The Deletion of the Perfect Instagram Hijabi

I was flown to Columbia University in New York last week by the Muslim Protag Student Organization to speak on a panel about how body-positivity and fashion related to authenticity in today’s times. Although very nervous—as I always get with speaking engagements—I felt right at home as the mainly student filled room interacted positively when I advocated about being an ally for Black Muslims, Muslims who’d been hushed by the media, fat people, disabled people, and dark people.

I told them to feel free to snap their fingers or to whip their turban or hijab back and forth if they heard something that I said which resonated with them.

And, girl, there was a lot of whippin and snappin going on.

Someone asked me about being an openly Muslim blogger, who also happened to be Black and fat, and how I remained authentic in that space.

For some reason, all the ‘Perfect Hijabi’ bloggers popped into my head.

Hijab: VELA Scarves

I responded, “Hmm, I’m not sure I want to say this here.”

The crowd gassed me up. Shouting, “Say it. Say it!”

“You know I’m really tired of the Hijabi bloggers being so damn perfect. Like, come on. They are all thin, usually white passing with the perfect wardrobe and the most perfect pastel Instagram aesthetic. They have the most perfect husband with the most luxurious and conditioned Muslim man beard. And they have like a ‘get into heaven’ free card because they are just the most perfect human beings.” I rolled my eyes and laced with sarcasm, I concluded, “I want to be like that one day.”

Eyes widened, jaws dropped, and laughs erupted. I heard claps and snaps. And, some even flew out of their seats.

No one had said it out loud until that moment. Said what we are all thinking in our petty little heads. Why do Muslimah influencers feel the need to push this oh-so-perfect agenda off on others?

And, I get that one could argue that being ‘too real’ can add to Islamophobia and that the world doesn’t need to see Muslims in a ‘bad light’. Ever since 9/11 occurred, Muslims have felt the need to put on this perfect persona so that others couldn’t stereotype them. Mistake them as aggressive or too Muslim or radical or oppressed. One of those Muslims that they saw on TV blowing up things and carrying curved swords and screaming ‘Death to all AMERICANS’.  

On top of the pressures of remaining perfect in the public eye, we have community-rooted issues of how a Muslim woman should be within her family as well as the community. And these circumstances vary, not all situations are like this, but I guarantee that you have either witnessed or been in one or more of these situations.  

You do not bring shame to your family under any circumstance. While your brother, Ahmad, is out living his best life, you are held to much higher standards. You look the part. Hijab is crucial. You don’t wear hijab, life is almost over and you have elders questioning your religion. Skinny jeans or leggings? Oh no. You are clearly on the path to destruction. Dating? While your brother, Muhammad A.K.A Mo, is bringing white chicks to the family functions. You on the other hand will fall straight into the pits of hell if you even ponder a hot guy before marriage.

Got a mental illness? Drop two rakats. You clearly aren’t praying enough. And, no, I’m not saying you shouldn’t pray when a calamity befalls you, but resources for anxiety and depression are available if you need them.

Other cliché topics that a lot of perfect hijabi bloggers don’t touch are sexual abuse, misogyny, racism, and body-shaming. Of course, because those kinds of topics don’t fit into their pastel social media aesthetic filled with fancy doughnuts and lavish trips to Dubai. Oh, yeah. I’m calling them out.

The reason why the perception of perfect, Instagram Muslimahs are so problematic is for several reasons.

You make your followers feel as if they aren’t good enough, that they aren’t Muslim enough. You create this bubble that just isn’t reality. What most influencers fail to understand is that there are other people on the opposite side of that screen. People place influencers on such high pedestals and will try to emulate whatever it is that they do. They don’t necessarily understand that these photos and blogs and projects are only curated snippets of an actual life.  

Newsflash: Muslim girls aren’t perfect. And, we don’t need to be. Perfection doesn’t exist. So, why are we punishing ourselves to attain it? Stop allowing your mom, husband, society to dictate how you should or shouldn’t be. Stop wearing masks to make others feel comfortable in your presence.

Life is about making mistakes and learning from them. It’s about exploration and maintaining an identity. It’s about connecting with your creator and striving each day to be better than you were the day before.

Instead of pushing perfection, which is really lowkey fakeness, try promoting individuality. Let your platform know that this is how you present yourself, but that it’s nothing wrong with stepping outside of the box and creating your own unique path.

XOXO,

Leah V

Why Can't We Be #BodyGoals?

My birthday is in t-minus 2 days. 48 hours. Leo season. I’m freaking out. I have no plans. I’m more tired than ever before. I think I may have witnessed a bag forming under my eye. Not sure.

I’m eating healthier than ever before. I go to the gym. I even have one of those old lady pill separators for the hundreds of vitamins and doctor prescribed supplements that I take daily. The one that says Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday…

The big 3-0.

I never thought about 30 before. 30 years on earth. I’m surprised I made it this far, though. I even had the pleasure of witnessing the invention of fidget spinners and an orange Cheshire cat become number 45.

Ahh, what a time to be alive.

So, I posted a photo on Instagram (per usual) and someone hashtagged ‘body goals’. I repeat. #BodyGoals under my picture. I chuckled internally. My little shoulders bobbing up and down as I sat in front of an old ASUS laptop (I hate it, but it’s easier to type on than the MAC).

My body was a goal? Interesting, I pondered.

The next day, I posted another pic. A different person (totes unrelated to the first person) also used #BodyGoals. I must’ve been wrapped up in some CIA conspiracy because as I drank my tea and ate a bowl of oatmeal, my boobs literally rested on my knees. Who’d want a body like that? Like mine? Preposterous. From the positive comments, I found myself going down the list of why, how my body wasn’t goals.

My teeth had irregular spaces as to where I could fit the tip of my tongue through. I had a huge forehead. I mean, huge. The hairline was as far back as Lebron’s. I never liked the shape of my face. My little brother used to tell me that my profile resembled the shape of a fat moon crescent and that I had a pug nose. Barely had a neck. I wanted one of those statuesque ballerina necks. The ones that just went on for days and they still had more neck to spare even after that. My waistline was okay, but it was riddled with brownish stretch marks that meandered to the top of my butt. Let’s not forget the two fat donut rolls on each side. My thighs. Lordt. They constantly got stuck in chairs with arms. I could never just safely ‘squeeze past’ anyone, either. There’s not a smooth surface on my thigh. Both are like large columns filled with cottage cheese. My toes, Monkey Toes, they used to call em. They are very long and spread far apart, but I can pick up a penny from a wood floor like nobody’s business…  

Makeup: Madinah Muhammad

How was any of that #BodyGoals? Especially in today’s time. Our beauty standards consist of high cheekbones lined with fancy highlighter, remove-my-ribs-to-get-the-perfect waist, and pump my lips with asphalt and concrete so that I can resemble Daffy Duck and become a high-ranking Instagram makeup artist.

