Adornment
my mother has worn a ring or two on each finger and thin, layered necklaces for as long as i can remember. i scoffed at the gaudiness for a long time, but a connection was made this morning, and whether it’s spot-on accurate or not, i don’t care. it makes perfect sense to me.
years of misinformation, indoctrination, and a laser focus on institutional education are amongst the causes of many of us missing the forest for the trees, culturally. in addition to society’s commitment to anti-Blackness and disregard for alternative forms of being and teaching, the convenience ushered in by technological advancement killed off many of the ways we learned from our elders. the old folks in my family didn’t talk much beyond direction; we worked beside them, watched what they did, and mimicked — if that’s what was expected. “do as i say, not as i do” was a lesson, too. the process and ritual of actions and ways of being taught us much more than they get credited for. as oral history peoples who have been silenced in many ways for many years, other means of expression — while always part of the culture(s) — became even more important and utilized. so the little that was said, what was done, and what one wore were major ways to convey individuality and be heard…but they also denote collectivism and belonging.
i like quiet, impactful things. statement pieces. complex simplicity. i often say there’s so much chaos inside that i don’t need the noise of it on the outside. and i mean energetically, too. especially energetically. that’s why it’s hard to embrace this newfound rambling that i do. i get that i’m painting vivid pictures with 26 characters in varied configurations, but when you’ve lived most of your life in black and white, saying a lot in very little, it’s a difficult switch using so much color to convey a story. but i digress.
as an 80s baby, i experienced Black culture in technicolor. sitting on our west baltimore stoop watching my older cousins run past me in their door knockers and graffiti nails. in dc doing the hee-haw in the street while my godbrother plays the congos. in the country at gma’s, seeing the lone open-faced gold on her front tooth as she talked, the wide breadth of space taken up by her church hats when she walked. and in the many expressive hairstyles i saw living on and off with my mommie (godmother) in suburban va over the years.
because i was so immersed and insulated in it, protected by it, it was very easy to take for granted.
society denied the existence of Black culture, and my family was so busy surviving that they didn’t take the time to teach us its value — or recognize it themselves, either, i’m learning. it is what it is when it’s just the way it is.
in public, we had better act like we had some sense before we got sense knocked into us. i was taught that because that’s what those before me were taught. it was necessary for survival — take that as you will. but as much as decorum and rigidity and quiet were drilled into us, there was also an expansive depth of freedom and joy and expression taught through action. the same fingers that pinched us on the church pew for making noise pointed us out of gma’s kitchen and toward the vast possibilities awaiting “outdohws,” the only commandments being to stay alive, don’t break anything, and to stop running in and out of the house. today people pay hundreds of dollars for outdoor concert experiences; i grew up dancing under the stars all night long as a dj spun, barefoot in the grass, surrounded by laughter and the people i love in my gma’s yard. piling in plastic barrels with my cousins then rolling down the hill into the woods. climbing up to gma’s roof and then jumping off. family reunion days turned juke joint nights. card parties. massive impromptu sleepovers. but it wasn’t all fun and games — there was also greens picking, potato peeling, and corn shucking. scalp scratching. unplugging everything, cracking windows, and sitting silently “while God do His work.”
my current spiritual and personal development journey has my mind all over the place.
i’m not sure if this is what the elders meant when they referenced being made clean and given a new life, but i swear it’s like seeing everything with new eyes, and frankly, it’s overwhelming. not in a bad way, but like, a concentration-in-noise way. focusing in the midst of chaos, way. cocooning. sitting with thoughts, revelations, and encounters. opening myself spiritually has me going through life with heightened sensory experiences, and sometimes it’s just too much. i now realize that’s what younger me didn’t know how to express as it pertained to my mom’s jewelry. i didn’t have the understanding or language to convey the too-muchness of energy as i experience it in this world, and as such, i sought to shield myself from it all. including loud personal expression.
