Back in 2014, I knew that I had to, so I finally listened to Throbbing Gristle’s 20 Jazz Funk Greats while alone in my old studio apartment. I sat on the ground at the computer, which was on top of a coffee table at the end of my bed, with my elbows on the coffee table and my head in my hands. I wish for the creaky wood floor to grow carpet so I can writhe around to “Convincing People” rather than sit all roiled and slumped, but I couldn’t, so I turned my phone camera on myself and snapped a fuzzy selfie that I later grammed with a caption that explained the whole situation, because who else, or how else, was I to tell? To my rescue, a friend commented, “Big day.” Kind of how I felt when I first heard Inga Copeland in Black is Beautiful. Kind of how Miss Represented has me feeling some kind of way.
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