I thought those were goals.

Who’d in their right mind would want to look like me?

Yes. I wear the makeup. The pretty clothes. And, I know my angles, for the most part. I work with amazing photographers who know how to use lighting and create moods. But, I’m still fat. I’m a fat model. A fat person.

I scrolled through my Instagram and was like, oh, okay I can see why they placed my body on a pedestal. I was tricking them! If only they saw me naked, then they wouldn’t ever, ever say that.

Why had I been so bent on discrediting myself? My body? Was I doing it to be more ‘real’ to my followers or was I partaking in momentary self-hatred of my own body?

I express myself through photos. And words, of course. I wanted to do a shoot where it was less about angles to make myself appear one way, but to let the parts that I’m sometimes self-conscious about peek through. Like my under-belly flap (Iegit not wearing a Spanx) and my back (which didn’t look as bad as I imagined) and my funny toes (not gonna lie, I cringed). Because when I face something that I’m afraid to show or share or makes me self-conscious, it’s best to dive in completely and show the insecurity to the world. Then go from there.

“I don’t take photos sitting down,” I said to my thinner friend. “I literally turn into a bowling ball. I have about 3 inches of torso and hundreds of pounds that surround it. It’s not flattering.”

She looked at me like I was crazy. 

We are our own worst enemy. I am my own worst critic. I am the downfall of myself. On the flipside, I can also be my own best ally. I made a conscious decision to focus on the negatives when clearly that’s not how other people viewed me.

The question I asked myself: As a fat girl, why can’t I be #BodyGoals?

I can be #BodyGoals.

As a matter of fact, I am #BodyGoals just like those whole two people said. 

Leah V is #BodyGoals in all her saggy boob and cellulite glory.

xoxo,

Leah V

The Difference Between Religion and Spirituality

Religion Vs. Spirituality  

Depending on what type of guy my mother was married to dictated how religious she was going to be. Which trickled down to how religious us kids were going to be. Or pretended to be.

I can remember a time where Mom was married to this dude that I hadn’t cared for. He just gave me a bad vibe and even as I grew older, I still hadn’t liked him. But it was Mom’s 2nd marriage and fourth serious relationship and as children living in the 90’s, we had no voice or say so.

To the community, he was so Islamic. People looked up to him because he was knowledgeable and knew ayahs (verses) from the Quran like the back of his hand. He traveled in the name of Allah (swt) and never missed Jum’ah (congregational prayer on Fridays). He fasted and didn’t listen to music. He wore traditional garb and had a huge sunnah beard. During Ramadan, he fasted and went to make the nightly prayers.

In the home, he told us that TV was forbidden and because Mom wanted to play the religious role for her new hubby, she agreed. Now, Mom already limited the amount of TV time we had in the first place. They packed both black and white TV’s and the color one that was in the living room and placed them in the basement. We were mortified. No Xena the Warrior Princess. No Hercules, SailorMoon, Bobby’s World, or Power Rangers.

I hated him even more.

Of course, we figured out new things to do in order to occupy our time.

A few months later, I’d come home to see the color TV back upstairs in the small family room. He sat in front of it, cross-legged, dipping incense that he sold into fragrant oils.

I ran to Mom. “We can watch TV again?”

She side-eyed me, then said, “Yes, but not all day. Same rules apply.”

I heard him croaking with laughter in the background. And although, I was happy to reclaim my TV rights, I couldn’t help but wonder why the TV was now un-forbidden…

Hypocrite.

Mom used to read us the Quran twice a day. Once before homeschooling and then again before bed.

“What’s hypocrite?” My little brother asked during our nightly session.

Mom thought about it. “It’s kinda like when someone says don’t do something and then they do it themselves.”

“Like stepdad,” I said. “With the TV?”

She shot me the evil, mama eye, and I shrank into my seat.

Mom was crying. In front of her sat a hard, gray box where she kept all her credit cards and money for bills. She shook her head. “He took my money,” she said. “He took all of it!”

She hadn’t had to say who because I already knew.

***

Not only had he took Mom’s money. Our money. But he cheated on Mom as well. Then ended up marrying the lady. Mom divorced him shortly after.

How could a man who was such an outwardly devout Muslim be so scandalous?

***

I’m not going to even lie to you, I’ve had very traumatizing experiences with the Muslims in my community. And, although, I’ve met some really amazing and beautiful Muslims, I’m still weary. And my guard stays up. I believe I shared in a past post about why I’ve been traumatized and the highs and lows of my iman (faith).

And, before I get into my sort of analysis, I’m not a mufti or a scholar on the issue. This is all clearly an opinion based off my own personal, life experiences. I’m quite sure some of you have amazing and welcoming communities that never have any issues. *Thumbs up*

At one point, I tried very, very hard to fit in with the ‘good’ Muslims. I was doing stuff for other Muslims to deem me a ‘good’ Muslim and not doing it for my creator. The community had pumped our heads with always looking the part that they failed to add the part where we are all humans and we were created to make mistakes and repent. And that we should try to please our lord and not so much one another. On the flipside, if you are pleasing Allah (swt) then others will see it, feel it, and that would/should also please them.

What I got (and many others) from the community was if you pretend to be good and holy then you should be okay. If a sister makes salat five times a day (but in her head, she’s humming tunes to Rihanna’a foulest song) at least she’s doing the movements. If a brother goes to the club and its shots, shots, shots, shots, shots with Lil John, at least he never misses Jum’ah prayer. Oh, and this one is my favorite. He’s an imam (or religious leader) whose gives talks, panel discussions, and marital advice, but he’s in the mosque chasing around girls waaaay younger than he is or sliding into those DM’s. Things that make you go, hmmmm.  

And, by no means am I saying that being an oxymoron Muslim is a bad thing, an unforgivable thing, the question I’m posing is where does spirituality come into play?

A lot of my friends are non-Muslim, atheist, or just floating around certain beliefs.

I had a deep conversation with an atheist. He’s a good buddy of mine. He told me why he hadn’t ascribed to an organized religion. And he had some valid points, which I totally agreed with: people use religion to control others and evil people hide behind religion.

