There (was&) is N O T H I N G like being a Black American girl in Italy in the 90s with a lil “che cazzo!!!” bite to ya.

… Fuck an American in Paris. I used to SEND bitches to Rome after I came back.

JUST TO GET THEIR HEADS RIGHT. ” YOUR ASS needs to add Italy to your list.”

& it wasn’t Just the men. Real strong Clear hearted Italian women are the closest I’ve ever experienced to what rich black auntie vibes and heart are all about. If she’s a cunt, burn her lol BUT ~ most weren’t. GENx dude wise, their moms went through shit postwar like they were Black women and raised gorgeous, passionate, self sufficient sons in the absence of fathers- and I talk about the lil ole Italian nonnas that descended upon me when I stumbled into their city limits after Greece because my own people didn’t show me the depth of incandescent love they doused me with, along with the olive oil lol.

only time I wasn’t absently ugh over folks comparing tans with mines were those old ladies lol. They loved on me and embraced me because their hair Was like mines long ago, they baked and basked in the sun once too-

People would wrinkle their noses, all “but the racism-!” But they didn’t understand. It’s not just beauty. It’s joy. Like… first of all, I wouldn’t attract that. They’d have to fight through all the rambunctious fuck yeah roma boys who get Black Boy Joy happy when they get going. & There…was something about that American passport. You got to be American in Italy. Then ya got to be a gorgeous Black American woman, then you got to be a tourist who respected their culture enough to leaa in and learn Some fn language before arrival-

I’m just… happy.. there’s still some appreciation outright in Italy For our beauty.