Aja Barber

“She did and does not present herself as a Mother in America. That performance was nothing but skanky weird. Get over yourself.” Signed, jerk on the Internet.

I refuse to write some sort of inane rubbish about how sweatshirts are the new sweatshirt.

I've been really trying to think about every purchase I make and its overall impact on the world. However, I recently broke code and indulged in the Marimekko for Target collection.

Welcome to #RavsWriters, an opportunity for you to get to know some of the outstanding human beings who fervently type to make Ravishly the aw

“I love my husband President Barack Obama and our children, Sasha and Malia,” ”

Have we all been problematic in the past? Oh hell yes. I know I have.

Recently I went through another round of unfriending on Facebook. It keeps things tidy, the arguments thoughtful and my head from exploding. This time around I just got rid of any white person that felt passionate about "certain political topics," but wasn't showing up for people of color, as we watch the meteoric rise of fascism in America and police violence. I’m not obligated to educate anyone for free, especially if they don’t appear to be absorbing what I’m saying or having the tough conversations on their wall with their peers.

When I help people clean out their wardrobes, the items I come across that hang in the back closet never seeing the light of day are usually pieces purchased in a frenzy — out of necessity instead of joy.

Aja Barber gives us her first-hand account of the Women's March — the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Warning: The author reminisces a lot in this piece and comes to conclusion that she has probably kept an unhealthy amount of clothing from high