Google when the face is somewhat familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

This is probably why during his daily routine of checking to see who was checking for him because, you know, pseudo-celebs are into that kinda thing — he stumbled upon a tweet that proved why he was checking to see who was checking for him.

It wasn’t pretty.

Yikes!

Of course, bruised egos are amassed from guilty parties who can’t validate the reasons why anyone would give a shit who they are — so naturally he went into attack mode.

Fucker!

Fair enough. If anyone tried to devalue my worth or existence — best believe I’m going to let you hear me roar.

However, if I were an adult over the age of thirty, and the instigator looks like she could be my youngest sister, I most likely would brush it off or polish my comeback in a disarmingly charming way — that could possibly prove why I’m really not so bad after all.

French Montana is a punk ass loser who mooches from The Kardashians and poses like a baller when he can barely hold his own on the court where the ball almost always evades his turn.

The crux of the matter is that referring to a Black woman’s hair, as “nappy” is the best way to illustrate why men of higher standing never deem us desirable.

Not too long ago — I demolished Tyrese Gibson for publicly pointing out all the reasons why Black women fail. It’s apparently because we doll ourselves up to the point of being Un-real.

Black men want real women, and so our pursuits just make us even more unapproachable.

Yeah, that’s obviously a crock of shit, and his pathetic attempt during his press tour for The Fate of the Furious to smoothen his crooked lines was an epic fail.

French Montana recently called into The Breakfast Club and also tried to make his case for the reference to all things “nappy.”

A pack of idiots have a “nappy” good time!

He failed. And DJ Envy along with the always unreliable Charlamagne tha God helped their guest solidify his ultimate fuck up.

The conversation reeked of putrid misogyny as the men playfully glazed over the damage done to Black women with hair like mine.

Yes, I’m “nappy.”

My hair doesn’t bounce back and glisten after a long warm shower, and casual sprays out of a bottle with neon letters plastered around it. No, when I go to South Beach and dive into the warm waves — I don’t emerge with my tresses sexily clinging to my skull — like a scene out of Baywatch. When I wake up in the morning and realize that my silk scarf abandoned me with no warning — I rush to the bathroom to survey the damage and promise myself that I will get it together in time to make the day progress without a hitch.

In other words, “nappy isn’t as nappy does.”

Black women have been chided for the sin of being born with a hair type that doesn’t quite match the seamlessness of our silky-haired counterparts. Black men also toy with us and gladly mock our need to challenge our blessed competitors.

Every woman wants to feel desired — and if investing in packs of Peruvian locks — helps to keep us in the race — then so be it.

But, there are those of us that could care less. We love how crazy our hair gets at the end of the day, and we relish trudging through the maze in order to create flawless patterns that can’t be replicated by women that have copied everything else.

By the way, I absolutely believe that the future will produce the Black men we wish we had today. They won’t stand to see their women uprooted and tossed aside like weed. They will shut it all the way down before we know what’s up.

In the meantime, we are in the midst of soulless Black men who laughed with French Montana when he acknowledged his shit — but swore that he adores “Black Queens” because he has a “Black son.”

Here’s the thing, “nappy” is not a cool way to describe our hair because it’s a derogatory term that emphasizes why we are not considered attractive enough for the Fast and Furious premieres.

It’s not that we don’t like our hair and we are not harboring pent up insecurities stemming from the extra work it takes to coerce our strands into submission.

It’s really about the fact that Black men date women who mimic our styles with ease as if it’s the most natural in the world, without paying homage to the sacrifice we gave amidst the threatening climate of losing jobs — or not even being hired at all — because we dared to arrive with neatly curated cornrows, braids or dreads.

It takes “nappy hair” to create the gorgeous lines that host the carved creations of our ancestors and that is a source of pride that shouldn’t be regulated to the ignorance and pathetically insecure ranting of a rapper — that none of us really care about — because he’s really a little boy lost.

Men of color can use the word “nappy” to fuck with us all they want — but at the end of the day — you’re just highlighting the feature that sets us apart from the pack.

We love to be different. So, maybe nappy really is the perfect way to distinguish us — I can dig it.

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