This concern seems a bit out of the blue, as we have been in this country for some time. I wonder what the motivation is. We were among the original settlers in Jamestown. I am taking it back, work with me now. In 1619, three of the first recorded settlers in America’s history were black women. Folks didn’t care enough to note their names, but they sure as hell care about us now.

They care so much that they are peaking into our bedrooms with pity. Black women have been complaining about a lack of mates since we first saw this continent, but now that producers of nightly news shows have discovered our suffering they need to help. On one show, producers scoured the nation to find a location with the most attractive black women they could find with the sorriest love stories they could tell — Atlanta. Then to help them out, they put them in a room and asked Steve Harvey to give them advice. That’s thoughtful, but who puts a bunch of desperate women who want a hot man in a room with Steve Harvey?

Only someone who wants to see a black woman suffer. Or get clowned on by the world. I think I see the motivation.

And the latest revelations? Why, didn’t you know that 48% of black women have herpes? Plus, the median wealth level of a single black female is five dollars.

Five dollars? Hold on now. As my dance teacher Ned used to say: “Something in the milk ain’t clean.”

Do we have all that money Chris Rock says we are wasting on weaves in “Good Hair,” or not? Are we bitter and alone, or getting so much action that every other sister is packing a major STD? Who are they polling to get these results anyway? Of all the black females in my life who are financially secure, married (some two or three times), and don’t take Valtrex, I’ve never heard one say: “This scientist stopped by and asked me detailed questions about my life, because she wants to paint an accurate view of black women and promote it to the press.” That sounds so unrealistic that it could be the set up for a great joke.

Maybe that is because there is a long-running joke in the works with the black woman as the fall guy – or chick, if you will. It’s only becoming obvious, because now that we’ve got power, some folks are desperate to keep the joke going. Many are so invested in the charming image of the black woman as a down-trodden soul that our social issues have been projected at a huge scale in the news to ironically keep us small. Sambo flicks are not PC, so this is the new coon ‘toon. Even our deepest beauty sensitivities are fodder for comic gold, thanks to Chris Rock. People must really enjoy consuming our problems as entertainment. But the joke will soon be on those who are riveted by these portrayals.

Yes, we black women have our problems. What is remarkable is that despite the pressures we confront, many excel by society’s standards and even more thrive according to individual standards that are not recorded by statistics alone. This realization makes us inwardly shine.

Black women may often be poor, but even the creators of that five dollar study admitted that one reason our wealth level is so low is that we often give our money away to loved ones who need it. Imagine that. No, we can’t get a headline that reads: “Black Women – The Most Generous People On The Earth.” Then the joke would lack a punch line. But we see the truth.

News creators, instead, are fixated on the scraps of information that have been collected about black women’s complex lives from a distance, not realizing how racism, classism and sexism have distorted the very structure of their data collection mechanism – that mechanism being their brains. They are looking so hard at this data, because they just do not want to see First Lady Michelle Obama, at almost six feet tall, married, educated, rich and I assume STD-free. She’s hard to miss. But, just as those first black female Americans, some of the first Americans, are often ignored, the heroic black female gets minimized today.

While some choose to waste their precious resources blowing up our flaws, if history proves itself an accurate predictor of future trends, we are going to keep improving until we leave our detractors in the dust wondering how we surpassed them.

If people could see us accurately, they would see that we have gone from slavery to the White House in a short time with little help. From our humble start at the foundations of America to the current day, we have shown that no amount of silencing, whether through force or statistical ambushing, will stand in our way. Some are accustomed to the joke being on us. When we come out on top, possibly smiling down on the jokers, I wonder — will their misrepresentations still be so amusing?

Yeah, to fill up a drink for me
Yeah, to fill up my tank for me
Yeah, to put something in the bank for me
I got myself a sponsor

There’s no doubt that to this pop tune doesn’t represent the true intentions of real life women who fall under the category of the kept trophy chick, goldigger and/or high priced ho. Women such as these are working women indeed if one takes into account the many sacrifices made by one who chooses to prostitute herself for material gain.

