Chapter 4 #2
Tyrell and Dru didn’t stand a chance at getting anywhere with me while Russ was a contender.
James and I were having sex up until Russ and I had sex, and then I never looked back.
I would’ve needed at least a few days to shake Russ off before I could even consider sex with someone else.
But since he raised the bar with each encounter, it didn’t make sense to get dick from anywhere else.
He wasn’t my man, so I could if I wanted to.
He just fucked me so good that I didn’t.
I turned the water off and wrapped myself in a terrycloth towel. Shifting my focus from men, I went over my schedule for the day. I was hoping I could factor in a nap, but I didn’t see how it would be possible.
I’ll sleep tonight. I have work to do.
Being a content creator, fashion influencer, and social media model was a time-consuming task.
I was naturally stylish and got a great eye from my mom, but it was work to create looks.
Brands I partnered with would send me clothes, and I had to style them in a way that felt true to me.
I put together combinations from the miscellaneous items they sent.
I had five brands I currently worked with, and my deals kept me creating content regularly.
Every Monday I filmed the bulk of my content for the week.
But because of my date with Russ, I still had work to do on Tuesday.
So, I pulled out the remaining outfits I’d planned to feature for this week.
People started following my social media pages because I didn’t just showcase my style—I showcased my personality.
I put together outfit combinations people wouldn’t have necessarily thought of.
I found pieces that were budget friendly and paired them with luxury items. I recreated outfits at different price points.
I got to set trends, feature some of my favorites, and make money doing it.
My content worked for the people who followed me. But more importantly, it worked for me.
And as much as I loved my business account, it only featured my professional life. Outside of the stories I told, there wasn’t any photographic evidence of my real life.
I had my personal account for that.
I still posted cute outfits on my personal account but mostly while I was doing cool things around the city, traveling the world, and attending fun events. It was a perfectly curated glimpse of my life.
I’ll get a few shots in this tonight, I thought as I considered wearing the dress I just got from Charlotte’s shop.
Looking at my calendar, I realized it was the last week of content I needed to do for the Good Good brand, so I shot their content first. The dresses were cute, tight, and very much club attire.
I did several get-ready-with-me videos and then a mini-photoshoot with each dress.
I went to the next designer and repeated the process.
Taking a break from content creation, I spent time focusing on engagement. Liking, commenting, and responding to my followers had helped my audience grow, but it also reminded me why I loved what I did.
I’ve never seen someone with my body type wearing that. I didn’t think I could pull it off until I saw it on you.
I love how you don’t let fashion rules of the past drive your style. Watching your videos has really changed my mind about how I dress and why I dress the way that I do.
I’ve spent my life covering my body and never felt empowered to show skin until I started following you.
I’ve spent most of my life choosing styles that I didn’t really like because that’s all companies seemed to make. But lately, with some brands expanding their options for fat girls like me, it makes me happy to watch you and curate my new style as a thirty-four-year-old woman.
I love you so much! You have changed my life and helped me find my style.
I smiled.
Those kept me going and made me realize the importance of what I do. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only comments.
For every ten comments and messages I received thanking me, I’d get two fake positive ones about my content.
You’re so confident to wear that! I wish I had your confidence.
You’re pretty now, but if you lost a few pounds, I bet you’d be gorgeous.
You’re pretty for a fat girl.
You’re pretty for a Black girl.
I didn’t know they made that in your size. It doesn’t look bad! Go Nina!
For every ten positive comments and messages about what I do, I’d get three negative ones.
You’re promoting an unhealthy lifestyle.
Why do you think it’s okay to be a fat, disgusting pig?
Fat whores shouldn’t be showing so much skin! Cover up you big back bitch!
Lose weight! You’re going to drop dead any minute from a heart attack. Instead of going on dates, you should be going to the gym.
I’m not saying this to be mean, but it’s not healthy to weigh as much as you do. I’m a personal trainer who has helped thousands of people lose weight. I helped them and I can help you. Check your DMs.
When I first started monetizing my accounts on social media, the negative comments got to me.
Not because it affected how I felt about myself, but because I thought the brands I wanted to work with wouldn’t want to partner with me if I was receiving so much hate.
Also, because I hated to think that women who looked like me would read those comments and internalize them. I wanted to create a safe space.
I soon realized that the harassment I received online didn’t impact my relationships with brands who wanted to work with me because I wasn’t alone.
Almost everyone received hate. But because I happened to be a fat, Black woman, the messages tended to be particularly vile.
Racist, sexist, fat-shaming attacks about me and my body would weave their way through a sea of positive comments.
