June, 2023
My limbs have followed me through life and haven't changed much since I was young. In 6th grade I had a reputation as a power kicker and I could run the way Flash is fast.
Creation gave me the legs and calves of a man. They are naturally sculpted, my ankles slender. I've never done a thing to maintain them - no running, no squats, or leg presses. As I've aged, I didn't notice much change in their form, even with veins more visible on the surface of my skin. Africans can be like vampires through amorphous time.
Back in the day I enjoyed wrestling with boyfriends and could get them in a death grip. It was like a WWF bonding experience. Once I locked on, the poor dude was done and he'd tap out. So sad. This was entertaining for our friends, but could be stressful as our immature antics played out, particularly if there was booze involved.
My limbs have followed me through life and haven't changed much since I was young. In 6th grade I had a reputation as a power kicker and I could run the way Flash is fast.
Creation gave me the legs and calves of a man. They are naturally sculpted, my ankles slender. I've never done a thing to maintain them - no running, no squats, or leg presses. As I've aged, I didn't notice much change in their form, even with veins more visible on the surface of my skin. Africans can be like vampires through amorphous time.
Back in the day I enjoyed wrestling with boyfriends and could get them in a death grip. It was like a WWF bonding experience. Once I locked on, the poor dude was done and he'd tap out. So sad. This was entertaining for our friends, but could be stressful as our immature antics played out, particularly if there was booze involved.
"You two need to simmer down! Hey! Watch that table! My grandma gave me that!"
As a teen my legs used to annoy me when it came to clothes. I wasn't thin and couldn't get into cigarette or boot cut pants past my ankles. My small feet could slide into a boot effortlessly and then stop cold. There was no zipping, clasping, or lacing going on. Eventually I had to switch to ankle boots. Ma had to peg my pants then - starting from a standard straight leg pattern and taper them to fit. She was an excellent seamstress and made clothes for my sister and I since the 1970s when we were littles.
Even still, my calves broke through the inseam a few times - like the Hulk - lacking in any trace of feminine mystique. Eventually I got thinner on a diet of drugs, partying, and behavioural changes. Water, for example, is much better for you than Cap'n Crunch and fast food.
My legs have garnered a few interesting experiences. One time, two black queens passing me along Polk Street yelled " Power! Yessss, girl! Work!" Like a kind of exaltation to Queen High Love.
As an older adult, one experience I had was in the mid-2ks. I was in my 40s at the time, working as an instructor in East Oakland for an African-centered school. One day, feeling quite Spring-ish, I wore a black Guatemalan wrap skirt with embroidered flowers at the hem, black tights, platform Fornarina space clogs, a colorful t-shirt, and a hoodie. Pippi Longstockings has never been out of reach to me. Well, I sure set myself up. Black folks, by nature, are going to put anyone with a good thing on blast. It is a mix of compliment and good-natured clapback.
' Mama Lisa, where did you get those legs? '
Here we go....
Damn, mama! Are we crackin any nuts today?! Buah!!
What grown ass woman is going to talk to a 13 year old boy about doing squats?! Oh hell no. I scaled it back and never wore a skirt or tights to work again. I am an educator for future generations! I shall be asexual at all times! Bask in the mystery of gender!
While at a screening of the Woman King I saw the same trait in the women on screen: those legs! Now they have a name: Woman King Legs. Self-acceptance, like self-sufficiency are key. I see strength in my legs, beauty less so. I could be a Dambe street fighter. A warrior. The black body structurally is a blessing in form and structure. I've always felt strong in my body. I recovered from my hysterectomy in about 10 days.
Eventually I figured a way through cigarette pants too: a size or two smaller with stretch was the ticket. I think people look chic in tailored pants with the cuff at the ankle. One day I want to have a custom Italian suit made - bespoke grey with a lavender button down shirt. Gothic boots from Japan or my Cuban-toed grey suede, platform creepers. I will destroy racist constellations as my Woman King Leggos stroll right on through for justice; into the black gold of the sun.
Another encounter was in the 1980s when I was an art student in New York. I took a theater production class in Soho near West Broadway. We sat in on a table reading for a play with Jennifer Jason Leigh and Tom Hulce. I swooned over Tom at the time because all I saw in him was Amadeus. Jennifer was platinum blonde then. I liked her in Fast Times at Ridgemont High and an independent film that recently came out called Last Exit to Brooklyn. During a section on stagescraft, I started to nod off from partying the night before. At 21 I learned that Long Island ice teas and kamikazes combined can destroy you.
" Lisa, wake up! You're snoring!" A friend nudged me and my head popped up. The stage manager, explaining the staging of a scene and use of sound to create the illusion of a city street, had a voice that put me to sleep like a valium.
After class, I went to a local diner for a hangover lunch. On my way out, onto West Broadway, a young dude came out of nowhere.
' Yo, sis! Where did you get those legs?! Hellooooo, my name is Siddhartha."
' Siddhartha? ' I said. ' I have that book.'
' Yeah, my parents named me after him. ' He said.
Hmm...I thought. Hippies. In the 1960s and 70s they liked naming their kids after mythological Sanskritian figures. Siddhartha was Dominican and about my age.
He said he was moving to Hawaii. We chatted for a bit and I gave him my address back home in California. This was relatively harmless at the time since the internet didn't exist. A potential stalker had to find you through analog research in a phone book. Six months later I was back home in Berkeley. A postcard with a picture of a floating pineapple on the front came in the mail.