In this uninspiring, contemporary track, Teairra Mari seems to take seriously the often shallow, empty and immature wishes of the sponsored whose youth, appearance and lack of substance transforms them from a real live human being to an animated blow up doll.

Yeah, yeah, he put them low profiles on my car
He treat me to a pedi plus manicure
Anything that I ask for from my sponsor
He go and bu-bu-buy, buy

Listening to the lyrics to this track is a lot like watching a lost episode of The Chappelle Show.

He must be a rapper, baller, doctor
Dentist, corner-boy, cook, chef, chemist
Yeah, I don’t even care
Just as long as he don’t say bu-bu-bye, bye

This may sound like sheer comedy to the sound of mind, however when watching the “Sponsor” video, it’s akin to a joke gone horribly wrong as Mari seriously projects the role of the mindless hoochie whose only concern is that her well-off man doesn’t leave her high & dry (and broke too).

Featuring run of the mill pimp rhetoric by both Gucci Mane and Soulja Boy, it’s disappointing to observe Teairra Mari represent those women who in part represent some of the ugliest presumptions about our gender. This prostitute manifesto titled “Sponsor” serves to paint women as weak, superficial, materialistic and quite frankly, stupid:

He ain’t no square, he just like to share
In love with the tipper throwing hundreds in the air
Throw some over here
And Louis, drop the Louis, put the Louis in my lap, damn

There’s absolutely no need to celebrate chicks whose intelligence is minimized and misshapen to meet the sexual needs of some dude for the purpose of using him as a living, breathing ATM. While no one can fault her for putting out one more “independent woman” theme song, it’s safe to say that this topic is counterproductive, stale and with women outnumbering men in the workforce, highly out of date.

It’s understandable that Teairra Mari’s long overdue album “At That Point” may be in need of a little life support but touting womanhood as a crew of zombies mindlessly consuming “blue medallions”, “mani-pedi’s” and all the other trappings of the so-called high life is not the move. Goldigging is not a worthy profession, goal or attribute. It’s a woman’s reaction to a deep sense of insignificance and a failure to see her own worth beyond her ability to play dress up and perform sexual favors – on demand. It may seem like everyday is Christmas but the goldigger’s life is an empty existence. She lacks authentic freedom, and is under the ownership of her Sponsor until he moves onto the next plaything. She has no accomplishments of her own and much like the average stripper or streetwalker, has a limited amount of time to exploit her youthful looks to her advantage before she falls permanently off the shelf.

To make a tribute song for that misguided population of women (and the men who sponsor them) is a slap in the face to independent women out there who are actually running sh*t, and an even bigger offense to impressionable young women who have the displeasure of being influenced by such garbage.

I vividly remember the day my college roommate, stomped into my dorm room and in a fit of tears yelled, “_(nameless)__ is cheating on me! I’m through. My mother was right. All guys cheat. You can’t trust any of them. They’ll betray you every time.”

The avid girlfriend supporter and boyfriend hater-when-I-needed-to-be wanted to go with her to car keys and post up outside of locker rooms. But instead, the calmer, rational-thinking, tea-sipping psychologist surfaced, put away her ideologies on the behavior of men, threw on her glasses, and got to work.

Whoa. All guys cheat? That’s a pretty broad statement. Not to mention it was a statement that bred a future of bitterness, frown lines, and high cholesterol. I sat her down.

“He’s wrong for that. But just because your mother believes one thing doesn’t mean you have too. You’re not a mirror of your mother. Repeat after me: ‘I am not my mother. Not all men are the same.’ Maybe you should try to work it out.”

Ironically, I had given her this advice while I was in a relationship of my own, and shamelessly cheating. Looking back now I know I didn’t grasp the concept of “we are who our parents are”. And it wasn’t until that moment that I realized that although I had gotten a full set of good traits from mine, I had an equal amount of bad ones that I wasn’t aware of.

My father is a great dad; Like really cool. He could rival any man for a dad of the decade award. When I was younger, I had a t-shirt that read, “When I grow up, I want to be like my daddy.” The influence he had on me was clear. As I got older, I heeded his insight and monitored his actions. Overtime, something had changed.

