OTF 8: An Ode to the Braddock Women

On the Fringe readers, this is a special one. A blog I seek to do right, and flawlessly. While there is no way, even in one hundred pages, to capture the real diva essence that is intrinsic to the women of my family, I will attempt to consolidate some of that glamor, to the best of my ability, here. 

My grandma is a very special woman. Residing in Vegas, and having almost 3,000 loyal followers—or should I say friends—on Facebook that she feeds regular updates through photos of her nightly parties and her husband’s hospital visits; she has, for all of my life, been the pinnacle of fabulousness. If you have been so lucky to be shown by me one of her countless stunning facebook selfies, or the bling she has gifted me that have become my own staples, then you are no foreigner to the fact that I take great pride in having a glamma. Now, many of you may have your own glammas: women who, even in old age, remain wholeheartedly committed to the glamorous lifestyle. However, my grandma’s commitment is so intense, that the only parallel I can make is to those gorilla looking men on creatine who live in the gym, working endlessly on their physique. Never have I seen her in anything smaller than a two inch heel, toes painted the it-girl mauve red, with her neck and wrists draped in (if it wasn’t all plastic) what would be fifty pounds of diamonds. She rocks red hair she touches up monthly to ensure she is never getting clocked and clangs around like a reindeer, staring at you through tattooed eyeliner, lip liner, cosmetic teeth, and the eyelids she has had surgically added; I have never met a women more committed to the visual aesthetic than her. Yet, readers let me clarify: this is not but just a visual aesthetic my glamma enjoys taking part in, this is the woman she is. My mom likes to say that while all my grandma’s siblings went on to pursue masters and doctorates, my grandma spent her time perfecting her image, her wardrobe, and her beauty. She would abandon everything before she abandoned her image. While this may not be morally green, if anyone is a fashionista, by damn it is her!

The first thing, even before a hug, my sister and I are asked when visiting my glamma in her estate decked with the gaudy and the shiny is always, without a doubt: “how old do you think grandma is?” Of course, like the good grandchildren we are, we reply that she doesn’t look a day over 40! Immediately a smile spreads across her face as she basks in her perceived youth. Like many asian women, my glamma is dedicated to triumphing in the fight against time, hence, her allergy to tennis shoes or anything “normal.” (Kinda like me!) From the age of seven, as soon as she could tell that I might be a flaming rainbow, she has been consistent in supplying me with the most blinding, dazzling, gaudy, and cheap jewelry I have ever seen. Every Christmas she would come bearing cases of her gifts, and I would appear in school the following week looking like I had taken an apprenticeship in the Drag Race Werk Room, repping diamond dolphins and various stoned animals on all fingers. Christmas my junior year was particularly interesting as my grandma let me into her vault: a 2x2 closet stacked to its brim with jeans. Skinny jeans, flared jeans, ombre jeans, ugly jeans, and each in every size imaginable! A jean avalanche just about fell onto me as I attempted to navigate her fashion cavern. I left that night, after two hours, with two trash bags of clothes and a smile on my face. Even as I write this her gift, a wonderful bedazzled purple bracelet, shimmers elegantly on my wrist. Her love language has always been her jewelry, her clothes: parts of herself that form the diva she is.

Reflective of her genetics, and to her own accord as well, my mom is also quite the diva. Give her the opportunity, and she will enthusiastically tell you how she was infamous in Dallas for the way she dressed, and how she commonly stopped traffic on account of her beauty. While the Braddock women do have a propensity to exaggerate, the pictures of my mom as a young woman—hair teased higher than God—validate her self-proclaimed it girl status. I know her hair alone, its magnificence, has contributed largely to the environmental crisis we now face, and perhaps I could even go as far as to blame my addiction to hair gel in my youth on her own toxic relationship to hairspray. Many a night my mom has continued to shock me with her glitz and glam, her four inch heels despite no ACL, and her infectious dance moves that light up the floor all night long. Sidebar, my mom really is the best dancer I have ever seen, guess I have her to thank for my passion for nightlife dancing! The distance of college has given me the opportunity, and the perspective needed to see the members of my family as real people separate from my familial fabric. In light of my recent fashion ventures, while visiting home I sought more information regarding the women of my family and how they have come to be such divas. Over sushi, my mom told all. 

