Tag Archives: PRESENT

DAY 2 — Kitty Black Perkins

Before President Barbie could run, a woman named Kitty dreamed big.

Louvenia “Kitty” Black was born in the late 1940s before Barbie existed.

But even then, she’d sit at home in Spartanburg, SC, coloring paper dolls into her own image.

It’d be 12 more years before Barbie came on the scene in 1959, and 7 more before Francie—Mattel’s first “Black” doll—was released in 1967.

“Black” because Francie was essentially a Barbie in blackface. Skin color aside, Francie was indistinguishable from her white counterpart.

Two years later, Christie was introduced as the Civil Rights Movement swept the nation. Her unique face mold and hair styles finally gave Black women a progressive, fashionable vision of themselves in mainstream toys, but…

Francie, Christie, Curtis, Cara, Brad and all the other Black skinned dolls Mattel introduced weren’t Barbie.

Barbie had shifted from just a doll to a symbol of what was possible for modern women. Even Mattel’s other white dolls were still just sidekicks.

That is, until 1980—four years after Kitty Perkins walked through the door, and two years after Mattel promoted her to Principle Designer.

Kitty didn’t even own a Barbie before before her 1976 interview with Mattel. But she bought one, made six outfits for her—all of which were subsequently put into production—and was hired on the spot.

It was Kitty’s presence at Mattel that made an authentic Black Barbie an actual possibility, and it all boiled down to one simple desire: “I wanted my Black Barbie doll to look more like me.”

“I had a person that was in the hair department, a sculptor, a face painter, and most of their direction would come from me because I was Black,” she recounted to the New York Post.

It was 1980, and for the first time in American history, children of ALL races saw ordinary store shelves consistently stocked with Black dolls that were fashionable, authentic, and most importantly, beautiful.

Dr. Mamie Phipps-Clark‘s “Doll Test” found that among white and Black children, almost all of them associated only the white doll with being “good” and other positive qualities.

Some people probably ignored her, some probably hated her, but for others, especially those who’d lived the Doll Test first-hand, Black Barbies were monumental.

At the same rate, some Black girls didn’t want a Barbie. She’d been a white doll for so long that some people didn’t care that Mattel finally got around to representing them.

In 1991, Shani & Friends, a Mattel subsidiary also led by Kitty, introduced an entirely new line of Afrocentric Black dolls. From their clothes and jewelry featuring African prints and hoops, even down to their names borrowed from Swahili and real-life Black Barbie Nichelle Nichols, everything about Shani & Friends was inspired by the diaspora. The trio even had different body molds. And though they only lasted 3 years as an independent line, Shani, Asha, and Nichelle’s face and body sculpts were reintegrated into the Barbie line to increase their range of representation.

By 1989, nine years after the first Black Barbie found shelves, Mattel sold 22 million Barbies globally that year alone. By 2021, that number was 86 million, or 186 Barbies every MINUTE.

Today, you can buy a Barbie in almost every single physical representation you wish. They come in all colors—including vitiligo, all shapes and sizes, and even have a range of disabilities from prosthetic users to Down’s syndrome.

And though you can find just about any Barbie these days, in 2019, Mattel’s best-seller was Black with an Afro.

Kitty retired from Mattel in 2004 after 30 years leading Barbie’s design, but the company’s commitment to diversity is stronger than ever, and so are their profits.

Barbie isn’t just a doll these days. She’s graced countless cartoons and movies (including 2023’s live action), costumes, self-care products, bags and accessories and so much more. If it exists, Barbie’s probably been there.

And Barbie certainly wouldn’t be the doll she is without the Black woman who made Barbie more like her.

An array of today’s Black Barbies, representing a range of our beauty.

KEEP GOING BLACK IN HISTORY:

Watch “Black Barbie: The Documentary” on Netflix and visit the official website.

Learn more about Kitty’s life and work at ScreenRant.

NYC, DAY 6 — Epilogue

“If you walked by a street and you saw a rose growing from concrete, even if it had messed up petals and it was a little to the side, you would marvel.”
– Tupac Shakur, Harlem, NYC.

I’ve been to NY many times now, but Louis introduced me to Harlem. Before my Sunday night flight, I revisited and found more than enough reasons to return.

This beauty was just one of them.

Thank you, followers, for indulging my Blackstory side journey.