I would see my father on Friday mornings before I left for school, and then I wouldn’t see him again until it was time for football on Sunday. He would take trips out of town for a few days (sans my mother), and wouldn’t tell us where he was going or who he was with. That kind of thing. And it’s important to note: my father is an adult – not a boy, not a young man. When this occurred he was a full-fledged 50 plus grownup.

I ignored it. After all there are just certain subjects you don’t broach. But, I began to wonder about what I fondly call… the cheating gene. A gene that seems to present itself in nearly everyone I know with the exception of a devout few. It might as well be as common as the X and Y chromosome.

Many girls who are witnesses to their parents’ “cheating genes” determine that they are going to do one of two things. They are going to go above limits to make their personal relationships work. Or, they will accept the fact that men cheat and will always cheat and well…that’s how it’s going to be.

I was different. I was going to be just like my daddy.

I strutted around with my nose in the air and my heart tucked safely away from my sleeve. My mantra became: No man will cheat on me. I will cheat on them.

It was a full proof plan. I cheated, churning good brothers into bad boys, all the while leaving some new woman to pick up the pieces of my insecurities. Halfway through my relationships, I would send ole’ boy packing for some new man and then repeat the process. Inevitably those bad boys, who held their ego in high esteem, morphed into players and cheated on their women.

It’s quite possible that one of those women was my roommate.

I was the one who let the guy go for fear of them cheating on me. If my father, who was well in his golden years, was doing it, then it was bound to happen to me too… right? It was the age old narrative, play or get played.

So, a message to cheating fathers on their daughters. The cycle continues. Take care of what you do and who you do it with. Society still coins the phrase, “Boys will be boys.” But in an era where women are eagerly flashing their independent woman lapels, recognize that girls will be girls.

Writer and philosopher, Elbert Hubbard once said, you have to “live truth instead of professing it.” Trust me, we are far more affected by the decisions that you make than you realize.

Nowhere, I mean nowhere, does this alter ego-developing behavior display more often than on a college campus. I don’t know if it’s the mix of hair trigger hormones and being away from any adult who might smack you upside the back of the head and scold you with “stop that lyin’,” but every school is crawling with ‘em. Dudes who couldn’t manage to pull chicks with all of their natural teeth or limbs back home suddenly reinvented themselves into ladies’ men on campus. Chicks who previously couldn’t spell Louis Vuitton wrangled all of the available funds on their fresh-out-of-the-envelope credit cards to Cinderella themselves into designer divas. In between them were the benchwarmers with no stats but plans for college ball glory, the neophytes who were cornballs before they got letters and truth be told, were still cornballs well after that cross was complete and the late-blooming geeks (like this self-proclaimed word nerd) who weren’t necessarily frontin’, but fakin’ it until they started makin’ it.

In my little clique alone, I had about three perps: one who claimed his mother was a high-ranking government official in the city he lived in back home and one, Lord, who swore he was from the hardcore streets of north Jersey when in fact he hailed from a cushy suburb fit to be plastered across someone’s souvenir postcard. But my girl, who shall remain nameless just in case I feel like posting this on Facebook, which is the only place we remain friends, was the kind who insisted she came from an affluent, Jack-and-Jill-born-and-bred, Huxtable-esque background. As it turned out in an unplanned and very unceremonious trip home, she was just as blue collar as Florida, James, Jay-Jay and me.

Now I never understood why this particular young lady felt the need to front about who she was to me of all people. Child, I am the first and only person in my family to go to college. Ain’t no airs to be put on up in here. My mama and my aunties all work in factories and my grandfather spent 40 years as a steel mill worker. If her family had money, good for her. Mine didn’t. (Incidentally, if we did, Sallie Mae and I wouldn’t be in such close communication as we are right now.) My friend’s stories of cotillions and fancy vacations and finishing schools and exclusive clubs were like fairy tales to me. Low and behold they were fairy tales to her, too. She was embarrassed when her entire squad learned that she lived in a three-bedroom rancher instead of a sprawling estate. I was relieved that I didn’t have to curtsy or worry about which fork to use in the table setting when I walked in to meet her mother. They were regular folk but for some reason, that embarrassed her. It hurt her to see the fantasy image she had built for her college self collide with her real-world, back-at-home self. What she didn’t realize was a whole rack of people had already called her bluff long before she even came clean.

