Gucci=Independence

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I talk to my mother every single day.

For the past 10 years or so, the July 4th conversation begins with either one of us saying, "What's 4th of July to a slave?!" Of course this is our bastardized version of the Frederick Douglas speech delivered to the Rochester Ladies Anti-Slavery Society.
We usually have a good laugh and talk about all the ways we actually are free.

This year was different. This Monday morning my mother was in the 4th of July spirit. I don't know if it was the fact that The Butterfly was at her house or that one of her best friends was moving into her first house. There were no "slaves weren't celebrating" jokes. In fact, I was in pretty high spirits. Knowing that my life was going to change shortly brought on such glee that I didn't need to make jokes. I wanted to buy new clothes to go with my new attitude. The plan was to meet up with James. The location? Gucci.

During my stay in Chicago, I had a tumultuous relationship with Gucci.

The first time I went into the store I was curious. I went in with Iris and James after seeing some of the company members’ purchases. The store was emotionally overwhelming to me. Beautiful handbags, clothing and shoes, many things emblazoned with signature Gs, however, the thought of paying $800 to be a walking advertisment was very hard for me to wrap my mind around. While browsing, the store went from half empty to full; most of the shoppers were black. There were shoppers who clearly had money; there were also shoppers that I questioned their financial stability. Did these people own houses? Did they have savings? None of my business, but I wondered. I walked into the store with my deflated self-worth and walked out knowing I had saved a down payment for a house and that was more important to me than any designer handbag. I was on my high horse.

So on Independence Day, with renewed confidence knowing that "the call" was behind me, I went into the Gucci Store to talk James out of gross consumption. While I was waiting for him to come to my conclusion (which he did), I spotted a pair of shoes. No way a girl with flat wide feet could get into a pair of Gucci shoes. Right?

By the time I left Gucci, I felt like a million bucks. Have you ever had on a pair of Gucci Shoes? I went from feeling like another nameless overweight black woman to feeling like Naomi Campbell in 2 seconds. What did I do? I bought the shoes.

They were a congratulatory Independence Day present. This July 4th, I came out of the deep self-loathing period I was experiencing. I knew that my life was going to change for the better, and my personal independence from the circumstances that were troubling to me would be behind me in a short time.
Maybe that is what Gucci means to everyone.

This is definitely an after picture.