Various Lessons Learned from Four Fashion Shows
They are not paid yet but the goal is that they and other modeling jobs will be.
They are not paid yet but the goal is that they and other modeling jobs will be.
February 19, 2026
I do not have the capacity to face the horror around me. An assassination of someone, a White person, who cast a spell on himself like magic. The words we say can become true, sometimes, with enough emotion behind them, spoken or “incanted” enough times, from my observation. Also, days later, a young person, Black boy/man un-alived by hanging at a college in Mississippi. So much more. This feels like the 1960s. Will my vision go from technicolor to Black and White?
I have given my moment of silence.
What can you do?
I think, “integrate” all of this while understanding that that concept exists on a spectrum, at best. So still, let me tell you about some fashion shows I did this summer.
I could say more, such as a paragraph about lack of support that I had here before, but I think in my morning routine, this process including various activities such as completing a personal project called Heritage Sheets, among other personal work such as counseling–I think some of what never existed can still be birthed from nothing, a concept I recently learned called ex nihilo (creation from nothing, as opposed to creation from existing matter, only God can create from nothing). Also I think that I've come across, in this process, what is a connection between the areas of quantum physics and spirituality.
Solutions to the reality that I am the matrix of which I speak, that one cannot extract themselves from the captivity of their lineage, as a sibling put it. I don’t feel like blogging more here about this, so let’s get to the clothing story.
The four fashion shows, in order of participation, that I participated in were: Bastille Day, Homegrown Heroes Benefit Show, Halo’s Closet, and the Dashiki Festival.
This is basically Independence Day for France. Though I have more clarity now regarding my potential and feel ashamed of not seeing who I was sooner, French was still my college major. I look back at who I was when I was 17 and I find myself 22 years late to my actual potential. 1235 on my SATs, not that great actually, but given my circumstances, a decent baseline before coaching, now I see. 18 credits to start with college from AP classes. An affinity for STEM subjects, and artistic subjects, too, both alike it seemed. A full-scholarship from the Gates Foundation and from local organizations in Atlanta, and another my father had gotten me that I’d eventually lost — integration loading now, 3% downloaded. Yet by my senior year, by the end, I had crashed out from adverse circumstances and trauma, generational included. And mistakes, but mostly the first two. Also I had no extended family support, and now I see an abusive patriarchal default generationally within my family system. Again, spells, my mother’s passing helped me to begin to decipher. And sickness that resulted from this cancerous family system. As a young girl, I was not seen or validated in any of it, but actually vilified some — generationally, it was by design. And systemically within my race and gender. So many invisible and visible factors at play I can name now.
In any case, the healing, learning from mistakes, and rewiring will hopefully reintegrate for fuller and more robust access, just at a later age, God Willing, with health, and if it is not too late. So French from my major and languages are part of that journey, I think. And Igbo, Spanish, too, ideally. And others. Perhaps to first access my voice.
But back to Bastille Day — I needed to explain my thoughts. This would be like Act I, is what I call it.
Tangent aside, I was late to the show. My bus never arrived. I took an Uber to the event and made it right before the models went on. I threw on my black dress with fringe, and the only lipstick I could quickly find, red, and ran out. I thought it wouldn’t work, that I needed another red that perfectly complemented my skin tone, but after seeing a picture, that shade of red actually was a good contrast to the black outfit.
It was interesting to see these girls/women, some very womanly-womanly looking, you know, own their bodies. So whatever this looks like for me, I’d like to do this in my unique way, somewhat awkward, unconfident, but present, speaking, aware, there, beautiful, intelligent, other adjectives withstanding.
I was given the designer Two Generations Vintage to walk for. I contacted this organizer through Eventbrite, and they were nice enough to let me walk for them. It wasn’t paying, but I got more experience. I hope to get paid sooner than later.
It was a simple black dress and pieces of jewelry. It was, style-wise, kind of basic, in a classic way. My hair should have been better moisturized too, but it still managed decently in some of the photos. In others, it looked dry. So I worked on that for the next show where it looked more moisturized.