Somewhere along the line I had a point, and I guess this is as good a time to make it before I drum up more crazy memories of the hoops that girl had to jump through to keep her real life from slipping out from the cover of her fake life. The point is don’t feel forced to fake for nobody. Now that some of us have graduated and have important-sounding jobs with disappointing paychecks, ascending and moving laterally across the corporate ladder, we still have an obligation to be ourselves. That means not chuckling along with the jokes that Brad and Becky make that you know darn well you don’t get or hiding that bottle of hot sauce you know you keep tucked in the corner of your purse or telling people you live close to downtown when you live a hard 30 minute commute into the ‘hood. And that’s OK! Because the unique flavor that you bring to the table is a culmination of all of the background, experiences, beliefs and qualities you’ve picked up over the years of living in your household with your crazy relatives immersed in your own habits. And that’s just as cool as the next chick’s story.

Shoot, in a way I’m a recovering fronter myself. My family is headquartered in Peach Bottom, Pennsylvania and I never wanted to admit that thing out loud, let alone include it in an article for people to Google furiously, wonder where the hell it was and thank God it wasn’t them. I’m sure none of my fellow Clutchettes needed a pep talk about being unfake and unphony but from time to time, we all need a reminder (and a funny little story at someone else’s expense) that can’t nobody be bad like us, individually or collectively.

“Thanks. Exactly what we need, another award for playing a debilitating African American character.”

“Why can’t people just be happy for a person’s victory?”

“The world sees us a certain way, and as long as we play our “role”, we’ll continue to get rewarded like this.”

I was among the throng who was vocal about Monique’s “victory.” But then a bad case of deja vu struck: How many times will black people have this argument among ourselves while schools are still closing, the prison industrial complex inches upward and sexual transmitted diseases continue to ravage our community?

There’s a term for this: intellectual classism.

Many think of classism only in the corporeal sense. Money and status are the predominate prisms of how class is viewed in this country. Intellectual classism is not race dependent. Nor salary dependent. Nor gender dependent. Anybody of any sex of any race can and does exercise their right to assert mental superiority.

When it comes to the African-American community, the division between the “noble” and “commoners” are well-documented. Take for example: The Afristocracy and Ghettocracy. Money and educational level (in the degree sense) are basic determinants of admission into each.

Afristrocratic thought can’t fathom why other black people can’t see beyond the trees; ghettocratic thought doesn’t understand why other black people can’t see the trees.

“Get educated. Help yourselves out.” says the Afristocracy.

“Get off your high horse and help change some of these conditions. Not everybody has access to your resources” says the Ghettocracy.

Imagine a child dealing with tumult everyday before going to school. Every day. That child is marginalized before he/she even steps out the house.

Years of being the minority and dealing with the fecal gravity of damaging policies from politicians and country runners tend to exacerbates a superiority – or inferiority – complex of ANY kind.

Did Monique’s recent Oscar acquisition perpetuate the notion that there’s always a place in Hollywood for the stereotypical black role? Well, it certainly didn’t change it.

Does Tyler Perry’s career encourage that same thought? One would argue that it does, while another would say that his films are reflective of certain segments of black culture, like the Cosby Show.

In the midst of this ideological battle, Haiti is still in tatters. Detroit is turning into mini-Beirut. Drugs are tearing apart a family near you (or possibly yours). Inner-city war zones, diseases, abortions, sedentary lifestyles are destroying the proliferation of healthy African-Americans.

The achievement gap is widening, yet, many of us are concerned with determining who is out-cooning who. I’ve shared similar thoughts and have even wrote pieces examining this intellectual class warfare. But then I’ve seen the eyes of a child who was walking to school after a snowstorm.

This child could give a damn about how nuanced Spike Lee’s films are or how morally upstanding a Republican senator is. She just wanted to know where her next meal will come from.

There’s nothing wrong with having debates on the media and entertainers and political agenda. We must, as Malcolm X reminded us, not confuse the methods with the objectives. Who are we leaving this world behind to? How many children will have to raise themselves while we’re participating in fruitless moral debates?

