Maybe it's just a coincidence or how the stars are aligned right now but I have noticed that an increasing number of the 'It' girls making waves over and away these days are also islandistas - or at least islandistas by descent.Now what do I mean by an 'it girl' ? After all, it's still debated whether the term is a compliment - indicating a young woman at the peak of her fame and celebrity who is praised and copied for her style and personality or whether it's a bit derogatory - an aimless, narcissistic party girl/socialiate who can't let any dog fight miss her and is always angling to get in front of the cameras. Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian are described as 'it girls' (shudder) but then again so are genuine talents with actual careers such as Keira Knightley.For my one - it's a young woman who is a bit of both - she definitely has to have an innate sense of style and be imitated - fashion is probably the biggest element of true 'it girl-dom'.She is someone who not only goes to but is invited to all the hottest events. And especially in this day and age she is definitely someone who occupies that voracious and rapidly-growing world of media celebrity - the blogs can't get enough of her, the fashion magazines are in her thrall and her personal life and style are breathlessly tracked. Perhaps it is too hard to define. Let us leave it to the French who put it so beautifully. Simply put an it girl is a young woman that has that certain 'je-ne-sais-quoi'. And it so happens, some of the hottest it girls on the scene right now are straight from the islands or at least of islandista extraction. 
The most obvious islandista it girl on the scene right now is Rihanna. (photo credit: YBF.com)The Bajan songstress is beloved by both black blogs and mainstream fashion mags for her edgy, 80s influenced sense of style, particularly since the release of 'Good Girl Gone Bad' which catapulted her above the many other RnB popstresses such as Ciara and Christina Milian into a different dimension. Her asymetrical cropped do spawned a million imitators in the last year or so and now that they have all caught up, she has gone and changed it up again, with a throwback short, bowl cut a la Halle Berry in the 90s - but with a funky twist.I'm not so sure about those open-toed Balenciaga gladiator boots in the pic to the right but she is pushing that envelope as ever. Another islandista it girl is model, Victoria's Secret 'angel' and former Nick Cannon fiancee (dodge a bullet dey girl!) Selita Ebanks from the Cayman Islands. In an interview with Sports Illustrated she made it clear she is a real-real island girl, talking up her love of fried snapper, calypso and dominoes and reminiscing about her childhood home with the zinc roof. 
She is another islandista it girl that is firmly in the mainstream consciousness, as evidenced by the fact that she was listed in the 2008 edition Maxim magazine's (in?)famous list of Top 100 sexiest women. Not to mention she is at every event and live-blogged the New York Fashion Week for New York magazine.Another, more controversial one is islandista-by-extraction (yes, I'm coming to like that term) the mysterious Genevieve Jones.The allegedly half-Trinidadian Ms. Jones was tipping dangerously into that 'it girl for no reason with no job' area but she's got a line of jewellery now (whew!) which was featured in a recent edition of Vogue. Genevieve ... well she parties. And she dresses really well and knows all the right people. And even though she's not wealthy - apparently hailing from middle-clas roots in Louisiana, she's a socialite.There was a rather scathing piece about her in the Wall Street Journal of all places (yuh reach girl!) in late 2006, that really set the blogosphere buzzing and tongues wagging, with folks questioning where she got the money to live in the style that she does. There was more than a hint of thinly-veiled racism and condescension in the piece with statements like:Unlike many of her friends, Ms. Jones isn't an heiress and she lacks the Ivy League credentials and social pedigree of Manhattan's largely white society set. An African-American, she grew up in Baton Rouge, La., and didn't go to college.
The accusations that flew were not much nicer. Frankly, I love that this is madding them people. No-one puts that level of scrutiny on the white party girls and socialites so why is it so very passing strange when a chocolate-coloured socialite sets the place alight? 