And my thanks to you, NYC, for the first-hand reminder that Black History is thriving all around us, and for gifting me so many unique experiences with some of your most quintessential history makers.

[Ed. Note: This post is part of a one-time February 2024 mini-series that took me to NYC where I was treated to an abundance of Blackstories first-hand. In place of my usual February content, I chose to share my own real-time (-ish) lived experience to honor the vibrant people New York put in my path.]

NYC, DAY 5 — Finale

Last night in NYC & the city had me fully feeling myself.

Valerie June, Louis Mendes, Joe Hammond, Tiffany & Co., Selena Nelson, Spike Lee.

By this point, you couldn’t tell NYC Joy nothinggg.

And she had a thought.

That first night, no one expected Valerie June to exit into the main hotel.

On my last night, I could use that knowledge to squeeze one more drop of magic from the Big Apple.

Worst case scenario, I was all dressed up for a Saturday evening in NYC. Oh, no.

So I called a car to take me back to Café Carlyle where this all began.

For the next 15 or 20 minutes, I slunk around their lobby trying not to be weird. Temperatures were in the 30s most of my time in NYC, and I’m too old to choose cute over comfortable, so to hotel guests and passersby, I was just some creep in a coat.

Just as I was reaching peak levels of awkwardness, the café door swung open and Valerie June rushed out in a wave of pink tulle…

Until her dress snagged on someone/something along the way, jerking her back like a pull-string doll.

It was the most adorably ordinary thing I may have ever seen.

And snapped me back to the reality that I was WOEFULLY unprepared.

Another fan nearby clutched a VJ album and book with a blue Sharpie.

I’d shown up with absolutely nothing but a story about how I’d seen her in Austin just the week before and my NY-given swag.

You ever looked back on a moment and realized that your brain was the real MVP, working faster than you were actually processing thought?

Did I have any writing utensil? No.

Did I have a single scrap of paper? Of course not.

Would it be silly for her to sign a key card from a totally different hotel? Absolutely.

But Valerie June’s setlist had included one of my favorites, “Workin’ Woman Blues.”

And what I DID have was a $20 bill. And somebody else’s Sharpie.

“Can I ask you to sign something too… And can it be a twenty-dollar bill?”

With an infectious giggle that rippled through her curled locs and pink tulle dress, VJ remarked that nobody had ever asked her that before.

After the way NYC met me, it made my heart happy to leave behind a lasting impression of my own.

[Ed. Note: This post is part of a one-time February 2024 mini-series that took me to NYC where I was treated to an abundance of Blackstories first-hand. In place of my usual February content, I chose to share my own real-time (-ish) lived experience to honor the vibrant people New York put in my path.]

NYC, DAY 5 — The Spike Thing

“Spike Lee is having a signing at the Brooklyn Museum on Saturday if you want to go.”

(Tbh, Louis could have asked me to go to Mars at this point, and I’d ask what time.)

So bright and early, we popped up from the Eastern Pkwy station into an entirely empty museum lobby.

OF COURSE only members were allowed before 11. Us plebes were ushered outside where Louis did the mental math. “I’m thinking. Wondering if we should join.”

I reached for my phone. $64 for a dual membership. Joy Barnett & Louis Mendes could swing that.

So with two hours until the signing, we talked. As fans & families gathered, we watched. And through it all, we sat comfortably after Louis pulled the elderly card like he doesn’t put in miles across NYC every day. And when the museum shop opened, we rose to our rightful place at the very front of the line.

Around 11:45, a famous face poked out from a black velvet curtain, scanned the crowd, and did a double-take in our general direction.

That’s when Spike Lee marched over, shook Louis’s hand and picked up the stanchion himself to usher us in.

The two of them fell in so fast it almost felt scripted. Spike posed, Louis clicked. Spike handed Louis a bill, shook his hand again and thanked him. Then Louis went off-script.

“I wondered if I could get a picture of you and Joy.”

“Come on, baby.”

I scurried over like a rat to a charcuterie board. It’s almost literally written all over my face.

As Louis tucked the photo into his usual cardboard frame, Spike slid it across the table, and wrote without a word: “Love, Spike Lee.”

He began his goodbyes when I awkwardly chimed in to ask if he’d sign our books too.

The relief when he took it as a timely reminder vs. clumsy begging.