My grandma was born into a very elite family in Vietnam. Her mother was already a member of the elite class and married down to be with my great grandfather who, at the time, was the French liaison to the emperor. My grandma adored her mom, who was the perfect image of Vietnamese beauty and poise. My family's fate took a disastrous turn when the Vietnamese people overthrew the emperor and my grandma was forced into hiding. These times seemed to be very traumatic for my grandma who now had to fetch water with a pale and was forced to watch her mother, who she adored so much, struggle in their new circumstances. My family relocated to South Vietnam, where eventually my great grandfather was able to reestablish himself. My grandmother, behind her father’s back (she has always acted within her best interest) learned English and used the connections she made to secure a job within the US Embassy. Here, she utilized her cunning to become a property manager—selling property to the army men and diplomats who sought to move out of the United States quarters and into the towns. Through managing their properties my grandma made her first Vietnamese million before she was nineteen. She then fell in love with an American man whom she had my mother and my uncle with. My mom was born out of wedlock, which was extremely taboo at the time, as her father was married in the states. My grandfather, so smitten with my grandmother, left Vietnam to divorce his wife so they could be together. In his absence, my grandma fell in love with another American, one who, to my mom’s story, “was the most wanted bachelor of the town.” This was the moment in the story where my mom set down her chopsticks and stared into the distance as she states that this is what proves my grandmother’s capability. “Can you believe?! Your grandma, with two kids out of wedlock was able to snag Father Lee!” Readers, I cannot say I am surprised, as my grandma is naturally a very captivating woman. My grandma and Lee fell in love, and when my grandfather returned from having divorced his wife he was sat down by my grandmother’s father, and in true fairytale style, was told that my grandma had found someone better, someone who could truly bring her happiness, and thus, if my grandfather loved my grandma, he would leave Vietnam and let her go. After writing my grandma a very heartfelt letter that my great grandfather kept from her for two decades, my grandfather did just that, and left. I tried with all my might to get my hands on this letter, but, my grandma is infamously unorganized and has no idea where it could be. 

The brief moment of happiness for the Braddock women was then interrupted by the ensuing Vietnam War that forced my mom to flee to the states when she was eight. My mom stayed with a family friend for around a year while my grandma flew around living her life with her military husband. Clearly, although this is an ode to the Braddock women, a lot of my grandmother’s actions, especially as a mother, are morally implicated, despite her being a fashionista. My grandma relocated the family to Dallas, Texas, where my mom would finish out her childhood. At this time, my glamma used her keen eye and fashionista gut to work her way from Macy’s receptionist to a buyer for the company. My grandma, acting off of her entrepreneurial impulse, invested her money into a store she would open with Father Lee. The store ended up being a massive flop. My mom says that my grandmother’s lack of plan combined with the sheer size of the store culminated into a heap of economic turbulence. Rent was late and the store was sinking my mom’s family as Father Lee had decided that he no longer agreed with the state department and wanted to see what it was like to “test the American Dream.” Readers, never listen to a man. 

By luck, my grandmother was approached by a counterfeit bag seller. The transaction ensued and bags were placed at the window of my grandma’s store. That night the store was robbed—my grandma couldn’t catch a damn break dear lord—and I guess her store was so flop that the robber left everything except for the counterfeit handbags. A lightbulb appeared in my grandma’s head as she realized maybe these bags had her own bag (money joke) in them, and maybe she should just start selling a fuck ton of these big and clunky Korean made Louis Vuittons. In true Braddock fashion, the counterfeit handbag venture came at a perfect time for my mom as well, who had just started her college education in Texas and was in desperate need for some funding. On weekends my mom would join my grandma and they would stuff their respective cars full with these counterfeit handbags. My mom would go to one busy corner while my grandmother would occupy another. They would sit there, my mom stuffing her bags nicely with tissue paper to add some juj, and let the cars—and the money—roll in. Obviously, this was very illegal. Whenever the cops would come and ask my mom if she had a selling permit my mom would bat her lashes and go “I don’t think there is any permit for these bags but if you know where I can get one please let me know!” and would pack her business up and move on. To my mom’s entrepreneurial instincts, infectious personality, and eye for aesthetics, she was able to fund her way through college via the counterfeit handbag selling and even got her boyfriend to join in. The money was coming in so fast that her own boyfriend, after they ended things, tried to steal the entire business by going directly to the source: the makers Korea. My mom’s ex attempted to start his own counterfeit handbag business, with my grandma giving him, out of the kindness of her heart, all the information and connections he needed to ruin her profits. Crazy enough, my mom’s ex ended up going to jail as the handbags began making enough money to trigger the gun of the law. This part alwasu makes me laugh. I sit there mouth gaped going “What??? He went to jail!” My mom laughs and brushes over this part of the story, perhaps because she wants the romanticized version to be the one I entertain, or just because she DGAF, either way, I sit in awe at the fact my mom hustled her ass off with fake Louis, avoided the feds, and looked stunning the entire time. What is more badass??? She made money, went to college, and sent her scheming ex to jail!! 

