I wore a hat. Your initial reaction must fall along the lines of whoop-dee-doo. A hat. No big deal. But there are two factors that make this a more celebratory occasion; It was a beret, and left only to be worn when I'm wearing braids. My fro, in true fro form, always managed to bust it's way through this hat like some caged beast. A disfunctional and wild mane, if you will.
So hears to not pretending that I'm french, but wearing a vintage french staple, passed down by my late-grandmother, anyway. Mostly because I finally can.
(photography by Juli Teitler for LaTonya Yvette