We have women in Islamic countries being raped then married off to their rapists in the name of religion.

Slaves were controlled by white men (and women) by introducing Christianity.

Young boys are being forced into being sex slaves in the name of religion.

Female genital mutilation. Cults. Honor killings. Modern day slave trades. The list goes on and on.

We both agreed that the real meanings behind modern day religions can be a bad thing. Especially when the wrong person controls it.

Being a visibly Muslim woman, here was my response to him: Islam is a perfect religion. With all the rules and intentions set out to make our lives easier. Better. Unfortunately, the people are not perfect, and if we were created perfect then we’d be angels. I’m Muslim. I believe in my practice wholeheartedly. And, insha’allah (if Allah wills), I’ll never be anything other than a believing Muslim. Although, I wouldn’t say that I’m religious (meaning that I don’t do all the things it takes to be a devout or practicing Muslim) I’m very much so a spiritual person.

I’m more spiritual in my late 20’s than I’ve even been in my entire life, pretending to pray five times a day or agreeing with what a sexist imam said during a khutbah (Islamic sermon). I actually do less physically and have more of a spiritual connection to my creator. And, with the last two years, I’ve had to heavily rely on Allah’s guidance and mercy.

I knew that I’d become more spiritual when the outer mattered much less to me. When I’d cry and pray in my bed that Allah (swt) would lessen my burdens. When I’d look at the sky and say SubhanAllah (glory be to God). When I stopped judging others for not being what I thought they should be.

With that said, I want you, the reader, to really reflect on your own personal religious and spiritual journey and beliefs. Are you wearing hijab for your husband? Are you praying, doing the movement only to appease others? Or are you really praying to Allah (swt) with conviction in your heart? Are you giving charity so that others can see it and praise you? Are you saying certain things on the internet so people can think you are holier than thou?

XOXO,

Leah V    

60-Second Turbanista Style

Leah V shows you how to wrap a quick turban in 60 seconds! 

You can follow me @ Lvernon2000
Blog: www.beautyandthemuse.net 

Artist: Lizzo
Song: Phone (Coconut Oil Project)

*I own no rights to this song*

Download/Stream Coconut Oil - https://atlanti.cr/coconutoilep

Follow Lizzo
https://www.facebook.com/LizzoMusic/
https://twitter.com/lizzo
https://www.instagram.com/lizzobeeating/
https://soundcloud.com/lizzomusic
http://www.lizzomusic.com/

Fan Questions Answered with Leah V.

Fan Questions Answered with Leah V.

I like to do random shit. If I feel it, I’m most likely gonna say it (or type it). LOL. I had this cool idea to ask some of my followers to give me some questions to answer. Like LIVE, but not really because it’s like weeks later. I was shocked at the high quality of questions I got. I thought people were gonna ask completely ridiculous stuff. See? That’s what I get for assuming. But, yeah. They really gave me thought-provoking questions.

So, here are my answers:

@Candeecurry What do you feel is your unique purpose in the world? Do you feel as though you are on track?

LV: This is such a good question! And, honestly, it took me a long time to figure out how to answer it. At this point in life, I know that my purpose is to create content and share it with the world. My work is very niche, so everyone isn’t going to get it or like it. My purpose is to defy the odds, show girls, woman (and men) that you can look totally different and not fit the mold of societal beauty or power and still be whatever it is that you want to be. Which, in this world, is hard to swallow.   

Am I on the right track? If you would’ve asked me last month, I would’ve said, hell yeah! Today, I’m not so sure. My ideologies of ‘on track’ differ from day to day. I always hope I am though.

@JasmineN What’s your fave piece of clothing and why?

LV: Surprisingly, I don’t have one. I have a fave food though. HAHA. I’m sorry, I lied. My fave item of clothing are leggings because you can lounge in them and stretch whenever or wherever you are in the world, comfortably.

@becoming_becca.again_ Whose your biggest influencer, the person you look up to?

LV: I have many. A lot of them aren’t even in the “fashion” arena. I really look up to people who are real, raw, and have a backstory that doesn’t involve a silver spoon in the mouth. I love individuals that are a little rough around the edges, ones who went through hell to get to where they are now. People like Oprah, Maya Angelou, and J.K. Rowling. I struggle all the time doing what I do. I’m struggling today. But reading stories of their struggles and how they just believed and kept going really changes my life and outlook.

MUA: Madinah Muhammad

@Thisis_esi Dating as a young fat, black, Muslim woman, challenges? Best and worst experiences?

LV: Oh lordy! Lol. Girl, now you know there is a lot of those challenges when dating. And this is such a touchy topic because I’m Muslim and Muslims aren’t supposed to date, but you know I keep it real. Most guys don’t even approach me because I wear hijab so that knocks out about ninety percent. For the ten percent that have the guts to come up to me or message, they span from fat-shamers, BBW fetishizers, and wierdos. I’ve had okay dates, but no one has stuck yet because I’m finnicky like a cat.

@Prettyinpigment What do you love most about Detroit

LV: Detroit is OK. LOL. The job market sucks. The food here is pretty tasty. Detroit isn’t a fast-paced city but it isn’t slow either. It’s a good balance. It’s laid back and still growing which is cool. I don’t think I’d stay here though; it’s not growing fast enough in the fields of fashion or publishing.

@Lateeforigninals What’s your favorite color?

LV: Black. Darkness! And I like colors, too. Don’t have a favorite. Back in the day it used to be yellow.  

@lionwinemountain What books inspire you?

LV: The Harry Potter Series. I really love YA fiction and dystopian novels. I love being immersed in other worlds. And I’m really inspired by the author’s story of how she created the characters while being broke.

@notmycupofchai What advice would you give to your young Muslim sisters who are trying to find themselves?

Dress: PinkCloveUK

LV: I’d tell them to stick to their guns. Family, friends, and the media will try to persuade you from being who you are truly meant to be. Who you’re comfortable being. Don’t allow them to. You have to be true to yourself and listen to your gut.   

@Saneelatameez What is your greatest fear in life?

LV: Wow. Y’all didn’t come to play games today! Right now, my biggest fear is failure. I’ve always been an overachiever and I thought that perfection was attainable. I still have to remind myself to chill, but it’s hard. I just don’t want to let anyone down.

@itsbenstange What do you want to be your legacy?

