Whilst perusing the internets for visual inspiration, I tripped up over My Daguerrotype Boyfriend -- an absolute motherlode of historical hotties from (mostly) the 19th century, when photography was brand spanking new and portraiture was all the rage.
Having a boyfriend from history isn't anything new for me. I'm always flipping through a history book and crushing on someone -- and with websites like Historically Handsome Men, Fuck Yeah Historical Hotties, Bangable Dudes in History (a personal fave for the pie charts alone) and more, there's plenty to support my strange habit. My eye usually latches onto stuff like this because I genuinely love history. After awhile, I started to wonder what the people I would read of actually looked like. And then I started to wonder about everyone else. I began to dig through old photos, researching, looking for a glimpse of a real face. And all at once, I would find them. Most of the time, they seemed just as startled to see me.
Case in point? The German Federal Crime Police Office took four contemporary paintings to create this photograph of Mozart, circa 1777.
It doesn't matter if I'm mending a day dress, rereading a biography or singing at a 1920s tea social. Peering into the past illuminates the present. A lot of what seems convoluted nowadays -- especially in politics -- is much more easily understood in historical context.
And besides, all of this is great fodder for spinning yarns into songs that make you want to sing along with them. If I'm nothing else, I'm a storyteller. And all of this feeling and inspiration has to go somewhere.
Peter "Black Prince" Jackson, c. 1900. From Jamaica by way of the Virgin Islands. Not surprisingly, he was also known as Peter the Great. His claim to fame? He won the Australian heavyweight title in 1886 with a knock out -- after 30 rounds. (ka-BOOM.) I can feel fearlessness emanating from him in waves, from all the way over here. According to the website: This boxer boyfriend found his calling after putting down a
ship’s mutiny using his powerful fists. (He pulled that off as a teenager, folks.) A fine specimen of physical
development indeed.
His tombstone says, This was a man. Now that's an epitaph.
Believe it or not, this is President Rutherford B. Hayes when he was in his twenties. I always wondered what was under all that beard. In later years, he looked like he smelled of foot odor, mulch and a great deal of regret. (Don't believe me? Click here.) Who knew he was this gorgeous?
Unknown Japanese man from the 19th century. Stunning, isn't he. His hair softens that hard steady look but I'm fairly convinced that he's looking right at me. How old is he? How long is his hair? Is that the handle of a knife at his waist? *sigh* I have way too many questions...
I know this sounds hokey, but I can't believe how real he looks.
Sioux Indian smoking a cigarette, 1908 -- looking absolutely drop-dead resplendent. I love everything about this picture. And him. Simply put, he's beautiful. So confident and self-assured and so styled out, it hurts a little. I don't know what I love more: the whiteness of his shirt, those (beaded?) cuffs or the look on his face.
Tintype of an unknown young man, 1850. His gloved hands, those clothes, the glowy halo around him. So lovely. His dress is straight out of antiquity but that face is here and now. Seriously, this brother looks way too familiar. As God is my witness, I could have sworn I saw him last week on 135th and St. Nick. I remember him because he smiled at me as I passed him by...
Showing posts with label men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label men. Show all posts
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Thursday, November 29, 2007
where this blackgrrl stands, part two -- "interracial dating" and the cool guy
i decided a long time ago that when it came to dating, i wanted someone that was basically a good guy, and i really didn't care what race he happened to be. finding a smart, decent, cool, God-fearing person would prove to be difficult enough. why cut my chances of meeting that special someone by setting up racial barriers? to my way of thinking, it just didn't make any sense.
i knew very early on in the dating game that just because a guy is an african-american, that didn't mean that he would understand me or "get" where i was coming from or get along with me -- or find me attractive. as a matter of fact, a lot of african-american guys find me patently unattractive because i don't straighten my hair -- believe it or not. (note: i said african-american. not west indian. not african. african-american. but i digress.) it's the wierdest thing, to walk through greenbriar mall in atlanta and watch black folk stop eating to stare at my hair.
here's an interesting sidebar: i don't straighten my hair because it is at its strongest and healthiest and most beautiful when its in its natural state. it's expensive to chemically treat it, too. do the math: if you trot to the beauty parlor every other week or so for a touch up, that money invested wisely long term could probably buy you a house or give you an early retirement situation in no time.
besides -- i don't think i should have to affect a white standard of beauty to be presentable. or pretty. if some african-american man thinks otherwise, that's his problem.
unconsciously, i realized that because i had essentially become the person i wanted to date, that's exactly what i usually attracted: men who wanted a cool girl, irrregardless of race. oh, there was the occasional righteous brother who preferred me with a perm, or who was genuinely disgusted that i'd dated "outside of my race." as far as i was concerned, that made them much easier to sort through. i didn't care how black or white or whatever he was. he's not cool, i'd casually observe. i cannot date him. and i would move on.
case in point?
years ago, some white guy was trying to chat me up at a party somewhere deep in the heart of brooklyn and i wasn't having it. somewhere in the midst of the conversation we were barely having, he told me that he only dated sisters. what baffled me is that he said it in this confidential "just between us" tone. the implication was that i had nothing to worry about because he understood who i was and where i was coming from -- he was familiar with me, with my culture, my people. bad move.