While the rest of the world is dealing with realities beyond the effects of coonery, many black people in America would rather puff about standards of behavior. Until we get tired of asserting our intellectual supremacy, progress will be merely a wish.

And all we will be left with is just a lot of vaporous words.

How do black female co-workers nurture one another?

1) We never doubt how racism and sexism affect our lives.
In a work place in which you are in the minority, experiences of discrimination are often silenced. We are left alone to ponder professional slights. When working with black women, your colleagues know your experiences are true. That compassion helps maintains your sanity.

2) The joys of children are easily shared, as well as stories of complex families.
Working with black women, I never have to be ashamed of sharing the stories of my unmarried cousin who has five children, who I love, by two different women. I understand that my co-worker has a child with her husband, and an older child by a different man. These stories would make co-workers of different backgrounds slather you in stereotypes. Black women are accepting, even if their own families are more traditional.

3) Family customs are shared with happy familiarity.
Talking about holiday foods or church events in most workplaces will leave you feeling like you are giving a sociology lesson, creating a sense of alienation. With black female co-workers, you can discuss cooking ribs or eating fried chicken without feeling like a trite lexicon of blackness.

4) Slang can be used without the fear of seeming unintelligent.
Urban slang use by many young employees is seen as cool. For a black woman it is a kiss of death if you want anyone to take you seriously. Working with black women, you can enjoy the fun of using any funky phrase you want to – or not. The real freedom comes in the fact that acting “black” is not a professionally charged choice.

5) We can take action with less self-consciousness.
Why? Because, while working in other types of environments, one must constantly ask, “What will they think of me saying/doing/suggesting this as a black woman?” With that extra layer of rumination out of the way, creative energy is freed to increase the flow of productivity.

And now for how we break each other down…

1) One “angry black woman” is tough. Five is a nightmare.
By angry black woman, I don’t mean only the eye-bulging, finger-waving variety. There is also the territorial hoarder who attacks with bureaucratic blocks when you enter her bailiwick. Or the sister who freezes you out when you have incurred her wrath. The complex, intense emotions black women often hold can conjoin into a mountain of dynamite in an office environment, leading to tension levels only known of in spy novels.

2) Sometimes the “get over” mentality takes over.
Let’s admit it. A minority of black folks like to come up with excuses for why it’s okay to come in late, leave early, or otherwise abuse workplace privileges. Some black women have the largest range of justifications, from hair appointments to fetching kids. Because familiarity with the “get over” mentality is wide spread, we accept it as a natural part of life even if we find it reprehensible. The result? A mixture of exemplary workers and lackluster performers with nobody willing to change things.

3) Class issues are magnified and brought right to the forefront.
In most work places, class issues are present, but never made visible. Among black women, calling someone out of touch, uppity, ghetto, bourgie or a whole range of money-related slurs as a means of discrediting a colleague’s perspective is par for the course. With women, these jabs can be hurled without even saying the words through our expertise with subtle communication. Thus, it’s easier for us to use long-standing class divisions in the black community to make each other cry inside while looking professional outside.

4) Body and beauty issues become more obvious.
In a group of black women, issues like light skin/dark skin, “good” hair/”bad” hair, thick vs. thin and more are integrated into the work environment. Even the most enlightened group of women will have to skirt around these issues, discussing them with the utmost delicacy if they are discussed at all, in order to keep these sensitivities from becoming hurdles to collaboration. In a typical office space, you would be so inwardly focused on just being a black woman, you would forget about these subtle antagonisms. Working with black women, you are constantly reminded.

5) Complaining about racism and sexism keeps us hemmed in.
Our mutual understanding of the discrimination we face can be affirming, but if indulged in too often without looking for solutions, it becomes a curse. If we complain but do nothing to combat barriers to success, the forces working against us, combined with our ritual commiseration, will wall us in further. Time spent venting would be better used to discuss increasing our opportunities.