I’d been threatened with physical and sexual violence.
I’d been called out by name. I’d been ridiculed and mocked.
My content featured my style and a story about what I wore, why I chose to wear it, and where I was wearing it to.
Most people seemed to like my stories and my style.
But there were plenty of no-profile-picture-having users who would spew such hatred my way. And my only crime was existing.
It was a hard job to put yourself out there to be scrutinized, disrespected, and judged by faceless strangers on the internet.
But I’d been dealing with bullshit like that my entire life.
I’d always been pretty. I’d always been chunky.
I’d always had haters. And even though I grew up knowing I was a bad bitch, I was still human.
My coping mechanism had always been to do what I love and experience joy. From going to the mall or Magic World as a kid, to finding unique articles of clothing or getting my back blown out as an adult, I coped with the negativity by doing what I loved.
I had thick skin and high self-esteem, so the nonsense people would spew didn’t change how I felt about me.
I stood up for myself. I advocated for myself.
I loved myself. In turn, I lived my life the way I deserved to, and I dressed the way I wanted to.
And I just wanted to be an example to other people, especially women who looked like me, to live happily in their bodies.
When I realized how many people didn’t feel confident about themselves because they were fat, I made it my mission to be that representation so they could see it.
And I wasn’t going to let haters stop me.
I was genuinely loved and respected by my friends and family.
I was admired by plenty of strangers. I was adored by plenty of men.
But my confidence and self-worth came from within.
My realness, my authenticity, and my zest for life created a safe space for me.
My home was a place of peace—and very few people were allowed in.
My dating relationships were a place of peace—and everyone played their individual roles.
My work was a place of peace—and those who violated it were blocked.
After deleting some of the bullshit in my comments section, I checked my email.
“Holy shit!” I whispered excitedly before reading it again.
Calling Aaliyah, I let it ring three times before I hung up and immediately called Jazmyn.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hey, Jazz, how are you?” I asked.
Jazmyn’s aunt was sick, and things weren’t looking good.
What started out as a quick trip home for a weeklong visit turned into a summer-long extended vacation.
I hadn’t seen her since the beginning of June, and I wasn’t going to see her again until Aaliyah’s birthday party at the end of the month.
With each passing week, her voice and conversation indicated that she was making peace with what was going on.
“I’m okay,” she replied. “How are you?”
“Just okay?”
“Yeah… I’ll tell you more later.”
I curled my feet under me on the couch. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Later,” she reiterated. “What’s going on with you? I know you called for a reason. I can hear it in your voice.” She gasped. “Do you have a date tonight?” She lowered her voice. “Is there a fifth contender?”
“No!” I snickered. “I’ve learned that four is my sweet spot.”
“From the messages in the group text, it sounds like that might be changing.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Fun One getting a lot more playing time than anyone else on the roster.”
“He’s the star player, but it’s a team effort.”
She laughed and the sound truly made my heart swell. Phone conversations had been mostly short and morose all summer. We primarily conversed via text message. I hadn’t been privy to her laughter or her joy on full display for weeks. So to hear her laugh reassured me that she would be okay.
“Well, if it isn’t that, what’s going on?” she prodded. “I know it’s something good—I can feel it.”
I grinned. “I was calling to tell you about the email I just got.”
“I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
“So, you know the influencer meetup that’s happening this weekend in New York?”
“Yes. It’s like a conference, right?”
“Yeah, something like that. It’s more focused on networking and photo ops, but there will be a couple of speakers during our brunch on Saturday.
But here’s what I called to tell you. Bree organized the speakers and the brunch.
She just sent an email and confirmed that we’re now having a cocktail dinner, and reps from different companies are coming, including social media managers from fashion houses all over the country… ”
As I read the names from the list Bree sent, Jazz’s excitement grew and flamed mine.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” Jazz demanded enthusiastically. “Are you able to pitch yourself to these people?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m gathering from the email.”
“You’re so good in situations like that! This is going to be life-changing for you, Nina!”
“I think so, too,” I agreed, letting my head fall back on the cushion.
“I’m so proud of you! You’re chasing your dreams and making your way through the world on your own terms. I love that for you.”
“Thank you.” I paused. “I miss you, girl!”
“I miss you, too. And I’m—oh, wait, someone’s at the door. I think it’s the doctor. But we need to talk before you fly out. I want to know everything.”
“I’ll give you a call tomorrow so we can discuss that and so you can tell me what you have going on,” I told her.
We said our goodbyes and then disconnected the call.