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Microaggressions + Tees

Microaggressions + Tees

Yesterday, I was really feeling myself and my outfit (borrowed Pink Floyd T-shirt, cut-off shorts, my trusty Chucks, perfect winged eyeliner and red lips), when I experienced microaggression number 3,000,001 of my life.

Long story short, I asked a (white) store clerk if the store carried a certain pair of shoes in my size. She looked me up and down, then proceeded to inform me that if they were in stock, they would be in the back. 

"They're expensive," she warned. "About $120." 

I smiled my usual strained smile when situations like this present themselves, and told her it was ok.

"They don't have your size," she informed me as she sauntered back to her post at the register, a smug look on her face. 

This post is most definitely not about those shoes, nor is it about that ignorant woman. Though I may have had to have pulled a Cristela, bought them, then returned them - just to teach her a lesson.

Moments like these are innumerable in my life; they happen at such high frequency that I wonder if I am merely making too much of a "simple" situation. Most of them roll off my back, slick and icy. Some of them feel like punches right in my center. Now that I am a mother, they feel personal. I stay up at night worried about how Ximena will navigate these spaces in her own time. And can only hope and pray that things have drastically changed. 

But I digress. This post was not supposed to be about that woman, those shoes, or that moment. I'd like to backtrack, and talk about how I felt in my outfit. When you feel good in something, your whole body responds. 

For so long, I conditioned myself that t-shirt = frumpy. And yet, I felt fabulous in mine (well, my sisters:) yesterday. SO, I did a little digging around, and gathered up all of my favorite graphic tees right now. 

Would you wear any of these? I want them ALL. I feel like nothing says summer (and believe me, summer is here in the hot, hot Coachella Valley) like a bold t-shirt and some worn in jeans.

BRB going to go order all of these and write a nasty email about incorporating some cultural competency trainings to a certain company.

Fun in the City of Angels!

Fun in the City of Angels!

Schools Not Prisons

Schools Not Prisons