I connected with the organizers on a soul level. They came from difficult backgrounds like me, though I see how there are privileges aligned with my story as well. Integration of it all is necessary. I don’t know if they were scapegoated like us (and scapegoats can scapegoat too, also like me, like I’m working toward not doing when I do or am called out), still, I connect to their backgrounds.
The organizers also came to a dance performance I had last year. One of them also drove me to an alumni event and it was great talking to them the whole ride.
In this show I was asked to walk for a designer. I was what they called a “Designer Model.” For this one, the designer dressed me in several different outfits. I enjoyed all of them — a white pantsuit with a covering for your head, similar to a hijab; a black prom-styled dress with cloud bright lavender puffs at the bottom; and a long green dress with paint accents.
The event was fun but far away location-wise. After the show, I had cancelled an Uber I’d called because someone offered me a ride back as I was waiting outside. A nice blessing, so to speak. It saved me money that night, a lot of money, minus the cancellation fee.
Keep working. Keep going. You continue to have little income, but it will grow. You continue to be on public transportation and Uber, but it will also edit itself out for better. You fear you will not accomplish Act I or Act II, with good health. Keep going. You will.
I enjoyed this, particularly after the kerfuffle with the Essence Festival, which I am going over research for an article I’m working on, before going back to healing blogging.
The Dashiki Festival celebrated African cultures. It had a fashion show competition, and I needed more experience, so this one, I entered. I represented Nigeria and took off the day from the un-job to compete.
A few days before, I went to a local African shop and got a few items to compete in. That cost me a good amount, but I figured that I needed something for this. It’s difficult also to know that African Americans would protest stores like this one starting the day after I got my items, due to disrespect of Black immigrants towards African Americans. What do you want me to say? It’s so much, honestly. Some of the friends of the owner who would come into their store, some were African American I think... There is more, but I will stop there. I don’t want this to be a long piece, and maybe I can address the “more” another time, concerning another event related to this.
Back to the competition. I liked my outfit, a pink and green skirt and top get-up. I don’t think it was Nigerian print, but I was told that was okay, still.
Here it is. In the competition, I was #18 and made it to Round 2. I didn’t make it to the third round. Image courtesy of Obinna Morton
The difficulty came when I saw one young Black girl in front of me, share that her “auntie” made a part of her traditional outfit. This baby girl was less than 10 years old. I never had this relationship with an “auntie.” A painful realization, after realization, after realization, at this event.
Or when after making it to the second round, I heard two contestants, both younger than me, talk about their clothing and how it related to girls and women in their cultures.
Another contestant, who I sometimes see at my un-job, too, actually, saying the importance of standing in her identity, which not many have, of being lonely in her identity as a first-generation African/Black girl (what is the correct term for this identity, I don’t know), in the United States, with Black immigrant parents from Ghana.
I wished I could have stated this truthfully because this is how I feel, too. I also felt an added isolation. However, in understanding why I couldn’t articulate it so clearly because of the other African American heritage, also difficult because I didn’t have a safe and organically built relationship with any relatives on this side, or the African/Nigerian side either. There’s more to discuss. I will get there. It is painful, understanding my placement within the family system, historically as a scapegoat. Another talk, another day, this is.
Thinking about my story, and hearing this young girl/woman contestant speak made me feel better in knowing why I couldn’t articulate my experience with such clarity.
So that is all for this one.
You’re unlikely. It is true. You do not have the connections or support that you see happened so naturally with others. So I am sending your tribe. Continue to be truthful about your story and experiences. This is part of the success you will attain, and the well from which reciprocity will flow. Really? Yes, really.
With that being said, writing this and integrating these experiences has drained me emotionally, and freed me some, too.
I will end here.
Thank you for reading.
I have given my moment of silence.
What can you do?
I think, “integrate” all of this while understanding that that concept exists on a spectrum, at best. So still, let me tell you about some fashion shows I did this summer.
