It started, as many of my stories do, with a closet full of gowns but no gas in the car.

I had just finished a rehearsal for Shiloh Baptist's rendition of the Seven Last Words when Margarita — my  agent and chaos coordinator—called.

"You need to be in Geneva by Wednesday."
"Geneva? As in, Switzerland?"
"Yes. Rolex is doing a thing. You’re on the list."

I stared at the blinking battery light on my iPhone 13 and did a quick mental inventory:

• Passport? ✅ (Stashed in an Audrey Hepburn jigsaw puzzle box)
• Flight? ❌ (Spirit doesn’t go to Switzerland)
• Money? ❌ (Unless you count the $200 in tips from Embassy Row and birthday points at Sephora)
• Faith the size of a Chanel button? ✅✅✅

Turns out, a low-key fashion foundation called Watch & Whisper had seen me perform at the Allegory Bar at the Eaton (thank you, soft lighting and Insta filters). One of their board members—rumored to be a Calvin Klein muse turned crypto queen—made a call.

By morning, I had a roundtrip ticket from JFK to GVA via IcelandAir, a reservation at Hôtel Les Armures, and a velvet envelope labeled PRESS ACCESS: ROLEX.
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The luggage? Missing in action. But the essentials? Packed in a Yvette Crocker carry on. I wore a Valentino trench from Secondi, and carried a hatbox from L Train Vintage. With my spirits high and my wig higher I approached customs.

Of course, I  was pulled aside. Not for contraband, though, but because the officers thought I was someone. When asked, I nodded solemnly.  "Aren't we all?"

The officer laughed. I laughed. But my luggage never arrived.

By the time I hit the Rolex floor in Geneva—face beat, lips lacquered, and swaddled in borrowed Balmain—I looked like real money even if my bank account was giving “pending transaction.”

​The new Rolex? A platinum Land Dweller with an integrated bracelet that had me plotting a DIY version of my own.

The afterparty?  A private suite reserved for 25 royal guests from Cameroon.  Naturally, I sang a Nina Simone–Roberta Flack medley. These days protest songs hit the same all over the world. 

We are all trying to overcome something or someone,
​S1mOne

Maybe I shouldn’t have worn yellow chiffon on a 45-degree day. But darling, we dress for where we’re going—not where we’re at.


That’s what I whispered to myself as I stepped onto Pennsylvania Avenue this Emancipation Day—wind whipping, heels clicking, chiffon billowing like I was leading a freedom march on a Harlem's Row runway.


Washington, DC has honored Emancipation Day since 1862—before the rest of the country caught up. And what better way to celebrate freedom than by refusing to shrink, be silent, or fade into the background?


For warmth, I slipped thermals under my skirts and tucked hand warmers in my clutch—because you can show up and show out without catching pneumonia. The goal isn’t to suffer for the cause, darling—it’s to outwit the powers that be.


✨ With heat packs, high heels, and holy intentions,
Simone B.


P.S. What are you wearing to Emancipation Day 2025? - The all-day celebration starts with a parade, rolls into a star-studded concert at Freedom Plaza (hosted by sneaker-clad Britt Waters of ABC 7), and ends with fireworks. Expect soulful sets from Anthony Hamilton, Chante Moore, Raheem DeVaughn (with the Crank Crusaders!), Black Alley, Tim Bowman, Jr., DJ Kool, and the Washington Performing Arts Children of the Gospel Choir. Visit emancipation.dc.gov for the full lineup.


P.P.S. I’ll be the one in yellow, near the front.
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Maybe I should have joined the parade at the Tidal Basin—bless the tourists and their selfie sticks—but anyone who knows me knows I take the road less traveled on purpose.

So, instead of elbowing my way through cherry blossom mayhem, I laced up my platform sneakers and flitted over to Oxon Run Park, where the cherry trees bloom in peace and quiet.

My kite? A silk Japanese butterfly confection in neon pink with gold-tipped wings. My ensemble? Just enough Harajuku to make the average skeptic think pink.

There, floating between sky and sidewalk, I remembered why I fly kites in the first place: to release stress, silence doubt, and forget—if only for a moment—that I still haven’t responded to the VSIP or VERA email.

Take the path less traveled, darling—especially if it has 200 cherry trees and not a tourist in sight.

With altitude and attitude,
Simone Butterfly
xoxo

P.S. If you are free on Sunday, see the people's cherry blossoms for yourself. Oxon Run (in Ward 8) hosts a Pinknic & Kite Fly on April 6, 2025 at Valley Ave SE & Wheeler Rd SE by the Basketball Courts.
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