“Oh, tell all them people to open their books to THIS page,” Spike pointed a pink spread out to his manager. “I’m only signing THIS page.”

I flipped like my life depended on it, taking the opportunity to thank him for his work. He received my words graciously and signed both books before Louis & I started to slip away.

“Oh…” he called to his manager once more.

“And tell them NO PICTURES either. This is a BOOK SIGNING.”

[Ed. Note: This post is part of a one-time February 2024 mini-series that took me to NYC where I was treated to an abundance of Blackstories first-hand. In place of my usual February content, I chose to share my own real-time (-ish) lived experience to honor the vibrant people New York put in my path.]

NYC, DAY 4 (cont’d) — Closing At Tiffany’s

After a day of the VIP experience with Louis Mendes, a girl had developed certain expectations. The kind of expectations only another icon could deliver.

Cleaned up from a long day, I stepped into the newly remodeled Tiffany & Co. flagship (branded “The Landmark”) positively shining. Following a quick introduction to the seven floors awaiting me, I naturally started at the top.

It took about 5 steps for me to be absolutely dazzled.

A diamond-encrusted dome ring with a single sapphire set in the center winked in my direction, and I was done for.

“Let me know if you’d like to have a closer look at anything,” a voice offered from behind me.

I turned to meet Daniel, a 12-year Tiffany veteran who recognized my excellent taste and rolled out the red carpet in response.

Together, Daniel and I chose jewels from several floors before returning to the 7th floor where champagne, printed chocolates, and the most adorable pink macarons waited for me.

Two hours later, I’d tried on well over a million dollars worth of diamonds before the sales team and security discreetly closed the building.

And people who try on millions of dollars worth of diamonds don’t walk out the front door at Tiffany & Co.

The only other Black woman in the building, their head of security, escorted me out via a hidden elevator through a velvet curtain, granting us the only moment we’d have alone.

We shared the sweetest conversation that one day I’ll tell you all about in my future book. But for now, I say it was so good, that I asked how I could stay in touch with her.

She rattled off a few contact details, and I promised she’d hear from me soon.

“But if you forget, you can just Google my name: ‘Selena Nelson’.”

With my curiosity solidly peaked, I stood outside at a side door on 57th Street and did exactly that.

Selena Nelson held a starring role during the 2-year run of Sesame Street’s “Big Bag,” before moving on to more mainstream features like “Law & Order: SVU”, “Daredevil”, “The Blacklist”, and “New Amsterdam.”

I walked into Tiffany’s hoping to be treated like a star. I never guessed I’d walk out having met one.

[Ed. Note: This post is part of a one-time February 2024 mini-series that took me to NYC where I was treated to an abundance of Blackstories first-hand. In place of my usual February content, I chose to share my own real-time (-ish) lived experience to honor the vibrant people New York put in my path.]

NYC, DAY 4 (cont’d) — The Inner Sanctum

All this adventure and Louis and I hadn’t even eaten lunch yet. I didn’t anticipate any of his invitations, but there’s one in particular I truly couldn’t have prepared for.

“I’m going home at 1. Do you want to come?”

15 minutes later, we were back on the train, picking up soul food in Harlem before heading to his place.

“Take pictures, video, ask me about anything,” Louis graciously offered as we walked through the door. And it was a good thing, because I think I blacked out.

No matter where I lay my eyes, they found a photograph, photography equipment, or a book on photography, history or the Black experience.

Museum, temple, sanctuary.

Despite the ordered clutter, spirits lived here, and I was pushing past the veil.

We ate in near silence while I absorbed my surroundings. A sticky trap on the tile floor had caught a single roach that flipped in every direction before it just laid down. Live footage of the universe watching me in Louis’ apartment.

He answered every question I asked, and a lot that I didn’t. “That girl was a virgin. This man didn’t want his photograph taken. That was the time I put myself in front of the camera at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.” For every picture, there were two or three stories to tell.

As soon as I sat for a moment, he stood and unlatched an aluminum case in a nearby chair.

“Put this around your shoulder.” His worn hands extended a thin leather strap attached to yet another vintage camera.

“Now hold the lens to your eye. You see two of me? Turn that knob until you see one. Then take your left thumb—press that button. That’s it. You’re ready.”