"who are you calling 'sisters,'" i snapped, "black women aren't sisters to you. you have to be a brother to say that." he vehemently disagreed. we were off to the races. i remember watching his face change as he realized how deep he'd stuck his foot in it. that's when i said, why would you only go out with black women, anyway?
to his credit, he tried very hard to explain himself. he went on about how beautiful black women are, how intelligent, how much more interesting they are than white women -- blah, blah, blah. as he went on, what i couldn't stop thinking was, there's some great looking white women out there that really are all that. why is he systematically excluding them? why would someone not date within their own race? it reeked of self-hate but he didn't see it that way. fortunately, i did.
(it's a preference, he said. no it's not, i countered. it's a fetish. amazing, the things people will say to justify themselves.)
my friend happens to be one of the coolest guys i've ever met. i think we're kind of spoiled because we're artists and we don't really live in america. we live and work in new york city -- a place where it's very easy to meet and hang out with people of different races and nationalities and cultures. here, your life can be as segregated or as diverse as you want it to be.
last night, i made my friend watch the online component of nbc's african-american women: where they stand series called love in black and white. he sat there quietly holding my hand, occasionally crinkling his nose in disapproval. when it was over, he said it sounded like the black women in question were dating white guys because black men weren't available. like the white guy was a consolation prize, and if some black guy came along, she would dump him. to his way of thinking, race is not a reason to date anybody.
and that's when the obvious struck me: it's really not about black women dating white men. it's about black women dating the cool guy. why wouldn't anyone say that on this segment? why can't anyone think it? they were so conditioned to think in terms of black and white that they couldn't see it any other way. ridiculous. it's a big world out there, ladies. lots of men, all over the world. the one for you could be anywhere. he could be anyone. a turkish businessman. a polish bar owner. a chinese chef.
it could very well be that the cool guy that God wants for you is probably in Prague right now, having a latte.
i knew very early on in the dating game that just because a guy is an african-american, that didn't mean that he would understand me or "get" where i was coming from or get along with me -- or find me attractive. as a matter of fact, a lot of african-american guys find me patently unattractive because i don't straighten my hair -- believe it or not. (note: i said african-american. not west indian. not african. african-american. but i digress.) it's the wierdest thing, to walk through greenbriar mall in atlanta and watch black folk stop eating to stare at my hair.
here's an interesting sidebar: i don't straighten my hair because it is at its strongest and healthiest and most beautiful when its in its natural state. it's expensive to chemically treat it, too. do the math: if you trot to the beauty parlor every other week or so for a touch up, that money invested wisely long term could probably buy you a house or give you an early retirement situation in no time.
besides -- i don't think i should have to affect a white standard of beauty to be presentable. or pretty. if some african-american man thinks otherwise, that's his problem.
unconsciously, i realized that because i had essentially become the person i wanted to date, that's exactly what i usually attracted: men who wanted a cool girl, irrregardless of race. oh, there was the occasional righteous brother who preferred me with a perm, or who was genuinely disgusted that i'd dated "outside of my race." as far as i was concerned, that made them much easier to sort through. i didn't care how black or white or whatever he was. he's not cool, i'd casually observe. i cannot date him. and i would move on.
case in point?
years ago, some white guy was trying to chat me up at a party somewhere deep in the heart of brooklyn and i wasn't having it. somewhere in the midst of the conversation we were barely having, he told me that he only dated sisters. what baffled me is that he said it in this confidential "just between us" tone. the implication was that i had nothing to worry about because he understood who i was and where i was coming from -- he was familiar with me, with my culture, my people. bad move.
"who are you calling 'sisters,'" i snapped, "black women aren't sisters to you. you have to be a brother to say that." he vehemently disagreed. we were off to the races. i remember watching his face change as he realized how deep he'd stuck his foot in it. that's when i said, why would you only go out with black women, anyway?
to his credit, he tried very hard to explain himself. he went on about how beautiful black women are, how intelligent, how much more interesting they are than white women -- blah, blah, blah. as he went on, what i couldn't stop thinking was, there's some great looking white women out there that really are all that. why is he systematically excluding them? why would someone not date within their own race? it reeked of self-hate but he didn't see it that way. fortunately, i did.
(it's a preference, he said. no it's not, i countered. it's a fetish. amazing, the things people will say to justify themselves.)
my friend happens to be one of the coolest guys i've ever met. i think we're kind of spoiled because we're artists and we don't really live in america. we live and work in new york city -- a place where it's very easy to meet and hang out with people of different races and nationalities and cultures. here, your life can be as segregated or as diverse as you want it to be.
last night, i made my friend watch the online component of nbc's african-american women: where they stand series called love in black and white. he sat there quietly holding my hand, occasionally crinkling his nose in disapproval. when it was over, he said it sounded like the black women in question were dating white guys because black men weren't available. like the white guy was a consolation prize, and if some black guy came along, she would dump him. to his way of thinking, race is not a reason to date anybody.
and that's when the obvious struck me: it's really not about black women dating white men. it's about black women dating the cool guy. why wouldn't anyone say that on this segment? why can't anyone think it? they were so conditioned to think in terms of black and white that they couldn't see it any other way. ridiculous. it's a big world out there, ladies. lots of men, all over the world. the one for you could be anywhere. he could be anyone. a turkish businessman. a polish bar owner. a chinese chef.
it could very well be that the cool guy that God wants for you is probably in Prague right now, having a latte.
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