LustNLuxury
Afro-American Princess <3
“The challenge that I’m setting for myself is that I want every song to make someone do something. That’s why I’m regrouping. I’m going to put every song under a microscope. When it comes through your speakers and when it enters into your soul and into your system and into your ears, I want you to feel something. I don’t want you to just want to twerk and hit a one-two step and do a TikTok challenge.”
“The goal is to have my brand supersede Saweetie,” she says. “I want to have old money, long money, prestigious money — money that when my grandkids want to do whatever they want to do, they’re not worried about being broke.”
Saweetie being a baddie!!!
Saweetie is savoring a plate of oysters, planning her empire, when a man finds it in his heart to interrupt us. He’s older and square — nice suit, no discernible personality other than white and libidinous — with a younger woman tugging at his sleeve when he shows up at our table. “You are the most exciting person I’ve ever seen in L.A.,” the suit says to Saweetie. “I mean, the hair, the nails, the lashes — the whole thing. You guys going downstairs, or …?”
Saweetie seems nonchalant-to-tickled, like the way Chris Rock imaginedRihanna receiving his flirtations; this guy’s about as subtle as Jack Harlow. She politely thanks him, and when he asks her name, she purrs, “Diamonté.” He presses. She deflects. “It’s okay,” she says. “I’ll see you downstairs.” Eventually, he stumbles away. I laugh. Her publicist laughs. Her assistant laughs. But Saweetie doesn’t spend another second on the guy. She returns her attention to her oysters. “Wow,” she says. “I can eat these every morning. I can eat these for the rest of my life.”
“The goal is to have my brand supersede Saweetie,” she says. “I want to have old money, long money, prestigious money — money that when my grandkids want to do whatever they want to do, they’re not worried about being broke.”
Saweetie being a baddie!!!
Saweetie is savoring a plate of oysters, planning her empire, when a man finds it in his heart to interrupt us. He’s older and square — nice suit, no discernible personality other than white and libidinous — with a younger woman tugging at his sleeve when he shows up at our table. “You are the most exciting person I’ve ever seen in L.A.,” the suit says to Saweetie. “I mean, the hair, the nails, the lashes — the whole thing. You guys going downstairs, or …?”
Saweetie seems nonchalant-to-tickled, like the way Chris Rock imaginedRihanna receiving his flirtations; this guy’s about as subtle as Jack Harlow. She politely thanks him, and when he asks her name, she purrs, “Diamonté.” He presses. She deflects. “It’s okay,” she says. “I’ll see you downstairs.” Eventually, he stumbles away. I laugh. Her publicist laughs. Her assistant laughs. But Saweetie doesn’t spend another second on the guy. She returns her attention to her oysters. “Wow,” she says. “I can eat these every morning. I can eat these for the rest of my life.”