LV: I want my legacy to be that girl who didn’t take no for an answer. Who pushed through the glass ceiling even though she had negative two bucks in her account. I want to be that beacon of change of the mass ideology that beauty is only thin or only white. That as a Muslim woman you can. That as a black woman you can. That as a fat person you can. And you will. And you deserve. All of it. I want my legacy to be words. With meaning. With direction. Substance. To change the world from hate and ignorance to understanding and respect for all humankind.

xoxo,

Leah V. 

Do You Wish You Weren’t Fat?

As a fashion influencer, I get this question all the time. Especially from straight size individuals. Do you wish you weren’t fat? I know that a lot more people want to ask, it’s on the tip of their tongues, but because they don’t want to offend me they just keep it buried with all the other questions.

“Let’s say in a perfect world you could choose your body. No strings attached. Would you still choose to be fat?” a close friend asked.

The topic was on fat activism and body positivity.

Each time, I pause and think about the pros and cons. Because the westernized part of my mind goes straight to ‘thin is better’ or ‘thin is beauty’ without even hearing any other options. Our minds have been conditioned to immediately associate beauty with fair skin, slim noses, and flat tummies. Thick hair, full lips, long legs. But as I dig further into my own ideologies of the true meaning of beauty through my lens is when the answer starts to reveal itself.

It’d be amaaaazing to walk into a store and they have all of your sizes available in the front and not buried away in the back near the restrooms. It’d be amazing to have more than two or three racks of shapeless clothing (H&M…) to choose from. It’d be cool when you date a guy that he wouldn’t assume that you’re easy with low self-esteem because you have stomach rolls and that clearly no other man wants you because you’re fat and he’s doing you a favor. And we can also assume that it’d be cool not to be asked how many months pregnant you are when you’re not pregnant at all. Or to be trolled on the internet because you’re promoting obesity even though you go to the gym five days a week. Or not be looked at with disgust when you’re clearly nourishing your body with food at a local restaurant.

But, with all that said, I wouldn’t change being fat. Why? Unfortunately, as humans, and especially as girls and women, we always want what’s in. What’s trendy. Our bodies have become trends, objects. The body that was popular in the 70’s is totally different than the body that’s ‘in’ now. So, are we going to alter our bodies every decade to fit the mold of this ‘new’ beauty standard? Or are we going to embrace the curves (or lack of) that we’re working with now?

The true goal is to be healthy and fat or healthy and thin. Not to lose (or gain) weight so the scale can flicker to an agreeable number for other’s comfort. That’s my motto. And my life has been so much more fulfilling because of it.  

Plus, the upside to being fat is that I don’t shop at the same stores that my thinner friends go to so that means no embarrassing twinning moments. I’m forced to be creative with my ensembles because my clothing options are so much more limited. Can you say, slayage? When I fall down the stairs, my butt cushion saves the bones from breaking. If I lose or gain five pounds, you won’t notice it. And, of course, I’m a pretty good cuddler.

*Winks at the guys* 

xoxo

Leah V. 

My Hijab. My Crown. My Way.

In Boston, my Somali friend and I scarfed down fried pickles and crab legs and chatted about good food, Islam, and being a woman in America. We then ordered these huge desserts that we could barely finish just because.

“Ohh, let me see the photos from your trip to London,” she exclaimed.

I hunched my shoulders and pulled out my phone. “If you must,” I replied because, well, ya’ll know I’m extra.

I swiped over to the photos that I took for this independent Muslim designer, Buno Designs, who makes these bomb handmade kimonos in the UK. The photographer was Parisian and a hijabi and so sweet. And even though I was dead tired from flying overseas, I had approximately thirty minutes to rush to the shoot. I was totally surprised that they had come out so well.

The waitress had returned to the table with our bills and came up from behind my friend who was admiring the photos.

“That’s you?” The white server asked.

“Yes, it is.”  

“You a model?”

I raised a brow. “Yes.”

“May I?” My friend handed her my phone. She swiped right, seemingly puzzled by the photos I took. Every once in a while, she’d glance at me then back at the photos. I waited for her to say something off the wall. She finally handed the phone back.

“Where were those taken?”

“London,” I said modestly. “I had a few modeling gigs there.”

“You model with that on?” she pointed to my scarf. “All the time?”

“Yeah, I model with my hijab on.”

Becky crossed her arms over her chest trying to figure out how someone like me could model, how someone my size and my religion could be living that kind of life that she had been told was only for thin, white women. She couldn’t figure out how to compare me to the Muslims she’d seen on CNN. The ones who were very Middle-Eastern or very extreme. Confusion was written all over her face.  

“Where are you guys from?” She followed up with her interrogation tactics. This was a quite common question from her kind. She was expecting the Middle-East, because clearly there are noooo other kinds of Muslims anywhere in the world.

“I’m African-American Muslim,” I said with a smile.

My friend replied, “I’m Somali Muslim.”

“Oh.” Becky nodded then after an awkward pause she said, “Those photos are really nice.”

I yearned to reply: I know. But I said thanks instead.   

I knew she wanted to pry more into our lives but had other tables to wait. Or maybe she got the very real feeling that her delivery was all wrong and that her presence was annoying us. Whichever one it was, her mind was doing complete somersaults as she walked away. She’d just been taught a lesson on stereotyping.

But this incident got me to thinking about hijabs and why we wear them. And how others perceive a girl in hijab. A girl whose visibly Muslim af.  

Wardrobe Courtesy of Navabi

***

When I was younger, not even going to lie, I had major issues with the hijab. It made me standout, made me different. And different wasn’t in. I yearned to be normal. For the most part, I wore it because if I didn’t, I felt it’d make Mom angry, disappointed in me somehow. But I didn’t like the way it made me feel. It was a piece of long, draping clothe on my head that wasn’t that serious, but was at the same time. People had been making such a big deal out of not seeing my hair that I started to view hijab as the problem…and not society and how they viewed differences of other cultures and religions. I was too young to understand that. So, I blamed the hijab.

For me, growing up, the hijab was so closely connected to the identity of being a Muslim woman. We looked down upon girls who didn’t opt to wear the hijab. We called them weak. Ostracized them. Questioned their faith and asked what was so hard about wearing it. I mean, hadn’t they loved Allah? We had been conditioned to predict whether or not you were a ‘good’ Muslim based on a cloth that covered your hair and neck. I fell into that trap, that mentality, until I was faced with the same challenge: to wear or not to wear.

