Randomness from Ak:
In her Naked essay, Yani gave the definitive thumbs down to unsolicited attention from men on the street. She continued her anti-catcall activism in this Small.Medium.Large entry. Yani is such a vigorous hater of sidewalk holleration, I was afraid to break ranks.
But now, while that pint-sized Scorpio isn’t looking, I’m speaking out!
Sometimes a little “hey ma” feels right. Of course I’m not talking about the horn-honking at the crosswalk, the hostile compliments about the circumference of my thighs, or the pssts-pssts only appropriate for a cat.
Even this cat is uninterested in "psst, psst."
I’m talking about the slightly shy “Ma, can I holler?” from the boy too young to drink (No R. Kelly). The cocksure “hey beautiful” from the stately gold-grilled gentleman at the bodega. Even the leering hellos, bless yous and have a nice days don’t bother me because I’m the one with the power of disdain.
Call it a Leo/vanity/insecurity thing. But it’s good to know that despite the ubiquity of the jumbo-assed, racially indeterminate pinup, a regular-pretty brown person like me still gets burn. I don’t need the attention, but I damn sure enjoy it.
Phew. I said it.
Yani caught wind of this post and would like to clarify her “catcalls make me fantasize about toting a gun” stance:
“I like, ‘Oh you look beautiful miss’ or ‘Have a nice day.’ It’s the follow-up conversation I have a problem with,” she says via cell phone. “Just don’t be ignorant. Just because you think I look nice doesn’t mean I have to talk to you.”
Smoothed out, no-obligation holleration? Perhaps Luther was onto something.
Ak, Yani and their homie No-No went to see the all-Black Broadway revival of Cat On a Hot Tin Roof last night. Terrence Howard was underwhelming onstage, but seeing James Earl Jones at his most boombastic, and beholding the silky, ladylike gangsta of Phylicia Rashad in person made this play well worth the $75 they spent for their discount balcony seats.
Still, Ak was distracted. While Yani and No-No were likely focusing on Tennesee Williams’s seething dialogue and thinking really smarty arty thoughts about Debbie Allen’s directorial choices, Ak was busy envying Anika Noni Rose for being soooo pretty and toned (see above pic).
Embarrassed at her shallowness, Ak then tried to muster up some serious thoughts. Here’s what she was working with:
-I wonder if the kiddies can see that Tony-winner Anika Noni Rose telegraphs more sex appeal on a Broadway stage than professional gyrator Angel Lola Love (see pic below) does in Kanye’s Good Life video.
-I wonder if I can actually see sexy through my own lens or is it filtered through the eyes of DILFs (Dudes I’d Like to Fuck)?
-Why does Terrence Howard still have a what looks like a box in ’08? If a woman wore the equivalent–say a mushroom–would she get the same burn that he does?
-Why does sexiness have so much currency anyway? Before sexy became synonymous with “interesting” and “talented” and “person you should give a fuck about,” how were women (and men) evaluated in the popular imagination?
-Why are different iterations of “the sexy” about the only thing I appreciate about Sean Combs’s creative output?
Clearly Ak failed on the deep thoughts tip. She never said she was Khalil Gibran. If you’re a philosopher and want to muse on the sexy, please do.