Erica Boisaubin

Wardrobe Stylist and Freelance Writer・@eboisaubin_

Growing up, Mary J. Blige’s music was on constant replay in my household of three generations of single mothers. Mary’s artistic versatility allowed her to strike a chord in each of them. Whether my oldest sister was headed to the club, my mother nursing a heartbreak, or my grandmother jamming on a Sunday, Mary’s vocals were always playing in the background.

Mary, a New York native like myself, effortlessly captured the zeitgeist of New York City in the ’90s. The mash-up of sportswear and glam permeated all aspects of her art and was an accurate reflection of the pieces trending at the time. From the blonde hair to the ornate gold jewelry and the sports jerseys paired with heels, Mary embodied the city's grit while singing the most vulnerable lyrics. This was a paradox unheard of in mainstream pop culture but prevalent throughout the five boroughs.

Having grown up in Brooklyn, the women I was surrounded by had tough exteriors but could also be soft and warm. They were mothers, wives, and daughters but not always afforded the luxury of being vulnerable in a world where they weren’t celebrated. Whether spiritually or physically, Mary reflected all of the women in my world, with her layered persona mirroring a piece of each of them. For me, Mary’s influence is the most apparent in my personal style; she introduced me to the concept of fashion as a means for self-expression. But let me be clear: her impact on my life spans further and goes deeper than the external. Thank you Mary for creating space for black women by showcasing how nuanced and limitless black femininity can be.

Erica Boisaubin

Love Letters