" Who's Siddhartha?" Ma asked. "Is that his real name?"
I read the floating pineapple postcard. Hey, girl! I made it to paradise! How are those fine legs of yours?
Months later and he was still on it. Did he want me to bring my legs to Hawaii? I didn't write Siddhartha back or do shit. Bouncing from New York City to Hawaii was suspect. Maybe Siddhartha was an aspiring cult leader building a compound on one of the islands. I saved that postcard to this day and giggle whenever I come across it.
Hot for Teacher
As an older adult, one experience I had was in the mid-2ks. I was in my 40s at the time, working as an instructor in East Oakland for an African-centered school. One day, feeling quite Spring-ish, I wore a black Guatemalan wrap skirt with embroidered flowers at the hem, black tights, platform Fornarina space clogs, a colorful t-shirt, and a hoodie. Pippi Longstockings has never been out of reach to me. Well, I sure set myself up. Black folks, by nature, are going to put anyone with a good thing on blast. It is a mix of compliment and good-natured clapback.
' Mama Lisa, where did you get those legs? '
Here we go....
Damn, mama! Are we crackin any nuts today?! Buah!!
Really?!
Then the boys in my middle school class started acting up, which was gross and ridiculous. They were high octane Gen Z children then - the generation of young adults now who dress like Mortal Kombat at a rave.
Mama Lisa, do you work out?
Then the boys in my middle school class started acting up, which was gross and ridiculous. They were high octane Gen Z children then - the generation of young adults now who dress like Mortal Kombat at a rave.
Mama Lisa, do you work out?
Mama Lisa, do you do squats?
What grown ass woman is going to talk to a 13 year old boy about doing squats?! Oh hell no. I scaled it back and never wore a skirt or tights to work again. I am an educator for future generations! I shall be asexual at all times! Bask in the mystery of gender!
I've always felt awkward talking about my looks. No matter how I frame it in conversation it sounds vain. I think vanity, like arrogance, are vulgar and gauche. I'm just a person who never doted on attention or my perceived beauty, which primarily came from being mixed - an American anomaly. Not a reflection of one, but more like the other.
She became mythological in the oral history of the creole South and still exists in the American imagination. She was characterized as a witch lurking in the bayou or a femme fatale doomed for the sin of being black. If she tried to pass as white, she was doomed for that too. The mixed chick was either dead, confused, or wreaked havoc on the realm of men.
I read historical fiction with mixed characters like The Feast of All Saints, set in Louisiana and The Known World, set between Virginia and Maryland. Historical analysis of racial classification during and after slavery. The 19th century theory of eugenics and selective breeding, which was applied to slaves, like livestock, in the Americas. The genetic legacy of such practice can still be seen today in American football.
Then I delved into how the mixed woman was depicted in art and popular culture: Carmen Jones, Pinky, Imitation of Life, Mogambo, and Island in the Sun. Into the future there was the blacksploitation masterpiece Mandingo, Flashdance, The Crying Game, A Different World ( which we were ), Eve's Bayou, Rabbit Proof Fence, and Devil in a Blue Dress.
A contemporary one I like is Fast Color about a mixed woman and recovering addict. A fan of X Ray Spex, she learns to harness her psychic powers that can manipulate nature and light. Her daughter, raised by her black grandmother, inherits the same trait. It's a good Black Girl Magic sci-fi story.
At an art exhibition at the Legion of Honor, I saw a painting called Free Women of Color by Agostino Brunia c.1730-1796, that depicted mixed Caribbean sisters in a garden with their mother, a slave, and their children. Another is Redenção de Cam ( Ham's Redemption ) by the Brazilian painter, Modesto Brocos. Painted in 1895, eight years after Brazil abolished slavery, it depicts a mixed woman seated in a courtyard with her family.
The child's father, a white man, is at her right and her mother, a black woman, stands at the left, looking up, hands open as if giving thanks to or seeking redemption from God. To me it implies the grandmother saw assimilation and whiteness as freedom for her grandchild. Both paintings are startling narratives on slavery, history, and the racial hierarchies we still live with today.
I found an IG page, Biracial Lounge where people share their mixed experiences in their cars and interviews about racial identity. I don't use the word bi-racial, which is a generational and politically correct term. I'm mixed, born in 1967 when anti-miscegenation laws were struck down by the Supreme Court in Loving vs Virginia. I'm both Gen X and Loving Generation - a living part of history.
I'm a bit surprised whenever I receive a compliment, but always gracious. I was raised to be a lady. As a woman person I'm more in my head than primping in front of the mirror. I do my make-up in the minimalist French style - unlike the American stripper in outer space or botox aesthetic of today. I think tarantula lashes look fabulous on drag queens and actors because tarantulas to me are theater. Maybe social media, as it has evolved to shape culture and behaviour, is a kind of theater.
While at a screening of the Woman King I saw the same trait in the women on screen: those legs! Now they have a name: Woman King Legs. Self-acceptance, like self-sufficiency are key. I see strength in my legs, beauty less so. I could be a Dambe street fighter. A warrior. The black body structurally is a blessing in form and structure. I've always felt strong in my body. I recovered from my hysterectomy in about 10 days.
"How are you even moving? It took me several months!"
" I feel alright. Let's fuck around and build a house!"
" Right....you need to go home and rest."
Sometimes I don't know my own limitations until I stop. Rest? What is rest?! White people do that. I have to survive, to keep pushing towards my liberation! I know it's somewhere under all these bills and microaggressions.
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