Angel Edme: More Than a Moment
Black creativity, access, and building what we weren’t given.
I grew up in Brooklyn as a first-generation daughter to a Jamaican mom and a Haitian dad. I remember fashion always being a part of who I am. To my family, it was a way to stand out, to belong, a way to acclimate.
My mom used to dress me up and take daily pictures of me, developing and placing them into my photo albums. If you can’t tell, I was an only child for a little while, lol. Her dedication was commendable.
Eventually, after my mom divorced again, my family struggled. I became the oldest daughter in a single-mother household living in Florida with two younger siblings on my mom’s side. Even when we didn’t have much, my mom would make it a point for us to scour the shelves of Ross and DD’s to find the coolest pieces. We still had to represent ourselves well. We still had to stand out despite our hardships.
She would always say to me, “We may not have much, but we will look like it.”
I learned from a young age that clothes are more than just clothes. They are a way to communicate status, pride, and identity. There was power in my mom pushing us to represent ourselves well, especially at a time when I was being told that beauty looked like a skinny, blonde, white woman.
From Being Seen to Standing Firm
Black people have always had a strong connection to the arts, to creativity, to imagining something out of nothing. From streetwear to long nails, from the way we layer our jewelry to the way we reinvent hairstyles over and over again. We create culture.
And I think a lot of that creativity has always been about visibility. About saying, this is who I am.
Growing up, clothes helped me feel visible. They helped me feel prepared. They helped me feel proud. My mom wasn’t just dressing us up. She was teaching us how to take up space.
But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized something.
Being seen is powerful. But being sustained is different.
Visibility can open doors. Sustainability keeps them open.
Turning visibility into sustainability requires courage. It requires betting on yourself. It requires choosing to build something even when there’s no blueprint. It requires community. People who believe in you, amplify you, support you, and build alongside you.
We matter.
Our creativity matters.
Our ideas matter.
Our presence matters.
And we deserve more than just moments. We deserve longevity.
That shift from wanting to be seen to learning how to stand firm is what I’ve been living through this past year.
The Leap
Last year, I took the leap and quit my 9-to-5 to go full-time as a fashion, beauty, and lifestyle creator. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t one of the scariest things I’ve ever done.
I had a good-paying career. Amazing benefits. On paper, it made sense. And I walked away from it to take a chance on myself.
Some people heard that and thought I was crazy. And while I gave them space to voice their opinions, I knew I would have my own back. I trusted that the community I’ve built, and the one building alongside me, would be there too.
But the truth is, I didn’t have a blueprint.
My family didn’t come to this country so I could become a content creator. When you’re the child of immigrants, the dream is usually doctor, lawyer, something that sounds secure. Something that makes the sacrifice make sense.
Choosing creativity felt risky. Not because I doubted my talent, but because there wasn’t always a clear path to sustainability.
And when I think about sustainability now, I think about my mom.
I think about her taking those daily photos, like I was already becoming something. I think about her saying, “We may not have much, but we will look like it.” I used to hear it as pride. Now I hear it as preparation.
She was teaching me how to stand in rooms before I ever entered them.
Quitting my 9-to-5 felt terrifying because there wasn’t a guarantee attached. There was no safety net with my name on it. As a first-generation daughter, that kind of leap feels bigger than just you. It feels like you’re stepping outside of the script your family imagined for you.
But the truth is, my mom was building something sustainable in me long before I understood the word.
She was building confidence.
She was building presence.
She was building belief.
Belief that even if we didn’t have everything, we could still take up space.
And maybe that’s what this season of my life is about.
Not just being seen.
Not just creating moments.
But building something that lasts.
Because being the moment is powerful.
But building beyond it?
That’s legacy.
Thank you to Angel Edme for contributing this personal piece in honor of Black History Month. For more from Angel and to support her journey as a content creator, follow @angel_edme on Instagram!