THE FACE DEBATE

What side of this debate are you on? Let me know in the comments section.

You Can't Get Him By Spreading Your Legs...

“I did it because I wanted him to like me.”

Hold up, wait, what? Rewind.

Again…

“I did it because I wanted him to like me.”

The above statement is one that appalls me, has me disappointed and disturbed. More so because of how common it is said rather than the actual context of the statement. Too many girls have the belief that they can have sex with a guy and win his affection, his love, his time—him.

Some girls have sex and don’t enjoy it. They don’t come. No orgasm. No o r g a s m. And they’re okay with it. This appalls me. I thought it was an exaggerated urban myth, a legend that was a figment of some people’s imaginations. I thought sex was equivalent of orgasm. Meaning, I thought that if you had sex then you were supposed to come, at least once but hopefully three or four times. I was naïve, I know. It wasn’t that I thought that all sex was good; I just thought that most girls went in with the expectation that it was going to be good.

But there are girls, too many girls, who have sex with guys and don’t even consider it. Can you believe?

Would you eat a Big Mac from McDonalds—all 485 calories and 22 grams of fat, risk raising your blood pressure, cholesterol, etc.—if you didn’t at least like it? Hell no. It would be an extinct indulgence, an ancient thought. So, if you’re going to risk getting pregnant (unless you have a medical condition that prevents you from conceiving or you have your tubes tied) and being transmitted a STD why wouldn’t you make sure it was f**king worth it? Disclaimer: if you don’t come, it’s not worth it.

I’ve had friends complain to me afterwards that it didn’t feel good. Okay, well first times with someone can be awkward. But then they tell me that they did it again and it didn’t feel good. Sometimes there’s a third, fourth and even fifth time. That’s when I get revolted, sick to my stomach, bemused. I can’t fathom what has to be going through someone’s mind to do something a third, fourth and even fifth time after the first and second times were equally, or perhaps even more, displeasing? It totally and completely baffles me. How do you continue to allow some dude to take something from you when you are getting nothing back, not even the satisfaction of giving it to him? Do you not have more self-respect, self-worth than that? Do you not value your own fulfillment and pleasure than that? Do you even care?

I even hear that some girls have sex when the guy doesn’t even like her; they just want to do something to get him to like her. If he doesn’t like you, and you’re offering him your stuff on a platter, then he’s going to use you for the sex. Nothing wrong with that, it’s only fair, agreed?

But come on, let’s be realistic. If you’re having sex with someone who doesn’t like you back, or in the same way that you like him, then it’s going to f e e l like it. It’s going to feel like a reproductive process rather than a pleasurable one. It’s going to hurt!

The same applies to the story of the girl who has this guy chasing after her, a guy who she isn’t attracted to and doesn’t even like, that she just has sex with to get it over with so he can stop bothering her. Dry sex is as painful as it sounds so why put yourself through it?

Honey, he will n e v e r like you because you spread your legs for him. He will (most likely) like your pu**y.

No guy has sex with a girl to get her to like him so why have sex with him to get him to like you?

I think that too many girls have forgotten that sex is supposed to be a treat, a pleasurable experience. It’s supposed to feel good. Better than good. Nirvana-esque. Too many girls  see sex as a chore, drudgery. It’s a shame.

ASB,

xoxxo

A Body Issue...

I hate it when other women look at my body, sweat it and think that I'm lucky. I hate it when think i have it easy or something. Like I'm born like this. Luck is a state of mind and nothing worth anything is easy. 

This carved stomach, tiny waist, sculpted arms and sculpted legs ain't luck, bitch. It work. Pure, hard work. It's sweat. It's tears. It's pain. Good pain. Pain that makes you cry and laugh at the same time. Pain that takes over your mind, body and soul. It's pain that's worth going through. 

A body like this isn't perfect and it doesn't come without a fight. 

If you like it, if you want it then work for it. Get ready to fight. Warrior mode. No excuses, those are for lazy people.

ASB,

xoxxo

I Digress...

It really bothers me when some people treat other people like they are inferior to them. Mutherf**ker, we all got the same color blood. Just because you're on top it doesn't mean you should spit on everyone beneath you. Who do you think is holding you up?

Even if you hate someone, they still deserve your respect. You don't have to love your competitors but always show them respect. You might need them one day.

Don't hate people who hate you. Love them. Love conquers all.

ASB,

xoxxo

What's Your Biggest Fear?

