There’s a tiktok that has gone viral in this past week, of a woman being stopped in the street to explain to some young guy what makes her confident. She’s impeccably dressed, hair coiffed to the gods, cute little glasses propped on her nose in a very “don’t make me look down on you” angle.
My Aunt Pat was a woman like this. Always always impeccably dressed, flawlessly coifed and made up, well into her 90s. She recently exited this mortal plane in one of the most ideal ways possible:** she thanked her son for taking care of her, made sure that her brother’s church, for which she was the financial secretary, had all their financials straight, stopped eating for a week, got dressed up one day, went to the hospital, and died later that day. I know she was tired, and in pain, and, as her brother said numerous times at her funeral — everyone’s got to die some day.
What I didn’t know about Aunt Pat, and which I learned in her obituary, was that she at some point had a big dream deferred:
In the early 1950s she worked as a stockgirl at a high-end department store in downtown Buffalo. One afternoon the designer Oleg Cassini was in town with his trunk show. A model called in sick and they needed a replacement. As she walked across the room Mr. Cassini exclaimed "That's the most beautiful colored girl I've ever seen". He requested that she replace the sick model but was informed that "Colored girls were not allowed on the floor and that the store was unwilling to change its policy." Mr. Cassini went to the stockroom and gave the tearful stock girl his card and invited her to come to New York to model for him. She asked her father for permission, who then reached out to his wife's cousin (a former Cotton Club dancer) for advice. She informed him that Priscilla was too sensitive and that they would eat her alive in the NY modeling world. She chose not to move to New York. She chose instead to move forward with grace.
I’m sad some hater-ass cousin blocked Aunt Pat from shining her star as bright as it could have shown.
But two generations later, she has grandchildren and nieces and nephews and a host of descendants who can live a freer life, so that’s got to be worth something.
And now we all have a very fashionable ancestor, to help guide our paths.
Rest in peace, Aunt Pat.
*I only edited bitch because my aunt pat was of the generation that wouldn’t use foul language (at least not around us “kids”), even if meant complimentarily. That said, she is dead and now knows the secret of the eternal, and so probably could care less about the words and understands the power of intention. I use the phrase here with love, deep respect and appreciation.
**anyone who knows me knows I plan to live to around 130, lord willing, mental and physical faculties intact, in a live burial to outer space. That said, I would also take an aunt pat exit, if for some reason 130 turns out to be unrealistic.