It is my hope that by illuminating these points, black women will work together more fruitfully. Things are changing in our society, with African American females taking on more diverse roles, from first ladies to CEOs. If we as women can learn to overcome these obstacles and maximize the benefits of black female partnerships, we will lift each other up as we move forward. Otherwise, the “crabs in a barrel” effect that has hindered us throughout history will keep us down — with more potency than it affects men. Now is the time for us to soar into a new era. Let’s do it together as sisters.

I don’t regard the Academy Awards because in my view, it not only epitomizes, but also glorifies the same archaic social structure that supports the distortion of African American culture in a two-pronged approach:

1. 1. Tainting the experience of African American acknowledgment by nominating those who’ve characterized an oversimplified image of a negative variety.
2. 2. Sealing the deal by bestowing those Blactors who (demean themselves, their culture and) by accurately portraying said stereotype with the original American idol – a shiny gold statue known as the Oscar.

Insults & Accolades

One of the few things Morgan Freeman (Driving Miss Daisy/Million Dollar Baby), Denzel Washington (Training Day), Halle Berry (Monster’s Ball) and Whoopi Goldberg (Ghost) and now Mo’Nique for her stirring role in Precious have in common is not their theatrical expertise but the honor they received for either playing a role that upholds one of two long held stereotypes: The happy/helpful house negro type who exists to aid in the ultimate well-being of the white lead character; or the mainstream’s seemingly favorite image of the African American as enraged, corrupt, ignorant, uneducated, cruel, indignant – a one-dimensional heathen worthy of being oppressed. Stories that recognize us as anything else go widely ignored by Hollywood and that rigid institution called the Academy.

The Oscars & The Cost of Success

This year it’s the nomination of Gabby Sibide and Best Supporting Actress award for Mo’Nique (a habitual portrayer of stereotypical Black women) for their roles in the film Precious that are the centerpiece of the long-held debate. The question is not whether it is a powerful movie brought to life by a team of gifted performers – or whether it’s worthy of praise – it’s the absence of multifaceted on-screen representation as opposed to the repetitive stagnant themes used to project the Black experience.

Esteemed film historian Donald Bogle hit the nail on the head when he stated, “African Americans have the impression that the Academy honors only a certain kind of black in a certain kind of role. Why does Sidney Poitier win for Lilies of the Field (as a carpenter who builds a church for white nuns) and not for Raisin in the Sun (as the anguished son steering his family to new opportunities)?”

The same could be said for Denzel’s win for Training Day rather than The Hurricane, or my personal pet peeve – Don Cheadles getting snubbed for his part in Hotel Rwanda.

Bogle goes on to say that “I think one of the problems with Precious and Mo’Nique’s character is not that we get a view of the monstrous mother, but that African Americans think [that] the white audience thinks she is representative of blacks.”

Honestly, I’ve learned that what ‘they’ think is immaterial. It’s how we view ourselves as a community that most concerns me.

Lastly Bogle says, “When you see yourself up there on the big screen and repeatedly are misrepresented or not fully represented, you leave these movies feeling conflicted, cheated, and disappointed.”

Hollywood Is In The Business Of Entertainment, Not Enlightenment

For the Blactor, powerful performances shouldn’t be relegated to those of a stereotypical nature. The fact is that we are not a culture defined by a perpetual downtrodden, scandalous or servile existence, whether Hollywood recognizes it or not. In the end, The Academy Awards reflects the current social climate in which we live. The scarcity of African American life on screen has a direct relationship to the state of inequality of our daily experience where our simple yet complex humanity goes widely ignored, misunderstood and disrespected.

We have come too far, and fought too long, to let conditions that we can change destroy us. We must take our health into our own hands and lose weight as a group in order to survive. But, black women have a particular set of beliefs that keep us in a state of denial about our weight issues and how to heal them. We need to confront these myths that keep us at risk. What are the top ten things black women say to ourselves that prevent us from losing weight?

1) “I’m not fat, I’m thick.”
The term “thick” is an apt one to describe the 36-24-38 female that many men adore. But the key measurement here is the waist size. Ideally, a woman’s waist should not be above 35 inches if she wants to avoid diseases like diabetes. You might be thick, but if your waist exceeds this number, you are setting yourself up for health issues.

