Issue 1 – Raw – Editorial
Rédac. Chef | Directrice de la publication & de la Photographie
My mother can’t stand the nail polish on my fingers these days. It’s four days old, how could she like it? It’s disgusting!
But my thirty-something self loves having that nail polish getting old and ugly. I can’t explain it. I like that it gives a bad twist to my style, that it irks whoever is looking at my fingers, that it raises eyebrows! It’s like that dog’s life of yours, you know… that you’re not brave enough to change and
that you prefer to ignore. I cannot get over that roughness, that bad habit on my fingers, that constant reminder that dishes have been washed, that time flies, that there’s better things to do, better places to be… Those nails are seriously rude and disrespectful to you, I should take it off but I just love the look on your face and the changing vibe when you look at them. So, yeah! “I paint it, black”, I paint my nails Black, and it’s dope! Then time makes its magic and cracks them so they can get more Attitude.
Like Mick Jagger, I paint my BlackAttitude up to my fingertips to stand out more, separate myself from
the crowd, to be a one of a kind, something else than what the “good” people expect me to be. Me…
That simple caricature, that number or title, that file in a drawer, that hashtag, that beauty or…
That beast. Take your pick Ladies and Gentlemen! In the meantime, I’m going to paint again and again down to my soul’s innermost depths, where it’s all gorgeously dark so that my skin and my soul can blend. Deep down over there!
Where I truly am.
Directrice Artistique | Directrice Adjointe de la Publication
It’s 3. 23 in the morning, the moon is in full position, my glass of red on the side, my cat at my feet and Nina Simone’s voice fills the room… Looks like the prior conditions are present for a good editorial. Blackattitude… Hmmm… Where do I start?
There’s a little apprehension in the air. A bit like a future mama before labor. Stop over thinking it! Keep it simple, Dalai Lama’s style. A Future mom in childbirth wouldn’t really hold it back and make assessments about it! This whole thing makes me relive my own sister’s experience of childbirth last week. “Make babies!” they say huh?… Right! Well, before you eject the beast, you deal with a whole lot of hardship and pain all the same. Lot’s of contractions, you scream, take a break, you push, it’s stuck, so you take a deep breath and push harder… Push! Cut the crap! Stop whining! It’s coming, repeat!
Our “Mook” was nurtured a long time. 9 months of bliss, of euphoria, of laughter… A learning process also full of doubts and hesitations, of migraines, of fears… But now it’s here! 144 pages. Weird and beautiful, a raw blend, pure mixture of its two parents. Proud mommies. Yes we’ve been foolish, reckless, courageous, mistaking our dreams for reality. Yes we did that; we took the plunge in this mad adventure with just a certain amount of unconsciousness. It was necessary for the developing fetus, so yeah! We did that! We were all that in this reassuring “folie à deux”… Everything seems clear to us now.
Baby mook* is here and it’s a fine work. It will not be a following sheep, nah! It will have its own signature, free and as anti-conformist as possible. Gosh! It’s amazingly hard but damn… It feels good! Gee! And all that for an ego-trip… I’m craving the little sister already…