Sometimes I feel like I have nothing. The scary part is that my ‘nothing’ is someone’s everything. So then I feel guilty for feeling like I have nothing because in fact I must have something since these other people want what I have. What I think as a life full of boredom, constraint and colorlessness is ultimate freedom, opportunity—Nirvana-like happiness to someone else. How come I can’t be satisfied with what I have, with what I’ve been given? Why do I want more? Am I greedy? Or ambitious? Obviously I’ve been given it for a reason. But what’s the reason? Why is it so hard to find this reason? I want to appreciate what I have because it can be taken from me at any second, blink of an eye.

I’m not happy. I remember a time when I was, wonder if I will ever make it there again to that soft, comforting spot. I have hope but I have my doubts because I know that there are people who are ‘chosen’. Some people are blessed with gifts, talents, special skills and abilities, and while I can identify with that, I don’t think I was graced with the blessing of complete happiness. Part of me doesn’t believe that that is a place I can reach.

Some people are so happy that it scares them. They’re so happy and everything’s happening for them, they’re living out their dreams and it’s scary because they know how rare that it is. One thing after another after another keeps on happening for them, the way they want it, and it’s mind-boggling because it’s them. They were picked to live that life over billions of others. Why, they wonder. But they’ll never comprehend it.

I’ve been gifted, chosen for certain things, but sometimes I fear that I will not be given the chance to live out my dream (s). I used to be naïve and foolishly believe that everyone got the chance, their chance to live out their dreams. But then I grew up and I realized that not everyone gets to wake up with a smile every morning, too happy to be tired. What if I’m not one of those ‘chosen’ ones?

That’s my biggest fear. What's yours?

ASB,

xoxxo

What Makes You Feel Sexy?

I feel the sexiest when...

• Wearing black + lace or sheer
• I'm wet, with clothes on
• I'm not wearing bra or panties under my dress
• I'm sweating
• I'm listening to Usher croon
• I'm swinging my hips to Beyonce 
• I smell good 
• My feet are slipped inside a pair of six-inch heels 
• Driving 

ASB,

xoxxo

I'm A Closet Freak...

Not that kind...

Well, maybe.

But I have an enduring, sordid love affair with closets.

A closet should not be just a tiny cramped space with a door. No, darling it should be a room, a private boudoir dedicated to inspiring you, motivating you.

It should be comfortable, relaxing, rejuvenating—your ultimate retreat and expression of yourself, your style, your values.

ASB,

xoxxo

An Alternative

As universally flattering (and satisfying) as they are, I am not a fan of pencil skirts (or dresses).

I think they look classic, classy and elegant on most women, but they're just not for me.

I don't know if it's the constant riding up on my tummy that gets me the most or if it's the riding up my thighs from the bottom. I've got curvy thighs, undeniably results of three years of athletic running and lifting weights and too many squats, that unfortunately just don't work with skin-tightness! Also, I have dimples in the side of my hips, consequences of too many squats and lunges, that are highlighted by pencil skirts that I don't dig. Do you see how hard it is for us athletically built girls to be feminine without being pink?

Thus, I greatly value and fully embrace a great pair of tailored pants, skinny or straight-legged because wide-legged and flared makes me cringe. Currently lusting these by Chloe.

ASB,

xoxxo

Don't Get Too Comfortable

Courtesy of Refinery 29

Wow, you all have got to take five minutes out and check out the rest of this funny diagram that Refinery 29 did on "How To Become A Star Style blogger." It is absolutely hilarious—the great Muhamad Ali said it best that the funniest jokes are the truth. Ain't that the truth.

After every level of the graph, as I kept going down further and further, more and more comments like, "Exactly!", and "Amen" kept seeping from my lips.

I've said it before, (again here) and I have no problem saying it again—I hate imitators, mimics, people without originality who do and wear the same things other people do and wear because...just because. It makes me sick. 

I can't tell you how disgusted I get when witness the depth of the homogeny that the top fashion bloggers possess—you know the ones who are in the ad campaigns, who have front row seats during fashion week, who have personal photographers nine times out of ten are their boyfriend. I'm tired of seeing these bloggers with the same poses in the same basic places with the same mother-effing Alexander Wang bag and Jeffery Campbell shoes! (No offense to these designers by the way.)

