I’m going to give it to you straight–no chaser: I like to wear a bit of hoochie-gear every now and again.  I would label myself “hoochie-light.”  I mostly dress like the mom, writer, and business-owner that I am; but I do have a hoochiefied-section of the closet. I know that I am going to be the old biddy wearing the mini-skirt with her orthopedic shoes whose friends are going to have to look at me through their thick, automatically shaded glasses, shake their heads and say, “Honey child, just stop.  You look like a damn fool.”

I freaking hate working out, but I do it, so I feel as if I earned the right to wear some sexy stuff every now and then.  Plus, I got a late start.  These little junior-hoochies wearing black stretch pants, half tops and shorts with their butts hanging out baffle me.  I didn’t start my genuine hoochiedom until middle age—when I felt old enough to handle it.  When Justin Timberlake was talking about bringing sexy-back; I was just starting to get my sexy on.  It took me a minute to “get it” — a minute to grow from tomboy to grown-ass-woman.  Now that it’s got —and particularly because I have a husband who digs the sexy gear — it ain’t leaving any time soon.  My support hose will be thigh-highs, if possible (I know I just made a few of you throw-up in your mouth a little bit – sorry ‘bout that).

But, I do NOT understand what all of the hoopla is about Ayesha Curry’s comments on twitter.

 

She simply stated her opinion.  So what?  Style is individual.  All you have to do is spend some time on Facebook.  When people post pictures, usually it’s because they think they are rocking it that day: hair and outfit are on fleek.  But, If you are honest, sometimes, you may consider their choices questionable, even ‘Bama or cringe-worthy.  But, it is their style, their taste.  “Do you Boo,” you think to yourself and then you move on.  You are happy to see your friend feelin’ herself, thinking she’s cute, and you hit that “like” button (while telling yourself that there should be a limit on the number of sequins a person can wear).

Similar to what someone deems as stylish, what someone deems as classy is an individual judgment.  I have a very diverse set of friends.  Several of them have thrown what they would characterize as “a classy event” and let me tell you that each one was drastically different from another. Classy to some is the sectioned, thick paper plates, to others it’s china; to some it’s red solo cups rather than drinking straight out of the bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag; to others it’s crystal wine glasses.

I have a friend whom deems herself as quite classy: she speaks eloquently, dresses conservatively and in designer clothes, belongs to the “right” clubs, attended the “right” schools and married a man with the “right” job; but she is ALWAYS ghetto-late.  I’m not talking about 10 minutes late; I’m talking about over an hour late.  I’m talking, “heifer, we are on dessert now late.”  I’m talking she hadn’t even taken a shower when we got seated-late. Her behavior lacks class in my opinion.  Again, however, that is an opinion.  And the only thing Ayesha did was state her opinion about style and class.

The only thing that disturbed me about Ayesha’s scandal was the reaction to her tweets.  People said that she was “slut-slamming.”  She never called anyone a slut.  She talked about fashion.  In other words, it was Ayesha’s bashers (and not Ayesha) who made the leap that people who dress sexily are sluts — to which I clasp my pearls (worn with my snug sweater) and gasp, “I beg your pardon!”  Dress is not indicative of behavior.  Let me just say that some of my most conservatively dressing friends are some of the most sexually open (you know I wasn’t gonna call my girls “sluts”).

People who were trying to defend Ayesha’s comments said that some women dressed scantily because they craved attention.  I am sure that’s why a lot of women dress that way.  But, some women are just sexy—not from the outside, but from the inside.  Some of us like to feel sexy — simply for us.  Even when we are in business suits, we wear sexy lingerie underneath.  We don’t do it for a man; and we certainly aren’t doing it for your man; we do it for ourselves.  We feel good that way.

And while we are on the subject of your man.  If your man looks at a woman who is sexy or dressed sexily, or even dressed inappropriately, in your opinion, I have some news for you: this means that your man is …… a (wait for it) …….man.  My husband looks at beautiful women, sexy women, inappropriately dressed women.  The truth is that your man does too (hopefully—because when it gets to the point that he isn’t — it’s baaaad, it’s boring, and it’s time to buy two brown recliners and watch Family Feud all night).  As fabulous as I am, when my man said “I do” to me, he didn’t become blind to beauty.  And if you want the truth, if a fine brother walks into a room, or a man with an amazing six pack is on the beach; I look and I appreciate.  It’s okay folks.  You made a choice to commit to marriage, not to the convent.

So relax.  Let Ayesha say what her style is.  Let the hoochies be hoochies (including those of us who are hoochie-light).  Let the sexy dressers do their thing.  Accept that we all like looking at sexy and beautiful people.  And we all like looking at the women who do way too much, let stuff hang out when it shouldn’t, wear stuff that is way too tight.  Ain’t nothing better than being with your man or your girlfriends and someone comes by literally stuffed in an outfit, with  some spillage in places, struggling in her way-too-high heels like she has corns and bunions under her toes, and you get to do that side-eye to your companion and say under your breath, “ohhhh  noooo sheeee didn’t.”