***

“Out of all the kids, I thought you’d be the one to stop wearing your scarf,” my non-Muslim aunt said to me. I was like nineteen. And it hurt my feelings.

I guessed my struggle with it was more outward than I initially thought. Even though, I’d never took it off in front of her, she sensed my indecision. For me, the hijab became safe, a habit. I wore it out of loyalty and not want. I snatched it off in the night when I was going out to party. I just wanted to be without the attachments of it, but it’d always resurface. I’d show my ID to the bouncer and he’d stare at it for a long time. Then glance up at me. My ID showed a hijabi. The girl who stood in front of him was a ‘regular’ girl just wanting to have a good time. One was so brazen to ask where my hijab was. I snatched my ID from him and stormed into the club.

How dare he? I thought.                                  

The next question to myself was, where was my hijab?

***

I’ve learned a lot as I’m nearing the big 3.0. I’m even working on a memoir to showcase the evolution of self. My growth into becoming me. Being ok with being Muslim. Being black. Being short. Being overweight. Being a child whose parentless. And because I’m cool with me, I also understand that others may not be, and that’s cool, too, because that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Your dislike of my choice of hijab, is personal and ignorant.  

People wear their hijabs (or don’t wear it) for many different reasons. But the majority of people, including Becky at the restaurant, believe that it’s a sign of oppression. The media has made it so that closeminded individuals have been brainwashed to think that when they see a Muslim woman covering her hair and body that automatically equates to she’s being forced by her evil Arabic speaking father. They have all these notions of you being bald, you being forced into an arranged marriage, you being subservient to a man, and that you absolutely, unequivocally couldn’t be a feminist. All hell would break loose if a hijabi was a feminist. *Gasps*

Deciding. Really deciding to unapologetically wear my hijab for me has been the most freeing and rebellious and feminist thing I could possibly do.

I don’t wear my hijab for others so they could think I’m a good, practicing Muslim girl. Nah. I do it because it is me, it is my crown, my shield. It tells people that I’m strong in my belief whether I say it or not. I’m proud and loud of who I am. And that no bigot shall prosper on my watch. And because I’m so ‘out there’ with it, it makes individuals (like Becky) very uncomfortable. They just can’t figure out how a girl like me continues to defy odds, being different, being openly true, while getting beat down daily for being a minority Muslim.

“They tried to bury us, but they didn’t know we were seeds.”

-- Dinos Christianopoulos

xoxo,

Leah V.

Upliftment Through Style: Detroit’s Body Positive Movement

I haven’t done a collaborative photoshoot in a while. So, when local Detroit based blogger, Alayna of FashionLayne on Tumlbr, asked me to do a conceptual project I was all ears! We met up at Bigby’s Coffee and chatted like we’d known one another for years. I enjoyed her spirit and flyness. We set a date and hoped for the best. But deep down, I knew when dope people come together, only greatness occurs.

MUA: (My face) Madinah M.

Alayna wanted to do the shoot at the beautiful Heidelberg Projects in Detroit. I’d never been there before, but it proved to be an awesome background for our stripped looks.

And, she brought along her very much so talented photographer (adding to all the #BlackGirlMagic), Richelle of Richelle Marie Photography who captured all of our ‘moments’.

LV: Why did you start FashionLayne?

FL: I’ve been blogging for almost two years. I started solely to boost my confidence and after that I began to love myself more and more. Ultimately that is what I want people to get from my blog is confidence. I want them to learn that you can wear what you want and feel amazing and confident. Nobody should feel uncomfortable in their own skin. I want all girls and women to embrace their bodies.

LV: Why choose to collaborate with Leah V.?

FL: I decided to collaborate with Leah because she unconventional, in a good way. She doesn't follow the rules of the fashion industry or the magazines. She does what she wants and wears what she wants and I admire that from fellow plus-size blogger. She is a risk taker and that is exactly what I was looking for in this ‘Body Positive’ project.

LV: What do plus-size Detroit bloggers bring to the table?

FL: Detroit plus-size bloggers understand the struggle. We come from a city that had nothing but blight, now it is the "come up city’. For me, I use my platform to show people where I'm from instead of just selling the outfit. I want people to view my blog and love the outfit and love the background, which is Detroit. My blog is like a to-do list for others looking to visit the city of Detroit. We have art here, fashion, everything.

My normal face... HAHA!

XOXO

Leah V.

Objectification Of A Fat Woman

With this newfound divorce situation, I have officially entered into the ‘dating’ phase or as I have dubbed it “The Hunger Games”. And it is as I had expected it. Harsh af. I’m not even going to lie, I got married super young and was in my previous relationship for almost a decade. I’ve been thrown to the wolves per se. I’m a guppy now swimming with sharks. I created a Tinder account and a few others that shall not be named!

But this ain’t about me being Muslim and entering the dating scene and how wrong it is or how the ‘Haram’ police are going to troll me to death for writing this. This is about the countless men who have objectified me during the process. Let the bashing begin (told ya it was The Hunger Games).

So not only am I Muslim but I’m fat. So you can see my predicament here.

MUA: Madinah Muhammad

On my little Tinder profile, I talk about my likes and dislikes and so on and so forth. Trying to make myself appealing to the Metro-Detroit bachelor. I’ve hit a new low. I’ve accepted it. HAHA. On each of the photos I chose to share, I’m covered from head to toe. I have no boobs out, no backside shots, and no type of anything that would warrant unsolicited dick pics or 50 Shades of Grey freaks.

Oh, no. You and I thought wrong. That doesn’t matter at all. Because whether I’m naked or not, all the guys see are my curvatures. Mainly the butt and hips. And for some reason, they can’t see past those attributes. Yes, America. I’ve been objectified.  

I’ve gotten unsolicited/unwanted dick photos. I’ve been asked to ‘sit on’ someone’s face. I’ve been asked to participate in a threesome. And countless inappropriate comments regarding what they would ‘do’ to my butt, hips, and lips.

And these comments were all before even saying hello, asking my name, or inquiring about how I was doing… After I finished grimacing and taking multiple showers to scrub the filth away left by these nasty dudes, I either deleted or blocked them. If they happened to have had my number, I gave them a chance to redeem themselves. Hey, we all need a second chance to bounce back from being a sleezebag. It can happen to any one of us. Honestly.