I mean, I have to be honest. When my interest in blogging and bloggers bloomed from a curious bud and into a healthily obsessive flower, I followed these kinds of bloggers. Mainly because their names and faces were the principle names and faces I saw. Because they were the ones with the most followers and the ones doing interviews with official magazines, print and online, I immaturely thought that that meant these people hosted the best blogs out there.

Then, the infatuation stage faded and I started realizing that they didn't update as frequently in juxtaposition to some of the other bloggers with less popularity did. Next, I started to notice that their pictures all looked the same, they didn't have quality text in their posts and they didn't respond to emails or the hundreds of (generous) comments on their posts. At this point I was baffled because now I one, didn't know who to look up to anymore, and two, didn't want to leave, but couldn't bare to stay.

I've been careful and sure to not become one of those fashion bloggers. I mean, the fact that I'm not famous and not getting personal invitations to sit in the front row of runway shows and not being sent personal gifts from major designers kinda helps, but in the case that I ever do, I've trained myself to always know why I blog in the first place. I don't blog for followers. Likewise, I don't blog for fame. I would blog if the only person who read my posts were my mother (she gushes at anything I write). My goals are to deliver content that is real, and that is of good quality. To have posts not just with artwork or photographs, but with delicious words strung together like a jazzy candy necklace. Yes, those perks I've mentioned earlier are wonderful but they're not my driving force.

Now I understand that the best bloggers are the underdogs, the ones without the fame, without the name, without the glory. Why? Because these 'top fashion bloggers' don't have the same hunger as those who are underdogs, which are typically the novice, do. They don't have the same drive to be creative, to be fresh, to be innovative. They're comfortable.

And you know what happens when you get comfortable, don't ya?

Hell yeah.

ASB,

xoxxo

You Are Your Best You

I have an ongoing love affair with originality. 

I remember how much I envied (still envy) this one girl's style who I went to high school with and it was (is) because of how original she was. It was because she wasn't afraid to express herself and her true personality through the garments she chose to wear. She never dressed the way anyone else dressed. Nothing she wore ever matched. If she had a pink zebra stripped shirt then she had to throw a brightly hued turquoise cardigan over it and slide her feet into a pair of pointed-toe leopard flats. This kind of outfit, vision—imagination blogged my mind. Her audacity, her freedom, her ability to think independently was astounding to me. 

I always wanted to dress like her but I never wanted or even attempted to look like her. Why? Because I wasn't her. No, I was Amber S. Brown. If I threw on an outfit like that I would just look like some crazy girl who doesn't match! I took a lot of inspiration from her and the way she (subconsciously) put (remarkably) stylishly fashionable outfits together, but I never tried to imitate her.

You have to remain true to yourself when it comes to style, when it comes to life. You don't have to dress a certain way to stand out to be different. If you dress like you, then you will stand out and look different.

ASB,

xoxxo

To Know Fashion...To Have Style

Style is an art, not a science. You can't learn style. Fashion is a way to see things whereas style is how you interpret those things that you see. It irritates me when people dress a certain way that looks manufactured and/or too put together. Style should be abstract. Abstract does not mean wacky, outlandish or crazy. Just not concrete. Concrete is nice...it's stable but it's safe. I don't waste energy on safe things. The problem with things that are too concrete is that it becomes predictable. Then laughable.

It bothers me when people think that because they know a couple of designers' names, know how to coordinate a top with a bottom and call themselves fashionistas—by the way, that's a word I can't stand because of how overused it is—think that they're stylish.

Knowing fashion isn't having stye. Likewise, having good taste isn't having style. Being able to point out what matches what isn't being stylish. It's a combination of all these things with sparkles of originality, splatters of creativity and above all, the ability to see things that others don't.

It's like a talent...

And I thoroughly admire those who master it.

ASB,

xoxxo

I See Things...

I will cherish the day we finally meet...

Do photographs count as material things?


Well, if they do, they're the most valued material possession to me. I have an uncanny attachment to the art and beauty of photographs that keeps me high strung with lust to press the capture button. 


With the click of a button, the sound of a shutter, the spark of a flash I can make a moment in time last forever, and that is what makes photos so incredibly special to me. In fact, I like to think that I have this special talent where I can stare at photos for hours nonstop, run away with my thoughts and never get bored.


If I could have it my way, on my lazy days or days off I would do nothing but take pictures all day. Beautiful pictures. Organic pictures. Pictures that tell stories. Immortalize feelings. I'd set up my tripod and pose for pictures for hours. If I had the digital camera of my dreams I would literally take thousands and thousands. 


