I’m okay with having bad dance moves. I’m okay with having horrible lower teeth. That’s what makes me me, and for some reason, it’s worked out all right.
I really like to look like a history book. I can look the 1940s, I can look 1970s hippie-chic, or sometimes I’ll pull that ’80s Brooklyn hip-hop kid with the door-knocker earrings.
My dad would give me $10, which is a lot of money when you’re 9, to sing at church, on tables at restaurants, at family functions, just about anywhere.