Turban Fabric: Flossy's Suitcase

One White guy, in particular, was the worst. After he let me know that he was obsessed with my lips and ass, I told him upfront that I wasn’t anyone’s fetish and to basically treat me like a ‘normal’ person aside from my curvy parts. I even went as far as to asking him to tell me what his rendition of what feminism meant. He told me. I was satisfied with his answer. The next day, he texts me referring to my hips. Then got an attitude when I told him that it wasn’t acceptable to greet someone referring to a body part. DELETE!

I get it. Men are very visual and physical beings. I also understand that ever since the Kardashian/NickiMinaj/AmberRose faux curve revolution began fat and curvy women have been overtly sexualized, fetishized, and objectified. I mean, we are sexual beings but make sure you gauge the 'freak radar' before you start asking people to, let’s say, sit on your face.  

Either way, whether you're thin or curvy, it doesn't give men (or women) the right to objectify you or your body. We get so caught up in not wanting to make others feel uncomfortable, when in turn, we are really only hurting ourselves. I'm sorry. I'd really like that date to the movies, but if you feel like you can't see past my hips to get to the real me, then no thanks. I'll take single-life-Ben-and-Jerry's-Netflix any day of the week.

Also, want to give a huge shoutout to my photographer Brooklyn Cashmere for coming up with the "Fat Girls Can Slay' concept that you see above. Yall follow her on the Gram! And give her some love.

XOXO

Leah V.                   

Style: First Time Wearing A Bisht

In Westernized fashion, they tend to believe that the clothes must accentuate the female body, hug her curves delicately. And of course, I thought the same way. If it didn’t have a shape, then I wasn’t touching it. I was already plus-size; I’d look like a garbage bag for sure.

Since I became a style blogger, I’ve been a lot more ‘out there’ with my fashion choices. I like to up the risk and try new things. Also, I’m waaaaay more comfortable with my body now, so anything goes!

It was the last week in Ramadan. My friends from Yemen invited us to a feast fit for a king, and to top it off, they had the hookahs in rotation. I thought that the night couldn’t get any better. One of the Yemini women had a wide set of hips, small waist, and petite chest. Similar to my body type. Between puffs of smoke, we chatted about shopping and how hard it was to find fashionable items for us ‘hippy’ gals.

Her eyes widened. “I have something for you,” she said and disappeared into the back room.

She brought out a black and gold embroidered bisht. It’s like an oversized abaya. I’m not sure where it’s origins are in the Middle East but trying it on felt like I had instantly turned into Arab royalty. I paraded around her living room, gushing about how beautiful it was. I finally took it off and placed it back on the hanger. I handed it to her.

She put her hand up and shook her head. “It’s yours.”

I died.

A happy yet fashionable death.

Xoxo

Leah V.

Divorced and Almost 30... Where to Now?

I got married young. Well, not too young. I had just turned 20, and I thought I had all the answers. Me then versus me almost 10 years later…oh, boy. What a difference.

A lot of maturing and growth occurred between now and then. And for that, I’m grateful.

If you had only seen the immature Facebook rants and friendship drama I was involved in. Ugh. Very embarrassing.

But that’s all in the past now.

See, at this point, I have bigger fish to fry.

I had just turned 29 — and divorce happened.

No matter how we view the unfortunate and fortunate events in our lives, everything happens for a reason. I believe it. This is more of a personal self-discovery piece.

Hmm… *Shifts eyes back and forth*

Before we dig in, this is not a “bash” essay or a “woulda, coulda, shoulda if I had only known” essay.

No matter how we view the unfortunate and fortunate events in our lives, everything happens for a reason. I believe it. This is more of a personal self-discovery piece — the thoughts and questions on the aftereffects of an Islamic divorce that’s on everyone’s minds, but no one dares to utter out loud.

No matter what issues I had in my marriage, I never, ever thought we’d end up divorcing. I mean, after eight years of matrimony, I thought that was it. Right?

Wrong. Very, very wrong.

We’ve all sat around the table listening to our friends talk about their marriages — the good and the bad — but we never realistically put ourselves in their shoes when it came to the big one, divorce.

We can’t control outcomes; we can only control how we deal with said outcomes.

“What if your husband did that? Would you leave him?”

“What if you just wanted to move on? What exactly would happen next?”

I was that person. For some reason, I thought I was exempt from the “D” word — that if I did A, B, and C, then it would make it all better, and everything would automatically work out.

What I failed to understand was that people change, and we have absolutely zero control over it. The only person I was in charge of was my own self. And no matter what I did, it wasn’t going to change the outcome.

Sometimes in life, we have the tendency to think that just because we do A, then B should inevitably come next. We can’t control outcomes; we can only control how we deal with said outcomes. And this isn’t just for marriage, but friendships, jobs, health, etc.

Another thing about being Muslim and getting divorced is how we perceive it as the “End-All, Be-All” for the woman. Sister such and such is getting divorced. Who will marry her now? Will she uncover? How will she support herself? Will she date? It was probably her fault anyway. If she had only done what she was supposed to do, then divorce wouldn’t have happened.

Unfortunately, there is a stigma attached to an Islamic divorce. And usually, somehow, it becomes the female’s fault. Bullshit. Marriage is a two-way street. If you are divorced or going through one, don’t ever let anyone bait you into believing it was all your fault.

The interesting thing was — when I was going through this divorce, everyone kind of became relationship gurus. LOL. This is fine for the people who either went through it or just gave good advice, but others? Not so much.

Here’s a bit of advice. No one knows your spouse like you do or did, so keep that in mind when seeking consultation from others.

There is a stigma attached to an Islamic divorce. And usually, somehow, it becomes the female’s fault. Bullshit. Marriage is a two-way street. If you are divorced or going through one, don’t ever let anyone bait you into believing it was all your fault.

During my divorce period, I was asked to write about my experience. I thought it was too soon to talk about it. I didn’t want to come off as the bitter, Black, Muslim writer. So I held off. I planned on writing a few pieces when everything was finalized and when I was in a little bit of a better place.

A few people encouraged me not to reveal my divorce publicly because of the backlash I’d receive from the community (Oh, yes. It happens). The dreaded questions about what happened — and the sad, droopy faces and awww’s.

I’m not going to lie. In the beginning, I was very ashamed of the divorce. I felt like it was tattooed on my forehead. Everyone in the community knew my dirty laundry. It was etched into stone and followed me around like a dark cloud with lightning thundering around it. I felt exposed and basically like a failure.

Divorced. Divorcée? DIVORCED!

That word became me. And I was it.

