So yesterday, I had the most ghetto fabulous experience of my life. And that’s saying something.
My hairdresser asked me to participate in a fashion show/hair expo sort of thing. I agreed and asked my MOH and my sister (who brought a friend) to come along. We all thought it would be a very fabulous event. We were wrong.
So so so so wrong.
The groups from the various salons and beauty schools were supposed to arrive at 6pm for a run-through. The man in charge of running the rehearsal was a crotchety old man who kept shouting out names of the different groups who weren’t there. I think overall 4 or 5 groups were there to practice.
The show was supposed to start at 7. It started at about 7:45. My hairdresser locked her keys in her trunk so we didn’t get our hair done till about 7:35. I had gotten my hair done at 9 in the morning and was just supposed to get a touch-up when I got to the theatre. There was no AC at the theatre (humidity is the arch enemy of black people hair). As such, my curls disappeared. I ended up rocking a completely straight hairdo.
When the show did finally start, they were handing out recognition awards. Of the 50+ plaques they had to hand out, only about 5 people were there to accept. The MC was literally calling up salons, and instead of someone coming up to get the award, we could hear crickets chirping. When it was time for the fashion show part to start, most of the groups were not ready so there was an “intermission” during which a crappy 70s funk cover band played things like “Brick House.”
My group had no idea when we were supposed to go or how to get on stage. There would be groups on stage, and the MC would call them three different names before she said the correct salon name. In fact, sometimes when she announced a group as next, the group wasn’t even there. Eventually, I convinced my group to just go backstage (once I figured out where backstage was) and say we were next. And it worked.
Best part of the night? When my group went off to “perform,” one of the women in my group asked if my MOH could watch her baby. We didn’t even know the woman’s name, and she trusted my MOH with her baby. While my MOH was holding the little mocha-colored baby, she was approached by many a man who wanted to know if her “baby daddy” was still in the picture.
Seriously, the amount of stereotypes I witnessed last night was sinful. Absolutely sinful. I seriously felt like I was on the set of Soul Plane 2.
But that’s not even what upsets me the most! The fact that someone “organized” this hot mess shindig and thought it was a legitimate thing was so upsetting! I could’ve done better than that without using the internet or a phone. Also, they charged $25 for people to come watch a NOT fashion show in a mold-scented theatre without AC.
Never. Ever. Ever. Ever. Again.