2) “I don’t want to mess up my hair.”
Unless you have a particularly uncreative stylist, you should be able to come up with a style that enables you to go to the gym. Alternate braids with a slicked down updo, or learn to carefully flat iron your hair with protective products. If you are telling yourself that hair maintenance is the reason you don’t want to sweat, you are being really creative – with excuses.

3) “Being big runs in my family.”
It has been clinically proven that very few people have a genetic predisposition towards being overweight. What does run in families are poor eating habits and patterns of sedentary living. Don’t tell yourself you can’t lose weight because of your genetics. You are likely disempowering yourself.

4) “Black men prefer women with curves.”
Black men, like all men, enjoy the hourglass shape, which is a scientifically proven evolutionary preference. While “thick” an hourglass body has a trim waist. This is interesting because abdominal fat harms the pancreas, contributing to the development of diabetes. Perhaps a thin waist is sexy because it is a sign of health. So keep your curves, but lose the midsection.

5) “If I work out, I’ll look mannish.”
While the proof is largely anecdotal, black women do look more defined from a moderate amount of exercise than other women. That is why First Lady Michelle Obama catches so much flack about her arms. But this is something to use to your advantage. You can get arms like Michelle! Want Serena’s stand-up booty? Build it up with squats! In addition, there are many exercises that will allow you to maintain your softness, from yoga to Pilates. Don’t let this fear stop you from protecting your health.

6) “A gym membership is too expensive.”
In many cities you can get a gym membership for as little as $25 a month or less. If you really need to save, watch a fitness channel on cable for free routines. A five-dollar jump rope combined with squats, lunges and push ups will do the trick. Or walk. Just find something inexpensive that you like, push yourself, and do it consistently. Be dedicated to taking care of you.

7) “It’s okay for me to eat [insert fattening food here]. I’m starting a fast tomorrow.”
One fast will not undo a lifetime of bad habits, or prevent those bad habits from returning when it is done. The awful truth is that to lose weight and be healthy one must eat less, eat well, exercise more, and do it forever.

8) “I may be big, but I’m still healthy.”
You may be obese and in perfect health, but as an overweight person, you run an exponentially higher risk for many debilitating conditions. Why not lose weight while you are well, and maintain your health into your elder years?

9) “I don’t have the time/money to make healthy meals.”
In our hectic, expensive times, cheap  fast food seems essential. But the one thing worth spending money and time on is nutritious food. The old adage “health is wealth” rings true when you look at the mental, physical and emotional costs of disease — let alone the material drain. There is little you can do to protect your well-being more than investing in a healthy diet.

10) “I don’t like to work out. It makes my muscles hurt.”
It is supposed to make your muscles hurt! When you work out, your muscle fibers are broken down, then rebuilt stronger, which is painful. Your heart is strengthened by the stress of exercise, making it better able to function day-to-day. But exercise is so powerful, it can reverse diabetes. New studies show it slows aging. Isn’t a little morning stiffness worth these benefits?

Are we as black women willing to face these weight loss facts?

I don’t mean to be harsh. I just want to issue a wake-up call. Black women are the care givers modeling behaviors that can guarantee the vitality of future generations. If we are not fit, will our families be? When we can stop telling ourselves these weight loss lies, we will gain control of our health issues for the betterment of ourselves and our communities.

1. Readjust those anytime minutes.
If your cell phone bill is creating a bigger hole in your pocket than you can afford, try calling your provider to search out a more reasonable plan that will benefit your financial needs. Or, try finding a provider that has more affordable mobile plans. It might require a lot more discipline to go from anytime to after nine but making the adjustments now will definitely pay off in the long run.

2. Set monthly budgets and stick to them.
Sit down and decide how much you will set aside for groceries, gas, and personal expenses. Creating an excel spreadsheet will help trail what is going on with your monthly expenses. This will allow you to regulate your finances more and track where your money is going. It is hard to make amendments if you cannot see where to change.

3. Control utilities.
This is simple. If you are not in a room using the lights, cut them off! This helps keep the light bill down to a minimum. You can even try alternatives such as solar power lights or lighting candles which can generate relaxing aromas and can give off tranquil vibes. If the water bill has you in tears then cut down on the time you spend in showers and limit the amount of baths you take monthly. Not only is this great for the environment but it can do wonders for your pockets!

