Hey hey! Happy Friday my chickens!
I hope you’ve all had a fantastical week! Mine’s been one full of dilemmas, that’s for sure! Morning run or no morning run? To buy that Ksh. 5000 Ed Hardy bikini or not to? Coffee at Java or bus fair? (The coffee tends to win…but so what, walking’s healthy OK?? Get off my back!)
The biggest one though, has been lingerie/swimwear modeling. It’s not nudity, but it comes pretty damn close, doesn’t it? And although money, experience and recognition for your hard-earned rockin’ bod are all wooonderful, wouldn’t you still like your parents to speak to and acknowledge you after it all? I would! I think those of us with African parents (and grandparents. And aunts. And uncles) will understand my uneasiness on this particular subject. I remember my gran showing the whole village a certain slightly embarrassing photo of me in a blue dress at the Kanga Stories fashion show published in the Daily Nation.
Something tells me though, this wouldn’t be the case if I were rocking a lacy red bra-and-panties number complete with garters and f**k me eyes.
I suppose it’s the usual Home vs. West culture war one deals with. Success is not success unless it’s the traditional kind- hunting, bearing children, building a sturdy mud hut, you know, the typical stuff. =P (Joke).
Anyway, to my point. I’ve concluded that you can’t please everybody, so start with yourself. I reckon I’ve got the body to let it all hang out (so to speak) at a lingerie/swimwear modeling gig, so I’m gonna go audition for a certain Malindi show later on this month. However, I still hold on to my values and morals; won’t trade sex for smooth talk, will get my education, will generally fight the dumbass bimbo image that goes with being a model. If people are proud of me for that, then great. If not, maybe they should try parading around in a bikini and then talk.
You may follow my example if you wish ;) LOL