I could say more, such as a paragraph about lack of support that I had here before, but I think in my morning routine, this process including various activities such as completing a personal project called Heritage Sheets, among other personal work such as counseling–I think some of what never existed can still be birthed from nothing, a concept I recently learned called ex nihilo (creation from nothing, as opposed to creation from existing matter, only God can create from nothing). Also I think that I've come across, in this process, what is a connection between the areas of quantum physics and spirituality.
Solutions to the reality that I am the matrix of which I speak, that one cannot extract themselves from the captivity of their lineage, as a sibling put it. I don’t feel like blogging more here about this, so let’s get to the clothing story.
The four fashion shows, in order of participation, that I participated in were: Bastille Day, Homegrown Heroes Benefit Show, Halo’s Closet, and the Dashiki Festival.
Bastille Day
This is basically Independence Day for France. Though I have more clarity now regarding my potential and feel ashamed of not seeing who I was sooner, French was still my college major. I look back at who I was when I was 17 and I find myself 22 years late to my actual potential. 1235 on my SATs, not that great actually, but given my circumstances, a decent baseline before coaching, now I see. 18 credits to start with college from AP classes. An affinity for STEM subjects, and artistic subjects, too, both alike it seemed. A full-scholarship from the Gates Foundation and from local organizations in Atlanta, and another my father had gotten me that I’d eventually lost — integration loading now, 3% downloaded. Yet by my senior year, by the end, I had crashed out from adverse circumstances and trauma, generational included. And mistakes, but mostly the first two. Also I had no extended family support, and now I see an abusive patriarchal default generationally within my family system. Again, spells, my mother’s passing helped me to begin to decipher. And sickness that resulted from this cancerous family system. As a young girl, I was not seen or validated in any of it, but actually vilified some — generationally, it was by design. And systemically within my race and gender. So many invisible and visible factors at play I can name now.
In any case, the healing, learning from mistakes, and rewiring will hopefully reintegrate for fuller and more robust access, just at a later age, God Willing, with health, and if it is not too late. So French from my major and languages are part of that journey, I think. And Igbo, Spanish, too, ideally. And others. Perhaps to first access my voice.
But back to Bastille Day — I needed to explain my thoughts. This would be like Act I, is what I call it.
Tangent aside, I was late to the show. My bus never arrived. I took an Uber to the event and made it right before the models went on. I threw on my black dress with fringe, and the only lipstick I could quickly find, red, and ran out. I thought it wouldn’t work, that I needed another red that perfectly complemented my skin tone, but after seeing a picture, that shade of red actually was a good contrast to the black outfit.
Lessons:
Practice your face when walking because sometimes you tend to carry stress in your face so your mouth looks tense. Also, start working on ways to account for random circumstances to still be on time, or at the very least, not more than 15 minutes late. Perhaps after a certain time, you can default to Uber (as you continue to work on moving beyond this, God Willing).Homegrown Heroes Benefit
This was too shexy... I do not feel comfortable with this and am working on owning my body, as it has been owned prior by so many, generationally from what I know, have experienced, and just sense. I have to find my own voice within this. In any case, this show was a fashion show that included several burlesque performances. Too shexy.It was interesting to see these girls/women, some very womanly-womanly looking, you know, own their bodies. So whatever this looks like for me, I’d like to do this in my unique way, somewhat awkward, unconfident, but present, speaking, aware, there, beautiful, intelligent, other adjectives withstanding.
I was given the designer Two Generations Vintage to walk for. I contacted this organizer through Eventbrite, and they were nice enough to let me walk for them. It wasn’t paying, but I got more experience. I hope to get paid sooner than later.
It was a simple black dress and pieces of jewelry. It was, style-wise, kind of basic, in a classic way. My hair should have been better moisturized too, but it still managed decently in some of the photos. In others, it looked dry. So I worked on that for the next show where it looked more moisturized.
