# The chair had no voice, yet every photo was a headline. That chair didn't face the camera. It confronted gold chains resting on collarbones like trophies, Red lipstick so bold it had it's own reputation. The camera clicked, but she didn't flinch, because when you're that fly, the lens waits on you. She sat like she knew the few teacher was watching, Legs crossed, eyes locked, not a smirk, a statement. Those polaroids they outlived break - ups, burned bridges and bad perms tucked in photo albums slid behind plastic like relics from a time when presence was power. You didn't lean back in that chair. You leaned into who you were born to be. No hashtags, no angles, just raw, unfiltered black woman brilliance. Before the world knew how to market it, they thought it was just a chair until she sat down and change the atmosphere. Backspin Chronicles Peacock chair Polaroids You didn't sit in it to be seen. You sat in it to be remembered. Share, Believe, Inspire, Blacks, be, Share, Believe, Inspire blacks, be.