psa to diouana women who never complain and never explain

money, power, and infamy take center stage in the french riviera

there’s a lyric from iggy azalea that i love:

“this dream is all that i need, 'cause it's all that i ever had.”

it’s from her magnum opus, work, and every time i hear it, i’m reminded that although nothing has been easy for me, that doesn’t matter as i’ve been gifted something rarer than money: vision—paired with grit and work ethic.

i spoke about spiritual hunger earlier last year in a video i’ve since deleted. spiritual hunger is what nourishes our dreams when the systems and situations we’re tasked to navigate cannot. or worse, are hellbent on crushing them to bits and pieces.

i told you how i ran out of money in the south of france, and lived off erotic capital until my next paycheck hit. i never told you what exactly i meant by that, outside of the harvard business school-educated mentor i conjured up on the dance floor¹. i’ll spare you the details as i’m slightly embarrassed by needing a capital infusion from my boyfriend to finish my trip. but alas.

i don’t want to tell you that part because it’s the most insignificant part of the trip.

what matters more is what happened after.

during, i felt like i was in an episode of white lotus. the pretenses of my presence on the trip was amicable enough: i was to accompany a friend for her euro summer. given the last minute nature of her request, lodging would be provided as an incentive.

but then my boyfriend had to cover the second airbnb, and the dynamic between us shifted slightly.

equals, we became.

her trip was now ours.

funny what bankrolling does for one’s seat at the table.²

but i was only ever a proxy to my boyfriend’s wealth.

you see, nothing is free. lest, not a week in st. tropez.

and in this case, when i politely suggested she pay what she owes him, as i must also do, i was met with a spiritual entitlement that i believe would be nonexistent if i were one of the blond-haired, blue-eyed, billionaire heiresses she so admires.

college friends of ours. high school friends of hers.

this is why i don’t watch gossip girl and skip through the white lotus: it hits close to home in a jenny humphrey way.

but the subtle racism, the assumptions of hierarchy, and the inability to tell the truth—unless, of course, it's to pocket watch—made me do to her what was once done to me.

smile softly, then never, ever engage in a deep, meaningful way again.

remember that freshman year friend group i told you about in my essay, what you learn being poor at harvard? they taught me this dirty little trick:

to ice someone out of your life, you do it slowly, methodically; and if they text you to mend things up and then come to you in annenberg hall to discuss in person because they really do value your friendship and taught everything was fine, tell them nothing’s wrong and to just focus on school. then never, ever speak to them ever again.

matter of fact, if the moment arrives, say, “i’m friends with [diouana woman], but she’s black.³”

it’s a passive-aggressive way of handling conflict and it ruined my mental state for the entirety of freshman year.

but i employed it in this case because i’ve done enough emotional labor explaining racism, micro-aggressions, and the subtle flex of financial hierarchy to others to have my fill.

and so, when presented with someone who showed themselves to be a spiritually bankrupt person (telling me i must go to a specific club with you even though i said i don’t want to because you “paid for the majority of the trip” to ending up owing my boyfriend money because he actually ended up covering a larger portion of the vacation is wild work), i pulled this card out of the archive.

now, as it relates to dreams; the connection is that in your journey, you’ll find yourself in uncomfortable situations. moments when you’re judged, undermined, overlooked, and mismanaged. and in those moments, you must remember your dreams.

why you’re enduring the bullshit you’re enduring. why you’re polite in your terminations, even if people deserve to know they’ve hurt you. because your dreams matter more than your comfort. a diouana woman must always be stronger than her circumstances.

so what you ran out of money and needed not one, but two capital infusions. so what you live on less than $20 a day because you entire paycheck goes towards your self-funded master’s education. so what people think they can mistreat you because they believe they have the upper hand. so what your value is not seen by those who really should know better.

you’re on a mission.

and a woman like you—you who can manifest executives on the dance floor by simply grooving with dionysus and comp’d meals from strangers by just asking why he’s smoking a cigarette on a hot july night—must protect your energy at all costs.

your work is too important. so leaking energy by entangling yourself with people who cannot begin to define the word ‘micro-aggression’ does not serve you.

and if you find yourself in a situation similar to mine, then godspeed to us both.

besides, this dream? it’s all we need. even if it’s currently all we have.

sweet dreams,
a diouana woman

p.s. truth or dare

you know how in your diary, you write something down then rip it out and place it in the tiny makeup bag you keep in your purse as a manifestation method? yeah, these p.s. truth or dares are the digital versions of my little ripped off notes.

truth: it’s not fun ending friendships. i wasn’t sure that the offense (racial and classist micro-aggression was the charge). was worth simply walking away. and then i said it out loud to myself and decided to have self respect. besides, i’m a firm believer that people know when they’re misbehaving. no need to spell it out for them.

truth: i continue to spend day and night building and theorizing the diouana womanomics project. it’s morphed into three projects:

1) i’m working on making the beauty expense inputting semi-automated;

2) i’m thinking through how to add in multiple currencies in the beauty expense form and how that will flow throughout the platform, giving the us-centric, inflation-sensitive index that is the diouana women economic index;

3) i’m conducting independent research to create the discipline that encapsulates the theory behind my entire diouana womanomics platform; i call it erotic capital economics; much to come on that front soon.

truth: if you’re a naira or usd babe, i strongly encourage you to create a diouana womanomics account and begin to examine your relationship to beauty culture, your own beauty spending, and the exact archetype you are through the lens of erotic capital. in doing so, you’re helping to create the first macroeconomic dataset on womanhood as it relates to beauty. this is fun and serious at the same time. how all things should be. expect, of course, for the things that should just be done.

dare: unnecessary emotional labor. smile and wave.

a night cap before you go…

if you’d like to read an essay that fits the vibe of this psa, i recommend:

disclaimer: the views expressed in this essay are those of the author and do not reflect the views of any employer, past or current.

1. we have since had a meeting where we walked through my diouana womanomics platform. from st. tropez to manhattan babes!! create an account, if you haven’t already.

2. hence the need for financial independence. you get the vibe / point.

3. read: poor. also, true story.