(photo credit: The Sartorialist)*Sigh*... I adore this outfit. It's from the Sartorialist blog and was taken in London.Everything about is so coolly individual - the bow tie, the brogue shoes, the stripey socks, the stripey dress that would ordinarily be rather ugly on its own but looks inspired paired with the other items.Imagine if someone wore this fantastic outfit in the Caribbean. Individualism in fashion is not really celebrated. Being 'in style' is celebrated but having a unique personal style is often derided.I must say one interesting exception to this is the dancehall culture in Jamaica where the stars be they dancers or performers are aggressively individualistic and flamboyant about their style.And I happen to love that. When you see Elephant Man you might think he looks a damn fool with his two-toned hair and crazy outfits (I saw a vid of him performing in New York in a pirate's outfit - with an inflatable parrot on his shoulder and all!) but you know what - he isn't blending in. And he's an artist, a performer - he's supposed to stand out and look a little different and crazier than regular folk. He's not supposed to look like every other person that is at the fete, nor is he supposed to look like he's going to an office, he's supposed to capture your attention.
Doesn't that capture your attention?
Who says Caribbean men don't show their emotions? Just today in town, I got two passionate declarations of love - in an hour and a half! And none of them were from my man!The first a fervent "Ras...I love that size" as I entered a boutique. The second a more straightforward "Empress, I love you!" as I made my way out of town.Look, when I was younger, to be honest I did not really appreciate the attention. I did not know how to react, it made me feel uncomfortable and exposed. As I got older, it just kind of faded into the background or I would dismiss it with a roll of the eyes and exasperation.But you know how it goes. You never miss the water til the well runs dry and all that.I spent a year in England...stolid, unemotive England. In the Midlands no less, in a town that had maybe 500 black people in it, including the 100+ at my uni.And I felt like a complete plod... to use the British expression. It was horrible! Europeans, strange creatures that they are go so far out of their way not to intrude on anyone's privacy or 'space' that not only did I hardly get any appreciative compliments on the street, I didn't even get a good morning. It was a real culture shock.Worse, even the black guys were not giving any love ... at least not to black girls. I actually encountered one yute who pushed me out of his way (not a hard shove or anything but STILL) at my uni's club one night to get to a group of white girls - and then he went straight for the homeliest, most overweight, block-shaped one! Wha a gwan wid dese breddas ya? I actually started to doubt myself after a while. I started to wonder if I was really rather plain and not as attractive and sexy as I know I am. Felt more self-conscious about my tummy, less enamoured of my spectacular breasts, etc.Fortunately, that nonsense only lasted about a week until one day I was in class, feeling ploddish, not to mention bored. I looked out the window and caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the glass- the full lips, even features, gorgeous smile ... and realised I was being a damn fool letting these people get to me.Anyhow, in the summer I moved down to London for an internship. I moved into a shared house in North London (a horrible, grotty place filled with unbathed travellers and their wet laundry but more on that another time). Anyhow, having moved into my place, I decided to wander about and check out the surroundings which were much more evocative of home (a genuine Caribbean restaurant at the end of the road, ackees, yams and sweet potatoes being sold on the streets) than where I'd been the last 10 months.As I made my way down the road, I passed a black man and all of a sudden, I heard a throaty, appreciative rumble:"Em-press!"I actually stopped dead in my tracks, I was so surprised. And surprisingly touched. It really made me feel like home. And that was not the end of it. I soon realised that I had been right back in the winter- the problem was not me, it was where I was living. Being in London, with a substantial West Indian population (I eventually moved to South London, with even more West Indians...and a barber shop at the top of my road) it was like being home again.The appreciative and creative comments, the hilarious, bold and yet kind of sweet attempts to get attention with ever more flamboyant compliments, the flat-out lies (like the many compliments on my walk when I know I walk like the Terminator on crack), the inventive ways of making you feel better even when you're feeling at your worst.Like the guy in my old office complex who used to tell me how wonderfully dressed I looked "every time I see you" or the man who told my friend that she looked like she "could use a long, hot bubble bath" when he saw her (ooking exhausted and no doubt haggard at the end of a work day. Now who else but a West Indian man could come up with such a creative way of complimenting you even when you know you look like shit? :)