I somehow managed the presence of mind to realize that no matter how many New Yorkers knew Louis Mendes, only a few had ever sat in my place.

I asked for another picture.

He gleefully switched on a lamp that he told me he built himself from spare parts, lightly posed me—something Louis never does with his public subjects—and clicked.

“That’s a good one. That’ll be important,” he pointed and admired his still-developing instant photo.

I can’t remember whether I said out loud that it already is. 🖤

[Ed. Note: This post is part of a one-time February 2024 mini-series that took me to NYC where I was treated to an abundance of Blackstories first-hand. In place of my usual February content, I chose to share my own real-time (-ish) lived experience to honor the vibrant people New York put in my path.]

NYC DAY 4 (cont’d) — Breakfast Served with Joe

Most people who interact with Louis Mendes fall into two categories: the perfect strangers who become totally enamored with him and the long-time locals thrilled to finally spot him. Every now and then, they fall into both and realize who he is mid-conversation.

But one particular exchange at Jimbo’s Hamburger Palace caught me WILDLY off-guard, right in front of my grits and bacon.

While Louis and I chatted over the merits of chocolate cake for breakfast—he’d flatly refused toast or a biscuit in favor of cake at 9am—another older gentleman quietly entered.

A black cane supported his long arms and broad shoulders that hinted at a once imposing physique. He’d been staring at us since he walked in, and sank himself into a chair at the opposite table.

“Legendary cameraman.”

He spoke so softly and deliberately that Louis thought he said “legendary camera, man.”

“How old are you?” Louis asked.

“73.”

“Oh, it’s younger than you.”

“I know. I remember that camera.”

“You know who I am?”

“Yeah, I know who you are. You used to shoot me & my boys ballin’ down at Rucker Park.”

A man (unintentionally?) eavesdropping from the diner countertop spun on his stool quick and exclaimed, “Man, I KNEW you were Joe Hammond!”

Joe “The Destroyer” Hammond, who once put up 50 points in a half against Dr. J, is widely considered one of the greatest street basketball players of all time. This year, he’ll be inducted into the New York Basketball Hall of Fame alongside Carmelo Anthony. That morning, he watched me shove eggs in my mouth. 🥴

In his soft-spoken but thick and charismatic New York accent, Joe regaled me with a few Harlem streetball stories, some tinged with regret, but all so proudly recounted. And I listened so intently, I barely remember him walking out the door.

I turned in my chair, hoping to catch one last glimpse of a New York great and spotted him just under the restaurant’s awning, waiting out the rain. Joe lingered there just long enough for me to snap a single photograph—something Louis constantly pesters me to do—before Harlem took him back.

It might be one of my favorite portraits I’ve ever taken. 🖤

[Ed. Note: This post is part of a one-time February 2024 mini-series that took me to NYC where I was treated to an abundance of Blackstories first-hand. In place of my usual February content, I chose to share my own real-time (-ish) lived experience to honor the vibrant people New York put in my path.]

NYC, DAY 4 — February 2

Days 2 & 3 were a working whirlwind, but I had a gust of energy behind me after a night with Valerie June.

Killed the pitch, met agency leadership, treated another team to lunch, mentored a junior, and still had time to text my old friend @reallouismendes.

Back in 2022, we met in Bryant Park when I tried to take a picture of him and move on, but got acquainted with the legend instead.

He’d texted me months later to ask for the picture he’d taken of me. But there wasn’t one. We’d gotten too caught up in conversation. 🥺

So a year and a half later, I decided to shoot my shot, short notice and all.

And wouldn’t you know it, not only was Louis free, he lived mere blocks from my hotel. 🤗

He shuffled up 44th Street on a cold, wet, and gray Friday morning, with his trusty 1940s Speed Graphic camera shining like a lantern.

If I thought I was the only person who broke into a silly smile at the sight of him, the next few hours proved me sorely mistaken. Between his vintage cameras and impeccable style, strangers absolutely gravitate to Louis.

We rode the 2 Train from Times Square to Harlem for breakfast at Jimbo’s Hamburger Palace. From the station to the breakfast table and everywhere in between, I sat front row to the Louis Mendes Show.

“Hey, man, that’s a dope camera!” a young Latino man shouted from a car at a corner we crossed.

“WHAAAAAAT?! NO WAY!” A Lululemon soccer mom exclaimed from a train platform as she snapped as many pictures of him as she could before the doors shut.