I want my future home (and before that, apartment) to be filled with my own artwork. I want photos everywhere. I'm not into 'stuff'. Acquiring and consuming 'stuff' isn't what I live for. Some people do.


I am no model, nor do I aspire or ever see myself being one. But I do have to confess that I have this wild fantasy of having a book of photos—with me as the subject—one day.


Images of myself in my underwear staring out my bedroom mirror. Images of me sitting at a dinette table eating tantalizing fruits for breakfast. Images of me going hard at the gym with sweat dripping down my neck. Images of me walking down the street, laughing with my sister. Images of me submerged inside a black old fashioned freestanding tub with white bubbles covering the top like a curly mane.

ASB,

xoxxo

Don't get this twisted. It's not that I am some self-absorbed, narcissistic girl who wants a book of pictures just to stare and marvel at. It's just that I'm a visualizer. I see things. I see things in pictures. It may sound odd, but almost everything I do I imagine it being a photo. Do you do that? My mind is pictorial and very cinematic. 

Iconic Comes From Iconic...

Who is your fashion icon?

Do you have one? I think it is important. You should have someone you look up to. Someone who influences you. Great comes from great. Iconic comes from iconic. Someone who inspires you. To be b o l d. To be a u d a c i o u s. To be d a n g e r o u s. Male. Female. Unknown. Whoever—they should stimulate that creative juice inside you, get it bubbling. Maybe to be gutsy enough to wear color on color and stop drowning yourself in black threads. Maybe to wear that mid-drft crop-top that you've been admiring in the mirror but too coy to walk out in public with it on. Or to finally get inked and stop fearing that you'll regret it.

ASB,

xoxxo

Can You Find It?

I love blogs. I love blogging. I love bloggers.

I hate it when I go on to various fashion blogs and I see numerous bloggers carrying the same exact bag over their shoulders or strolling around the city wearing the same exact shoes on their feet. Come on. What happened to originality, guys ladies? (There are few exceptions, and please do excuse yourself if you know yourself to be one of those rare cases.) And I do understand that many of the notorious bloggers get gifts sent to them that they have to wear—by all mean, rock that. I'm just tired of the same 'ol, same 'ol. I mean, I thought the whole point of a fashion blog with personal "street fashion" photos was to be unique? Pioneering? Groundbreaking? Cutting-edge?

Guess not.

ASB,

xoxxo

But What About Me...

Me and my twin sister, Danielle.

It might be easy for you to say, "I was born into this world alone, so I am prepared to leave it alone,"—but what about me?

I wasn't.


I've never been alone.

Just Be...

You know those characters from movies that you remember maybe for a line they said or how the way they dressed was so recognizably different from everyone else's? The people who can pull this off in real life—those are the people who inspire me, who I look up to, who I aspire to be. 

Fundamentally, your style, from the way you put together outfits to the fabrics you chose to buy, should be solid reflections of your individual character. People that exude this theory of mine are the people who impress d a z z l e me. Not people who pull off runway looks or look perfect on the red carpet. I dig unconscious character, when it is at its most organic state.

I believe everyone should be a character but the key is not to be a scripted or manufactured character or a character constructed from imitation—for imitation is death—but to be the character of yourself. It doesn't have to be as wacky as Lady Gaga because in truth, you are not Lady Gaga and trying to be her character is like stuffing a knife down your throat (please forgive the graphic description). When you blast someone else's character to its maximum volume, it will never be as loud as your muted character. 

Stop wearing your clothes that way because everyone else is. Stop acting that way because you see all your peers acting like that. Stop sexing them (him) (her) because you see other people doing the same thing. Stop lying because they do. Stop pretending because they do. Just s.t.o.p. 

Don't think your life is boring. Don't underestimate the strength of your intelligence. Don't think your personality isn't flavored enough. Don't think your character isn't g r e a t enough because it is!

ASB,

xoxxo

Are You Shy?

You ever been in an audience and the speaker in the front of the room says to everyone, "Are any of you shy?" And then he/she told the people who were shy to raise their hands? And you considering yourself to be a little shy, really shy or even painfully shy raised your hand? Announcing to everyone else in the room that you were shy? So everyone else in the room would turn and look at you with your hand raise...because you believed you were a shy person?

I never raise my hand.

Because I'm shy.

ASB,

xoxxo