But then, I got to thinking about life in general. A bit of a reflection. I thought about all the positive things I’d accomplished during the marriage. And all the things that I still planned on accomplishing after it. I figured out very quickly that I was still the same writer, blogger, sister, and friend that I was before… just without the other half and a ton more bills. Haha!

I’m not going to lie. In the beginning, I was very ashamed of the divorce. I felt like it was tattooed on my forehead. Everyone in the community knew my dirty laundry.

Then the question arose, why should I be ashamed of my divorce?

I share a lot with you guys already. Plus, this is a major milestone — one that many of us have either experienced or will experience (I hope not, though!). How many women have been through the same thing, doubting themselves through a divorce? Thinking much less of themselves? Wondering what’s next for them?

I feel like, through my life stories and gift of gab, I have a duty to share and teach. Trust me when I tell you that I’m not in the running for “Divorcée of the Year,” but I’m still growing and learning through this process, and I’d like other girls and women to do the same.

We aren’t these empty human shells. We have emotions and we go through divorces. It’s not a death sentence. It’s not the end for you. Or me.

I feel, as women, we should be able to talk about these deep, risqué issues that plague us every day.

As a Muslim, sometimes a lot of topics are hush-hush, but how is that really helping? By being quiet and not sharing vital information, how is that going to elevate us as a whole, as a community of badass chicks?

I guess I’m kind of a rebel when it comes to these things.

But it’s time to break out of this mold that we, as Muslim women, have created and allowed society to keep hold of. We aren’t these empty human shells. We have emotions and we go through divorces.

It’s not a death sentence.

It’s not the end for you. Or me.

There is so much more to the world than the small label of divorcée.

—

xoxo,

Leah V. (@Lvernon2000)

Why I Decided to Become a Plus-Size Model

In this day and age, everybody and their mamas are ‘models’. Thanks social media! Everyone is a CEO of their own one-man company. Everyone is a fashion blogger. Everyone is a comedian or an actor. Or an influencer. And in no way am I throwing shade, but it’s real. And I tell it like it is. This is what I see, every day, all the time.

I am so grateful for social media, because it gave the thriving artist—who wouldn’t ever be considered by mainstream companies—the channel to build a following and show their value in a completely different way.

Frankly, without social media I’d have never made it this far in my blogging career or met the amazing people I’ve met. So, big-ups to Instagram and Facebook!  

So when I started blogging in 2013, I was very, very reluctant to call myself a plus-size model (and sometimes, I still am). Because I wasn’t. I wasn’t signed to an agency nor was I a professional in any way, shape, or form. Then there’s the dreaded stigmas attached to being a model…

Photo: Remy Roman

At shows, people would be like: Oh, you model?

I’d reply: No, no, no. I’m just a blogger who happens to take decent photos. *Laughs nervously*

Even on my worst days, I’d always get the compliment: You are so photogenic.

I’d grimace and be like, umm, do you see my jacked up teeth and round, fat body! I’d think in my head, what are they talking about and that they were probably just trying to be nice.

Fast forward. I went through eating disorders, self-loathing, negative, nasty thoughts about myself and my worth. The people around me started to flee. I hit rock bottom and had no support. The last straw was pulled and I got some mental therapy. Five years’ worth to be exact! Best five years of my life. Therapy allows you to look within and to stop covering shit with icing. The layers started to unravel. And a new-ish me emerged. I mean, she wasn’t perfect but she was a lot better than the old version.

I began to see the beauty in others and within myself. I know, I know. This sounds corny. But I literally hated everyone. And I hated myself. No one knew. But it’s the truth. I was uncomfortable in my very own skin. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

Photo: Brad Ziegler

I set up two photoshoots for myself. Funding the whole thing from makeup to wardrobe. Planning them was stressful yet exhilarating. Then I had my face on, my ensemble was snatched, my turban was on decent. I was nervous. Very nervous. And the camera started to flash and I just gave in. The photographer was like yassssssss. I was like ayeeeeeee.

Then other photographers and businesses started to approach me and ask me to model their clothes, makeup, and accessories.

Now I claim with proudness that I’m an indie plus-size, African-American, Muslim model. And with that said, modeling is about expression and story-telling. A lot of bloggers and models are about that paycheck and popularity. Not all. Some. In the beginning, I did like the exposure and being ‘known’ was cool, but then I started getting these sincere messages from men and women and I paused.

So every time, I do a shoot or a campaign it’s gotta have something the viewer can take from it. That’s why I’m very heavy on the content that I mix with my photos. If you, as a reader, don’t take anything from my words, then I’ve failed. If you look at my photo and don’t feel some kind of emotion, then I’ve failed.

And failing aint ever an option.

xoxo

Leah V.

BTS: Brad doing the dang thing!

More BTS. And it was a scorcher that day!

Trois Soeurs: West African Accessories

The power of the internet.

As a blogger, I’m still baffled that people come up to me or message me about how much they love my blog, can dig what I’m doing, and they can actually quote what I wrote in my latest post. All I can do is smile from ear to ear. People actually read the words that I write! Plus, with the power of social media, I’ve been able to reach people in different countries and even locally that I would’ve never known otherwise. Such a great resource.

Moody Blues Set

I get a message through Instagram from Marcy (pictured above and she took all the dope photos). She tells me that she gets what I’m doing and that she has a few custom pieces made in West Africa that she wanted to show me. So let’s do coffee. Cool with me. You guys know that I can be a friendly person. Umm. Sometimes. LOL.

We set a date and met. She told me that she traveled back and forth from Benin to Michigan with handmade cuffs, earrings, and necklaces to sale.

“These beautiful earrings were handmade by Kastro in her workshop in Benin. She wraps ankara wax print cloth over framework to create a unique set of accessories. Every pair sold provides 1.5 hours of tutoring to a child in need through our TS Education Fund,” says Marcy.

Handmade Raffia Earrings by Sikart

So I love Trois Soeurs for several reasons. They have some dope, quality pieces that will set you apart from the other fashionistas (I’m obsessed with African Print!) We know the individual who is creating and crafting each item (providing ethical and safe work). And lastly, the money is going to a good cause: education for children in Benin.

Moody Blues Set

We are doing a GIVEAWAY!!!

Two lucky winners will win either the earrings or the cuff:

<Rules>

1.      Follow @Lvernon2000 and @troissoeursbenin on Instagram

2.      Tell us how you’d rock the earrings or the bangles under the blog post (be creative!)

3.      Two (2) winners will be picked at random on Sunday the 24th of July 2016 (noon EST) and have the items shipped to their residence within ten (10) of the contest’s end.  