And everywhere we went, he lifted my soul with New York’s stories, too. How the mosaic tile leading down to Times Square station was original, the irony of the Harlem Hospital once being segregated, how he’d met James Van Der Zee and even attended Gordon Parks’ funeral.

Like… 🤯

I asked his favorite places to take pictures. “Anywhere I can make money,” he retorted. (Louis has a witty response for just about everything, I quickly learned.)

But after breakfast, he said he’d take me to his favorite rainy day spot: Grand Central Station, one of my favorites too.

That’s where I finally got my picture.

And a couple of invitations to way, way more… 🥰

[Ed. Note: This post is part of a one-time February 2024 mini-series that took me to NYC where I was treated to an abundance of Blackstories first-hand. In place of my usual February content, I chose to share my own real-time (-ish) lived experience to honor the vibrant people New York put in my path.]

NYC, DAY 1 — January 30

Already doing the most before I’ve landed in the City.

A work leadership program kicked off in NYC on the same day I was scheduled to pitch a new client.

I could have thought, “That’s plenty. I’m good.”

But a week before, @thevaleriejune stole my heart live in Austin before mentioning she’d be in New York the following week. WELL, OK GIRL, ME TOO!

When she revealed her venue as the Cafe Carlyle, a tiny hotel cabaret that had once hosted David Bowie, Eartha Kitt, Judy Collins and so many more, I couldn’t even pretend I wasn’t trying to go.

OF COURSE the only tickets available were on the night of my arrival, the night before the pitch and the leadership launch.

And OF COURSE I BOUGHT ONE ANYWAY.

So we came into NYC HOT, changed in the JFK bathroom, and headed straight to the Cafe Carlyle, luggage and all.

And man, did the city rise to meet me.

I’d stressed over how late I was arriving. I was the first person at the bar with my pick of stage view seating in a room capacity of 90.

I’d worried I’d sit there falling asleep after a long travel day, or worse, small-talking with a stranger. Instead, two separate and vibrant Black women sat down next to me, and became my new friends.

And when the show started, Valerie June appeared in a doorway all of 5 feet away from us, singing a capella, playing a tambourine, and channeling every bit of her southern Black roots.

Time stood still until without any warning, she whisked all her sequins out the venue’s main door, leaving her audience pinned to their seats and still pending checks.

Valerie June reads her poem “A Fairy Tale” live at the Café Carlyle

Both times I’ve seen Valerie June now, it’s felt like those dreams you wake up from and try desperately to fall back asleep into. It’s so good, then it’s just… over.

My new friends and I tried to hold onto the night as long as we could, chatting with GRAMMY-nominated Little Richard documentarian and VJ’s friend @misscortes and slow-sipping our (outstanding) cocktails before retreating to our respective beds.

Besides, between client presentations and @theamericanblackstory, I had work to do.

Luckily for me, NYC is full of dreams and mine with Valerie June wasn’t done quite yet…

[Ed. Note: This post is part of a one-time February 2024 mini-series that took me to NYC where I was treated to an abundance of Blackstories first-hand. In place of my usual February content, I chose to share my own real-time (-ish) lived experience to honor the vibrant people New York put in my path.]

Big Apple Butterflies

So, it’s February 5 and y’all got crickets from me?

It’s because I’ve been full of butterflies.

2024’s Black History Month theme is “African-Americans and the Arts.” And most years, I write the history, but this time, despite my best-laid plans, the ancestors decided that this Black creative would be living it instead.

Chills fr.

I traveled to New York for work last week, and went fully intending to launch on 2/1. Abandoning that plan to accept my ancestors’ gift was the greatest decision I could have made.

Here’s a little teaser of my unforeseen adventure in NYC, starring singer Valerie June, photographer Louis Mendes, luxury house Tiffany & Co., and multi-hyphenate Spike Lee.

Even I can’t believe this was only the beginning of February and there’s still so much more to come.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:

I. FEEL. INFINITE. ✨

See ya back here real soon living Black art out loud. 😘

[Ed. Note: This post is part of a one-time February 2024 mini-series that took me to NYC where I was treated to an abundance of Blackstories first-hand. In place of my usual February content, I chose to share my own real-time (-ish) lived experience to honor the vibrant people New York put in my path.]