The side of the road counterfeit handbag part of my mom and glamma’s story truly show how clothing and fashion have always somehow appeared in the Braddocks’ life when they needed it most. With their divaship, my mom and grandmother made the most with what they had. My mom recounts how she would remove the little handbags that came with all the big Louis and sell them for $20 separately, but presented as a discounted add-on. “Here I'll even give you this matching coin purse for $20!” My mom and grandma began going to DTLA to buy heaps of clothes that they would sell at flea markets and in San Diego. That’s right all you San Diego mofos, my family were pioneers of your beloved Kobes!!!! DEPOP, YOU DON’T HOLD  A CARD TO THE BRADDOCK WOMEN. 

My mom then followed her heart to Hawaii for winter break, not knowing she would be leaving Dallas for twenty years. She finished her degree at HPU and upon catching an ad for a pushcart in an up and coming shopping mall, established her next business venture. My mom whipped up a business proposal, and within a week her and my grandma were pushing around a cart heckling tourists to buy the clothes they continued to outsource from LA. As the businesses around her failed my mom continued to find ways to improve her own position. She worked out a deal with the owners of teh mall and took over another push cart for cheap, expanding her business. Naturally, when a storefront opened up, my mom jumped at the opportunity and established her brand, SOS, standing for Sold on Silk and a reference to the sea. My mom was a marketing and brand genius, using her on the ground knowledge to perfectly capture what women visiting Hawaii needed and sell it to them, making enough profit to live a lifestyle she looks back on and calls “the good old days.” Her business savvy and quick wit are obvious when she describes how her main customers were vertically challenged Japanese women who had taken cruises to Hawaii, and therefore, my mom only purchased kid’s sizes to sell in her store. When American women would come in looking to buy a beautiful silk dress the only sizes that would fit them would be the youth larges and XL’s and “no women wants to look at the tag and see XL when they’re really a US Medium.” To mend this, my mom took it upon herself to cut off all the L and XL tags and write a big fat M on them with a sharpie so she could sell to the American customer. The store became such a success that my grandma and my mom’s younger sister took up positions. My mom was able to use the money she made to send her brother and sister to college, all of which were first generation students. My uncle even went to Berkeley so this is my mom’s second time having to face the nasty tuition. Through it all, my mom has been the foundation of strength for her entire family. Selflessly dealing with their turbulence and giving up her hard earned money for their dreams, without ever asking for anything more but a thank you in return. Not only is she good under pressure, quick to understand when an opportunity must be taken, grounded, rational, quick witted, resourceful, and cunning, but also, more generous than she ever had to be. She continues to give up so much of herself for my sister and I, never failing to ask if we want to join her in zumba and always supporting me in everything I want to do. Even when I was stepping out in the most abominable outfits she ooohed and ahhhed, telling me I looked great. She is the most badass woman I know. Independent, fierce, and a heart of gold. 

My mom ended up meeting my dad in the same shopping center where she managed SOS. They locked eyes and my dad bought her a cigar, and she wrote her number on a napkin, signed Tina—her party name. My dad still has the napkin, because he knew even then she was gold. Fast forward six years, and a rainbow popped out. Fast forward twenty years and here I am now, in awe of the women of my family. Their strength, even in the toughest of circumstances, circumstances that my mom has ensured I will never know or have to struggle through, shine light on the grit these women possess. I wear the jeans and the leopard jacket my mom has passed down to me, and the plastic diamonds from my grandma with my chest to the sky. They are marks of honor and resilience. Testaments to female power and solidarity. I am honored to be cut from the same cloth as such divas. 

For the longest time I thought “Wow, I can’t believe I come from the family I am in.” I would look at myself in the mirror, at the outlandish stuff I was wearing, and use it as fuel for my own familial isolation. Perhaps, to my self righteousness, I just could not imagine my parents and grandmother as young people like me. Thankfully, from the perspective gained from distance, I now see so clearly where my wit and fashionista come from. Fashion is in my blood. My mom and grandma will never cease to inspire me, and propel me to go after my dreams. They have endured and worked through so much for me to be able to be here, in the position I am in and I will not take it for granted for one second. Their story serves as a blazing reminder to be bold and to always look fabulous while doing it. Which I take to heart.