Pressure Makes Diamonds, but what Does Judgment Make?
I remember where I was 10 days ago, in Chicago, finishing up a photo-shoot (fancy, I know), preparing for a night out on the town, as one of my melanin deficient friends would say “ready to get schwasted!” when I first learned of Whitney Houston’s tragic death.
I struggled with even wanting to go out at that point. For one, it was one of the main reasons I flew to my beloved Chi-town a day early, to really see what its nightlife had to offer. However, after a struggle of internal backs and forths, I opted for a calm, less “rockstarish” evening. Something about partying just didn’t feel right (It was ironic to learn that her peers, people who actually knew her, did that very thing that same night in the same vicinity where this tragedy had occurred).
