How soon we forget? But I never did. Sometimes all it takes is a moment to either give up or keep going.
Dear Honorable Charles xxxxxx,
Once I make it to the body of my letter, I am sure you will recall who I am as well as our first encounter with each other. After the night of Saturday September 8th 2006, I definitely will never forget you and I wanted to write a formal letter of thanks.
Early Saturday morning, I remember having to get up quite early. I had so much to do that day. The entire week, actually the entire last few months had been pretty hectic. Appointment after appointment, art exhibits, special appearances and a ton of phone calls that I needed to return, I was truly exhausted. For the last few months I have also been yearning to go home and visit my parents. The last time I was home was Christmas of 2005 and believe me, going that long without seeing my mother and father starts to wear on me day by day. Basically, I wanted to try my best and get everything I had scheduled and made a commitment to out of the way prior to me going home because I wanted to be able to go home and not worry about things left undone. One of the priorities on my list was the event you hosted on the night of the 8th of September.
About midday on Saturday, I decided to go home, take a nap and get refreshed for the nights big event. I laid out my pretty black dress, took my heels out of the closet that I totally despise wearing and thought of a cute "up do" for my hair to make the look complete. I was so excited. I was officially invited to attend "AIM", Aid to Children of Imprisoned Mothers Inc. Prior to the event, I was asked to donate an original psnob piece for the auction as well as be in attendance and I was truly honored.
In May of 1998, I graduated Cum Laude and received a Bachelors degree from North Carolina Central University. I was a proud Art major with a concentration in Visual Communications. When I graduated, like other art majors you pretty much go out on a wing and a prayer hoping find work in the art field. I honestly wanted to start my own business venture because I knew there were no limits to what I could do as an entrepreneur. In 2000 I created a company called psnob (snob). Reason being, It was somewhat a "straight at you" approach poking fun at the people who think they are "all that" but really aren't. Or people who are superficial and haven't a clue to what's really important. I also wanted to change the negative connotation of the word. I wanted to make my mark by being a "true psnob". A psnob is one who is well rounded, cultured, adventurous, ambitious, risk taking, ground breaking and doesn't allow barriers to or rules dictate who they are. I have always been proud to be a psnob and I knew I was on to something groundbreaking.
Over the course of two or three years, I perfected my product. I thought of combining my love of fine art and fashion and I created the "psnob" brand of original works of art on canvas handbags. Six years strong, I have done many art exhibits, been highlighted and acknowledged by my university's Art Department. I've been interviewed by Atlanta's Jezebel magazine, and Rolling out news. I have contributed to many organizations and sponsored many events; psnob has even organized "Operation Psnob" in support of hurricane Katrina. I have donated my time as well as shared my creativity with others more than received the much needed income that one hopes to acquire for their hard work. What makes me most proud, and takes precedence to just earning "money" is the representation of my character and what makes me the person I am, but I have to admit on the night of September 8, 2006, I had never felt so much humility and embarrassment in my life. For the first time, I felt like all of my hard work and commitment to this passion of mine had been perceived as a joke.
As you called my name, "Rebecca Robinson. Who is Rebecca, can Rebecca Robinson please come up here and explain to us what this is that you are auctioning." I grabbed my clutch bag and made my way up to the front of the room. I can see the image repeatedly in my head of you grabbing my "work of art" and holding it high in front of the attendees and saying "What in the world is this?" As I smiled and was feeling the energy of the room, I turned what you said into a positive. I thought to myself, "He doesn't know or understand what I do and that's always a great thing because now I have an opportunity to explain and talk about the history of psnob and what it's all about." But as you proceeded, and as you asked for the first bid and there was nothing but silence followed by laughter and mockery, I was simply appalled by the behavior and lack of interest of the room. I've participated in many of auctions and I have yet to be a part of a benefit auction as non professional as the one that night. As I stood there confused and nearly in tears, shaking with anxiety, I knew I had to defend myself and try to stand my ground and protect everything I have worked so hard for.
"Us, that is the problem, they're so little designers and or artist that are out there for us, so many people spend so much money on the name brands, i.e.; Coach, Fendi, Prada, Louis Vuitton, and are not supporting our own businesses. I put my own two hands on each and every single hand bag I make, each bag is a work of art, each bag is a representation of what it means to be unique, and individual, and most importantly, women who are proud to be themselves." As my defense came to a close, I recall seeing Frank Ski staring at me with confusion. The entire room staring at me with the look of confusion. As I felt the room closing in on me, I felt so alone and publicly humiliated. Surrounded by all of these prominent figures, a room full of people, mostly African American people, coming together in support of such a good cause behaving so nonchalant. I was totally embarrassed that my own people didn't show one ounce of respect and expression of satisfaction for this young, smart, and talented woman's effort and contribution. I walked into your home without a date, proud, sharp, honored, confident…the "shit" so to speak and left with the valet handing me my keys and opening my car door only to leave your driveway in tears and full of anger and disbelief.
Mr. Mathis, You or no one else has to like what I do, nor like how I look, what I believe in, politically or from a religious standpoint, but I do expect to be treated with the utmost respect.
In closing, I would like to add a little synopsis of who I am, "paint a picture" so to speak.
I am a fine artist, a writer, an activist. I am an entrepreneur, a mentor. A dancer, a musician, an actress, a humanitarian and animal lover. I am a sincere friend, a good listener. I am giving and nurturing and warm hearted. I am confident, ambitious and goal oriented. I am a great driver, especially in the crazy Atlanta traffic. I am funny and charming, I never forget a name or a face, and I always leave a vibrant impression and light up any room. I am a daughter, a sister, an aunt, and a godmother. Mr. Mathis, I am only 32 years young. Need I say more?
Hope this letter reaches you with nothing less than good intentions as well as an important reminder of how you have taught me such a valuable lesson. Through the horrific experience that I endured that evening, it has only motivated me to keep doing what I'm doing and continue representing myself with poise and dignity, showing the world what being a psnob is all about.
Sincerely,
Rebecca Gwendolyn Robinson
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