Plagiarism And That Secret Sauce

Art is what you can get away with. Andy Warhol said that.

But where does that leave plagiarism?

We’re all influenced by something. And let’s be real the information/content vortex is so very real. And hell, sometimes we honestly don’t remember who said/did what that inspires what we say/produce…

And sometimes it’s impossible to source credits. But I’m not talking about that.

As I spend a considerable amount of time dreaming and creating for Paradise City Creamery it’s impossible to not acknowledge there may come this dreaded moment when someone/brand/company will deliberately attempt a poor man’s version of the magic we create.

Lord know’s I’ve witnessed via URL & IRL some of my favorite artists battle what seems to be this tragic inevitability...

Sometimes the thought gives me the worst anxiety. A feeling I never quite understood until I birthed this decedent cream baby.

And then I think to myself, what am I gonna do?!

Not share with the world the best of what I got because some genius will be pinning my images on their vision board and pitching a half-assed version of what we do as their own idea?!

FUCK THAT.

Shoutout to all my creative souls out there spreading the gospel of your wildest dreams as authentically as only YOU can.

Keep innovating like a motherfucker and trust that no one’s got the secret sauce like you do.

#celebrateindulgence

From Fakin It To Makin It. (Birthday Musings)

Today your favorite Creamstress celebrates another twerk around the sun.

And in honor of my favorite day of the year, I wrote myself this letter that I’m about to share with y’all,

Because why the fuck not?! 

THIRTY FOUR.

GIRRRRL!

Remember exactly 10 years ago, strutting into the Burberry flagship on Spring Street in SOHO (NYC) and paying two month’s rent for a classic black trench?

On credit.

That took you an obscenely long time at an obscenely high interest rate to pay off.

…Then having to live off of cans of tuna & ramen and/or what you could eat for free at the restaurant you were managing, for a good minute, because #FakeItTIllYouMakeIt

But who am I to judge?!

Cuz after hustling your way from coat-check girl to restaurant manager at that bougie Wall Street Steakhouse in just 3 years

(flips hair, snaps fingers)

You were beginning to learn the power a solid hand shake, slutty smile and some good ol fashioned class drag could have on one’s life.

And what else was a Jersey girl to do, when she had an economic class to appropriate yet was getting paid 15-20K less a year then the men at her job doing the same exact thing?!

Oooooh the good ol days…

Ha. Ha. Ha. 🙄

YOOOO!

Remember afterwards standing on the corner of Spring and Greene feeling so damn expensive and accomplished for having made your first “big girl” purchase?

Then immediately to calm the sense of buyers remorse that was beginning to outshine the adrenaline rush of spending money you did’t have,

You reiterated aloud the same cavalierstatement the salesman gave you on how this was an “investment piece” that would easily last you ten years.

This, combined with an excited thought of what you and your life could possibly look like at thirty four (?!!) was all it took to keep you from returning the damn thing.

That and lets be real, it looked pretty fucking good on you. 

Fast forward 10 years to you living the flashiest trashiest life that you could have never imagined.

Yes, you are still a sucker for fancy shit (which I’m not mad at) AND yes you are still sporting that Burberry Trench.

Only now it’s typically paired with something hot pink and/or lycra versus the retro pencil skirts & blouses you used to rock. #GlowUp

Cheers to you, you magnificent Queen and to all you’ve accomplished since that freezing cold day in SOHO.

You went from faking it TO making it, learning along the way that:

1. Said cliche had way more to do with developing your integrity, compassion and resilience then it ever had to do with fashion.

2. The art of class drag coupled with a solid sales pitch and a cavalier attitude could sell the most stupidly expensive shit and in turn allow you to utilize capitalism in fucking the patriarchy that exploited you more before Sex Work.

3. Actual investments have profitable returns.

You Are A Political Action

111.. One Hundred Eleven is the number of days in 2018 that I strapped on my Pleasers and shook my ass for money.

Money I used to live, save and completely self-invest in a decadent new business. 🍦💦

Y’all hear that.

THAT was the sound of me patting my self on the back.

Twice.

Any entrepreneurial Queen knows that growing and nurturing a new business is a full time job. A job that consumes your energetic & financial resources and comes with little to no gratification for a LONG time.

And,

Any Multipreneurial Slut knows that said new business has a special way of cock-blocking the mental/emotional energy required to slip on the ol’ Pro-Hoochie hat.

You know, the one that inspires people to shower us in all the money.

Money used to self-invest. 

Now, make no mistake, I thank the universe every day to have spent nearly a decade working a job I love that has allowed me to fund my life and dreams.

And it’s in recognizing this that causes me to sit here and pat myself on the back. Twice.

Yes, I have a lot of support, no one does it alone.

(And I am so grateful for the comments, DM’s, emails, texts and IRL words of encouragement & solidarity y’all gift me with. They are life affirming and have gotten me through some dark moments, and lord knows 2018 had a few...)

BUT tallying my numbers is the one time a year that I can fully absorb the weight of all I’ve accomplished.

And between being of a society/political climate (LEST WE FORGET FOSTA/SESTA) that actively works toward eradicating Sex Worker visibility.

and

Being a relentless cunt who’s initial reaction after finalizing her numbers is to immediately start scheming about how to do better, hustle harder and blah, blah, burn-the-fuck-out, blah…

It is imperative to my spirit to do so.

I implore my fellow Sex Workers to holla if you feel me…

And while you’re at it, regardless of how many hustles you’re pursuing,

STOP, SMELL THE WARM VANILLA SUGAR SCENTED SPRAY and PAT YOUR SELF ON THE BACK.

TWICE.

Because every day you show up for yourself, do your job and continue to fund your life and dreams YOU ARE A POLITICAL ACTION. 

#SexWorkisRealWork