*Winners have twenty-four (24) hours to claim their prize and send appropriate information for claim and shipping of prizes. After twenty-four (24) hours, the next winner will be chosen. So keep your eyes peeled. Lol.  

***Update*** Having technical issues with my website. So, in order to enter to win one of the pieces of jewelry go to @troissoeursbenin on Instagram and comment under my photo. And the contest is extended to Sunday, July 24th at noon EST!

Wax Print Teardrop Earrings are up for grabs!!!

Wax Print Bangles up for grabs!!!

Pictured above are the items we are giving away. Don't wait! These beauties can be YOURS! Can't wait to see your responses.

And don't forget to check out TROIS SOEURS on social media and shop:  

https://www.instagram.com/troissoeursbenin/

https://www.facebook.com/TroisSoeursThreeSisters/

http://www.troissoeurs.org/

Eid Glam: Tips on Finding the Perfect Eid Ensemble

Eid is my favorite Islamic Holiday. Why? You feel all triumphant because you cursed less during Ramadan, the people who worked your last nerve you managed to NOT go off on, and although you passed out a few times from hunger and thirst, you managed to fast for the entire month.

Congratulations.

Now, it’s time for the day everyone has been waiting for: Eid Fashions. We’ve waited all year long to see which sister is going to pull off that one-of-a-kind red carpet look at the Eid day events.

Here are a few tips on getting ready for the big day:

1.       Don’t Wait Till The Last Minute

I’ve seen this happen so many times with my girlfriends. Their looking through the magazines and ohhing and ahhing at the pretty colors. Twenty-eight days have passed because of the indecision, and they rush out to get whatever’s left at the mall the day before. Don’t be that person. Get your major pieces sewed or purchased early. You’ll be much more satisfied and stress-free. 

Photo: Lil Miss JB Style    Tulle Skirt: Society +

2.       Think Outside Of The Box

Before, I became a fashion blogger and a wardrobe stylist, the worst thing in the world happened to me. Two years in a row, I was caught wearing the same outfit as someone else. Needless to say, my friends joked about this All. Day. Long. Groans.

Of course there’s no sure way to not have the same outfit on as someone else, but I challenge you to think outside of the box when choosing your Eid outfit. Fashion is fun and daring. Pick a color or a concept and build your outfit around that.

Tip: Shop away from the malls and stores nearest you. Drive out to new stores in other cities because they have a whole array of fresh items to choose from that maybe your neighbor hadn’t thought of.

#tbt 2009

3.       Execution Is Everything

I’ve partook in some hideous Eid outfits (Check out the green monstrosity above). Make sure that whatever you decide to wear you execute it properly and you are comfortable and confident in it.

4.       Accessorize!!!

I want to see you doused in accessories this Eid. Like peacock feather head pieces, crowns, large hooped earrings, midi rings, and statements neckpieces.

Since Eid will fall in the summer, these are a few styles I’d like to see you guys rock:

Colors: Yellows, Reds, Electric Blues, and Whites

Patterns: Aztec prints, stripes, Paisley, geometric shapes, polka dots, and dark tye-dies

Textures: Lace, linen, silk, chiffon, and velvet

Photo: Remy Roman    Wrap Dress and Accessories: Peacock Room Detroit

I can't wait to see all of your Eid outfits in the next week! Make sure you hashtag #LeahVDaily

And don't forget to follow me on IG: Lvernon2000

Also, you check out the original post on Eid Glam at Muslimgirl.net

Editor's Note: A Photo Doesn't Capture Our True Struggles

My blog has always--and will always--be a 'body inclusive" blog. I don't discriminate. And nor should you. All bodies are amazing bodies. Idgaf who says otherwise. But I want to talk to my big girls (and guys) for a hot second.

Over the weekend, I posted this photo. Check out the caption. Extra. I know. Lol.

@Lvernon2000

I'm getting old. I'm going through some shit in life. OK. So I saw this photo in my archives. It was an awesome moment. A moment of carefreeness. When in reality, at that very moment that I posted it, I felt like the ugliest person on the planet. I didn't feel like getting out the bed, seeing anyone's face, or 'talking' about the issues at hand. So, I took it to Instagram. I decided that maybe all the angst I had built up could be channeled into something more positive and helpful to the world. The picture ended up going semi-viral. I got tons of shares, likes (more than I ever had before), and lots and lots of positive comments.

Nope. No fat-shaming occurred...yet. LOL.

A lot of the comments were from women from all around the world praising me for doing something that I find easy and take for granted. But they didn't know that I was in bed feeling so eh! In retrospect, I find it incredibly simple to find clothes that fit, grab a photographer, beat my face, and pose. Even on my bad days. I find it easy to post my pictures, use all the right hashtags, and create a bomb caption. It's nuffin!

The eye opening comment was from a woman who basically said that in her country if you were bigger there weren't any clothes that fit, let alone did large women ever consider modeling.

*Jaw Drop*

And there I was in bed sulking. I was taken aback by her words. And all the other comments of women (of all sizes) just reaching out and telling me that I gave them a little hope and confidence to get out there and try something new. Even if I felt like crap, I was perked up by the love and support. They even trusted me enough to share their stories. A strange blogger from Detroit.  

A lot of us take for granted the small things, the things we think are easy for us. To someone, confidence isn't an issue. Yet half way across the world (or right next door) is someone struggling to hold their head up and look at themselves in the mirror. We never know what someone is feeling by what they post on the internet or, even, from what they say. Sometimes, the pain is buried so deep that it's hard to express.

What I'm saying is that we have to do better by one another. Stop judging a book by it's cover. Because that's not always accurate. It doesn't matter where we come from or what we look like. This isn't a popularity contest or whose the best looking or whose got more followers. This is real life. What we say, how we treat others, and what we type matters. And someone else is looking and searching for that someone who's going to bring them back up. The feeling of helping someone else, inspiring someone else, is enough pleasure for me. And, frankly, they got me out of my funk. When I read those comments, it's like wow, they really did that. And I got to put a little sparkle in their eyes, too. We kinda helped each other without even knowing it. This is where my enjoyment from blogging and social media comes from: The people. The interaction and sharing of information.

I really want to encourage you to inspire someone else--in person or through social media. However you do it, I don't care. Just do it! But the goal for this week is to uplift someone. Because you never know who needs it.

xoxo

Leah V.