Trying to understand Naomi’s bitterness toward chocolate

I’m always flattered when someone compliments me on my “chocolate” skin. Therefore, I don’t understand supermodel Naomi Campbell being upset at the Cadbury ad that refers to her complexion.

I would understand if the supermodel wanted to sue because the company didn’t pay her to use her first name, though I haven’t consulted an attorney to determine whether she would have a legit claim. But I don’t know when being called “chocolate” became a negative. Who doesn’t love chocolate?

For years my skin tone has been referred to as “chocolate” by Blacks and whites, even as recently as Memorial Day, and I can’t remember ever taking offense. I grew up in the “Say it loud! I’m black and I’m proud!” era.  I remember back in the 90s, one summer I wanted to see just how dark I could become. I spent seven days in Hawaii and never left the pool during daylight hours. When I returned home and looked at myself naked in the mirror, I looked like a zebra. My skin that had been exposed was about 20 times darker than the skin that my bikini covered. I loved it! (Yeah, I know I should do nude bathing not to have so-called “tan” lines.)

I know that being  this dark isn’t cool for some, including some Blacks who have told me I shouldn’t spend so much time in the sun. And trust me, they were not concerned about me getting skin cancer. Plenty of countries, especially those in Asia, still associate being dark with being a field hand. That’s why yachts purchased by wealthy Chinese might as well come with a cover-up deck rather than a sun deck.

High-profile people such as Isaac Hayes, Richard Roundtree, Cicely Tyson, Sidney Poitier, Iman and even Michael Jordan helped those who couldn’t have passed the paper bag test back when that insulting way to discriminate amongst our own was in effect appreciate their coffee-bean complexion. Later, women like Alek Wek and Foxy Brown, and even more recently First Lady Michelle Obama and Viola Davis, have helped people see beauty in our darkness. I’m thankful my parents didn’t hold back their love for me and my brother just because we came out so dark. I have Black friends who unfortunately have experienced rejection from their family because of their dark skin tone.

That’s about as ridiculous to me as Naomi’s complaint.

Or am I missing something regarding Miss Naomi? Is she overreacting?

Eat Pray Love: Take Two

Count me among the over six million people to buy Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love. And count me among the many who didn’t finish the  New York Times bestseller. My gold Oleg Cassini bookmark is right where I left it three years ago. On page 72.

It would seem that I, of all people, would be able to relate to Liz’s story for I too had moved to Italy on a quest. But unlike Liz, who embarked on a “search for everything” after her marriage failed, I went to eat, drink and pray for love. And she, unlike me, had a finite number of days she wanted to spend in the boot-shaped country before moving on to more serene pastures in India and Bali. I went in 2003 with the notion that I’d never leave Italy, which I ended up calling home for just two years due to the weak dollar and failure to find a Count worth marrying. Still, I was eager to read about her soul-searching journey and saved the book until a three-week sojourn to China in spring 2007. During a brief solo stay at the desolate Red Capital Ranch, where I hiked alone along a crumbling and non-restored Great Wall, I struggled to get into the book. Although I dog-eared some pages and put stars next to passages that resonated with me, it wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as I had hoped. Finally I gave up.

I thought it was just me who couldn’t get through the book but over the past few years oodles of people, mostly writers, have confessed that they didn’t finish it either. Just before the theater lights dimmed at last night’s screening, a colleague seated nearby told me that neither she nor her boss cared for the book either. (I’m sure Liz doesn’t care any more than, say John Grisham or Dan Brown, two commendable storytellers whose prose don’t match up to their book sales.) My failure to connect with Liz’s words didn’t stop me from wanting to see Julia Roberts, whom I adore, portray the author on the big screen for in the end it is the subject that fascinates me most.

Rarely is a movie better than the book on which it was based but even those who couldn’t stomach reading Eat Pray Love should enjoy the flick. I know I did. With my recent month-long stay in Tropea and few days in Rome still fresh in my mind, I salivated at the Italian scenes. The days of dolce far niente (the sweetness of doing nothing) and outings with female ex-pats and local men were reminiscent of my time in Firenze and Positano when lengthy dinners like the one in the photo above taken in Positano were common. Brava to Julia for nailing the Italian accent and the filmmakers for capturing the essence of my adopted country. (Although I’ve never seen such chaos in trying to order a cup of coffee anywhere in Italy.) Most of the dialogue isn’t memorable and another round of editing is needed. But the acting, characters, colors and cinematography captured my attention — and made me want to book a flight abroad.

Outside of my visits to several spas, I didn’t fall in love with Bali when I visited in 2000 but maybe that’s because I didn’t meet anyone as sexy as Javier Bardem.

I’m willing to give Indonesia another try. And despite having a visa for India in my passport, I never took the trip. I’m sure I’ll get there. Some day.

And maybe one day I’ll finish reading Eat Pray Love. I promised myself I would and now that I’ve seen the movie, I’m more inclined to do so. It says something that I moved the book from my Upper East Side apartment to Harlem then to L.A. If I didn’t want it, I would have tossed it when packing my belongings for each move. When I opened the book last night after returning from the screening I found the Oleg bookmark with the words, “To be well dressed is a little like being in love.”

Two people who can attest to that are Liz Gilbert and Felipe.

Attraversiamo.

Who rocked it better: Venus or me?

I love tennis phenom/fashion designer/businesswoman/author Venus Williams’ latest tennis outfit, which she rocked in Key Biscayne this week. It reminds me of my Sexy Devil costume from last Halloween.

Maybe it’s because of the amount of time we spent working together on her upcoming book, Come to Win, that we’re now dressing alike.

You orange’nt going to believe this

I knew if I got on Facebook and wrote that today, on a warm day, near the intersection of Church and Chambers in downtown Manhattan, I saw a man in a full length orange faux fur coat, an orange suit, orange kicks and an orange lid that you wouldn’t believe me.

So  I surreptitiously took his photo with my BlackBerry for proof. I wanted to take it from the front but didn’t think brotha man would appreciate me thinking he was a spectacle.