Lessons:
Keep practicing posing. This show required a lot of poses, so keep working on this and watching videos to figure this out. Also, be intentional in working to take care of your hair. I know you have this as a goal, too, but you have to make time for it. Stop pulling, and keep working on moisturizing and learning more about upkeep.Halo’s Closet
I connected with the organizers on a soul level. They came from difficult backgrounds like me, though I see how there are privileges aligned with my story as well. Integration of it all is necessary. I don’t know if they were scapegoated like us (and scapegoats can scapegoat too, also like me, like I’m working toward not doing when I do or am called out), still, I connect to their backgrounds.
The organizers also came to a dance performance I had last year. One of them also drove me to an alumni event and it was great talking to them the whole ride.
In this show I was asked to walk for a designer. I was what they called a “Designer Model.” For this one, the designer dressed me in several different outfits. I enjoyed all of them — a white pantsuit with a covering for your head, similar to a hijab; a black prom-styled dress with cloud bright lavender puffs at the bottom; and a long green dress with paint accents.
The event was fun but far away location-wise. After the show, I had cancelled an Uber I’d called because someone offered me a ride back as I was waiting outside. A nice blessing, so to speak. It saved me money that night, a lot of money, minus the cancellation fee.
Lessons:
Keep working. Keep going. You continue to have little income, but it will grow. You continue to be on public transportation and Uber, but it will also edit itself out for better. You fear you will not accomplish Act I or Act II, with good health. Keep going. You will.
Dashiki Festival Fashion Competition
I enjoyed this, particularly after the kerfuffle with the Essence Festival, which I am going over research for an article I’m working on, before going back to healing blogging.
The Dashiki Festival celebrated African cultures. It had a fashion show competition, and I needed more experience, so this one, I entered. I represented Nigeria and took off the day from the un-job to compete.
A few days before, I went to a local African shop and got a few items to compete in. That cost me a good amount, but I figured that I needed something for this. It’s difficult also to know that African Americans would protest stores like this one starting the day after I got my items, due to disrespect of Black immigrants towards African Americans. What do you want me to say? It’s so much, honestly. Some of the friends of the owner who would come into their store, some were African American I think... There is more, but I will stop there. I don’t want this to be a long piece, and maybe I can address the “more” another time, concerning another event related to this.
Back to the competition. I liked my outfit, a pink and green skirt and top get-up. I don’t think it was Nigerian print, but I was told that was okay, still.
Here it is. In the competition, I was #18 and made it to Round 2. I didn’t make it to the third round. Image courtesy of Obinna Morton
The difficulty came when I saw one young Black girl in front of me, share that her “auntie” made a part of her traditional outfit. This baby girl was less than 10 years old. I never had this relationship with an “auntie.” A painful realization, after realization, after realization, at this event.
Or when after making it to the second round, I heard two contestants, both younger than me, talk about their clothing and how it related to girls and women in their cultures.
- An Eritrean mother alongside her daughter, wearing a cultural outfit her mom gave to her to compete.
- A Senegalese and Moroccan contestant talking about the cultural relevance of an outfit to Moroccan girls and women.
Another contestant, who I sometimes see at my un-job, too, actually, saying the importance of standing in her identity, which not many have, of being lonely in her identity as a first-generation African/Black girl (what is the correct term for this identity, I don’t know), in the United States, with Black immigrant parents from Ghana.
I wished I could have stated this truthfully because this is how I feel, too. I also felt an added isolation. However, in understanding why I couldn’t articulate it so clearly because of the other African American heritage, also difficult because I didn’t have a safe and organically built relationship with any relatives on this side, or the African/Nigerian side either. There’s more to discuss. I will get there. It is painful, understanding my placement within the family system, historically as a scapegoat. Another talk, another day, this is.
Thinking about my story, and hearing this young girl/woman contestant speak made me feel better in knowing why I couldn’t articulate my experience with such clarity.
So that is all for this one.
Lessons:
You’re unlikely. It is true. You do not have the connections or support that you see happened so naturally with others. So I am sending your tribe. Continue to be truthful about your story and experiences. This is part of the success you will attain, and the well from which reciprocity will flow. Really? Yes, really.
With that being said, writing this and integrating these experiences has drained me emotionally, and freed me some, too.
I will end here.
Thank you for reading.