4. Bargain shop!
The mall is not the only place to find great deals on fabulous clothes. Try vintage shops or Goodwill’s. They have amazing pieces for half the price you would spend in stores. If going to the malls are a must for you then raid the clearance rack first to see if you can find something great in your price range before hunting in the rest of the store.

5. Go natural.
Maybe the hair salon is grabbing you by the pocketbook. Relaxers, straightening, and styling can become extremely expensive.  Going natural just might be just what the doctor ordered. It is less expensive, versatile, and intensely liberating.

6. Buy used textbooks.
College books can be exceptionally costly! If you cannot find used books in your school book store try shopping online for used textbooks. It’s a great money saver!

7. Carpool.
Gas can be pricey these days, try carpooling with a group of friends or co-workers to work or school.

8. Take advantage of grants.
If you have not done so already apply for grants and scholarships. This is money given away to help students who struggle with finances to obtain an education. It will undeniably assist you a great deal especially if you are paying for college with your own money.

9.  Beautification modification.
The nail shops and makeup stores might be murdering your budget. Try doing your own manicures and pedicures and limiting the amount of makeup you use. If you give yourself a manicure and pedicure once a week and apply makeup every other day, it might just save you a couple of dollars.

During these stressful times it can be difficult to see the positives when the negatives are constantly consuming you. So here are some words of encouragement: “Practice yourself in little things, and thence proceed to greater”-Epictetus.

But, once you find that perfect hairstyle, you can also click on Mane & Chic’s Fashion tab to find that perfect outfit. Along with the latest fashion trends Mane & Chic provides runway finds for $100 or less, fashion advice and spotlights brands that feature curly-girl models. Mane & Chic’s – Question of the Day and Contest are also popular with it’s fans. Not only is Mane & Chic a blog, you can also follow Mane & Chic on Twitter as well as join its popular Facebook Fan Page.

The creator of Mane & Chic, Kai Chic shared with Clutch, her hair journey and inspiration for the site.

My last relaxer was in February 2007. I transitioned from then until July 2008. It was about a year and a half before I decided to chop off the relaxed ends. I did it myself on July 4, 2008: Independence Day (in more ways than one). I’ve been natural since then – roughly a year and a half.

I decided to go natural for a few reasons. I wanted to be different. I wanted to grow my hair out. I was tired of feeling like my hair wasn’t progressing and I felt relaxers had a lot to do with that lack of progress. Most of all I wanted to disprove some myths I heard from former stylists. Myths like ‘you have to get your hair trimmed every 6-8 weeks in order for it to grow’ and ‘if you want to go natural, you’re going to have to shave your head bald’. I knew there was a better way. I began reading books and online forums and just drowning myself with knowledge and I’ve never looked back.

The inspiration behind Mane & Chic…
It was the perfect marriage between two of my passions: hair and fashion. The only “hair blog” that I knew of at the time was targeted towards women with relaxed hair. I knew of other websites, but they weren’t my speed. I’m a very visual person. I needed to do something different. I thought it would be cool to document my journey from relaxed to natural. I’d never seen that before.

Also, I’d never seen a fashion blog featuring women with my hair type that were fly and stylish. I wanted that to change. Mane & Chic came from my own yearning and thirst. I wanted to see it, so I figured other women would want to see it. It was also inspired by street-fashion blogs. The idea that you could get inspiration from other women you see walking down the street. You see that element manifested in the “Featured Curls” posts on Mane & Chic.

Mane & Chic is a living breathing being. She is the sum of all of her readers. She is that fly, natural/curly-haired chick one day, pressed straight the next with an edgy but chic sense of style. She is highly intelligent, curious, worldly and conscious.

Future outlook for Mane & Chic…
More. More perspectives from other women, crisper visuals, more depth. Mane & Chic will never settle or be complacent and will always push itself to the next level, take on more challenges and listen to what the readers want.

For more Mane & Chic Visit:
www.maneandchic.com
www.facebook.com/maneandchicfans
www.twitter.com/maneandchic