i was scared of my mom as a kid. in a world that refused to hear her because she was black and female, my mother definitely wasn’t accepting that behavior from her children. she had a look and a yell that you’d try to avoid at all costs. as young as i was, i somehow understood that her bark had less to do with our behavior than her feeling silenced. as a child she went unheard and had little bodily autonomy. as a young woman and mother, her body still wasn’t her own. but she would absolutely be seen. by everyone. from her stature to her personality and presentation, even to this day, you’re gonna know she’s there. so for most of my memory, conjured images of my mother are replete with at least one ring on each finger, two necklaces, and two sets of earrings. now that i think of it, there are many women in my maternal line to whom that applies. and as i looked down at my wrist earlier today i realized that i’m falling right in step. one way or another, i’m going to control this body, even if it’s only how it is presented.
it was easy for my laid-back persona and presentation to get lost amongst the sea of everything-ness in my family, which made me feel unseen in most ways. in trying to build my lil’ self-esteem, i told myself that sometimes paring things back may make them invisible to some but noticed by those who pay attention. most of the women in my family only wear gold. yellow gold, rose gold, faux gold — doesn’t matter as long as it’s gold. at most, they’ll throw a silver piece in amongst just to jazz it up. exactly when i became obsessed with silver bangles, i can’t say, and i don’t recall anyone i know having worn a set consistently. for me, the understated metal is so beautiful. it’s seen but not too much; just my style. as i said above, quiet but impactful. that thought has stuck with me all my life and is the basis of my personal elevator pitch: i’m the color in the shadows.
“the girls that get it, get it, and the girls that don’t, don’t.” — khaenotbae
but for all our differences, i am definitely of the women in my family. the two-tiered anklet. two piercings in each ear. tattoos. a nose ring (plus a closed one on my tongue). and, of course, the growing stack of bracelets on my wrist. occasionally a ring or statement costume necklace, unlike my relatives. but i am them; my adornments tell the tale. before she passed, gma gave me a silver necklace (with an elephant pendant, her favorite) to replace my anklet when it broke. i rarely wear things on my neck, and she didn’t wear anything on her ankle, but now her necklace is on mine. after she passed, i also inherited a silver charm bracelet. as much as i may stand out, i belong to this crowd.
watching a Hoodoo Heritage Month tik tok this morning planted a seed. the practitioner’s hand in the forefront of the camera displayed at least one ring and tattoo on each finger. my mom and tribal marks were the first two things that came to mind. i have researched very little about tribal marks. in my current state, i don’t have the mental capacity to do so. because i haven’t done the work and didn’t grow up speaking about such things, i can’t for sure say that there’s a parallel between the two, but i feel there is. descending from people forcibly removed from their home and culture, direct correlations between what i grew up with and retained elements of traditional African cultures rely heavily upon old scraps of paper, focused cultural anthropology, and observation. if you’re one of the lucky, personal family narratives and mementos provide more connection. the most concrete ties i had to my folks are the moles — excuse me, beauty marks — that pop up on our skin over time. and i’ve been identified as a member of my clan by an elder community member in a gas station on sight.
her: you belong to dem _________s, don’cha?
me: yes ma’am. ________ is my grandma.
her: YUP! I knew it. you got dem _________s cheekbones.
just as those physical identifiers have continued to emerge despite space and time, so has the collective remembrance of other expressions. while we all may not know the specific tribes and customs from which we hail, it seems we remember the essence of expression in both embellishment and movement. the women in my family utilize our storied beauty marks and stacked jewelry to identify us, similar to the ways that scarification and adornments signify tribal distinction. throughout history, we’ve used joy and togetherness to survive. it’s so amazing that the evidence of our collectivity are also statements of individuality today.
as i continue (re)learning about Hoodoo, ATRs (African Traditional Religions), and my own southern Black experience, i see the sparks bringing to life unrecognized connections that have always been present. i’ve never been without the spirit and energy of that which came before me. while things may not look or present in the material in the same ways, my Spirits are all up and through their descendants’ being and creations. despite how much time and space and colonization have lied and tried to squelch the telling, the record and essence of our story remain. energy is not destroyed, and neither was it ever dormant. it just shows up a little differently.
i’m grateful for all of the ways in which our ancestors retained our spirit and Spirits through it all, and for being able to recognize it now. it is an honor to carry forth proof of their lives and being, manifested in the creativity through which we present ourselves.
especially the adornments.
