SHIAVON’S JAWN: A hot girl summer turned hot mess


Robbie Pierce

Photo Illustration

Shiavon Chatman, Opinion editor

A jawn. Pronounced jôn. Noun. A person, place, thing, or event that doesn’t need a specific name. An indescribable, but memorable entity. 

I’m Shiavon and this is Shiavon’s Jawn. (If these two words don’t rhyme, then you’re saying my name wrong.) 

I’m the opinion editor of The State Hornet this semester and this is my weekly column where I’ll keep you updated on my straight-to-DVD life, my hip-hop snob opinions, being uncomfortable in this political climate and being a black woman in predominantly white spaces.

I’m a journalism student, so I’m nosy and I’m from upstate New York so I tend to talk fast and a lot. So please, try and keep up. 

I started casually dating this guy this summer. We’ll call him Nikko. 

Nikko and I went on cute dates, shared our deep dark secrets and we even listened to my Drake playlist at midnight on a weekday in my car (I never show anyone my Drake playlist), so of course it had to end abruptly and awkwardly right? I’ll get to that. 

I was in the car with my best friend listening to Beyoncé for inspiration before I recorded the first episode of my podcast. And then he called me. 

Story continues below podcast.

I answer and he asked me to take him off of speakerphone. I obliged and then I heard a woman’s voice. 

His girlfriend’s voice. His girlfriend. 

“Who are you and what have you been doing with him?”

You’ve gotta be kidding me. Am I a side piece? Beyoncé would not be proud. 

I was angry but I’m sure she was angrier. I answered all of herall her questions and hung up. I have no idea what it feels like to have to call your boyfriend’s side chick? 

Yikes. I’m not calling myself that. 

I had no clue so it’s not my fault. Right? I also would never do that to another woman, but to each his own. 

I got out of the car and started walking to The State Hornet newsroom. Zoning out in disbelief while my best friend was telling me how “men are trash,” I hear someone yell my name. I looked to my right and I saw him. It was Nikko! 

He was sitting on the lawn by the River Front with his girlfriend, making obnoxious phone calls. 

He yelled out my name and called me again. All I could think was thatis that this had to be my karma for talking trash about Cardi B’s Grammy win.

My life is truly a movie. A really bad movie. Like a low-budget flick starring Halle Berry as a distressed white woman in one of her shake-and-go wigs. That kind of bad movie.

One of my favorite things about not being a 15-year-old girl anymore beside not having acne and not being the only black girl in school, is not dating boys who think unsolicited phone calls from their secret girlfriend is appropriate foreplay. 

I’m an Aries sun and an Aquarius moon so while I try to be brave and challenge myself, my taste in men is terrible and I struggle with committing to things and people. (Costar drags me daily).

But my ability to move on and not care is Oscar worthy. I blocked his number and walked right past him on the first day of school. (I have since unblocked him, but I’m doubtful he knows). 

In the beautiful words of Lizzo, “you coulda had a bad bitch.” 

It’s important to remember that you are the common denominator in all of your problems. I live and breathe by this mantra.

The men I entertain, the music I listen to, the movies I watch and the friends I surround myself with is something I’ve been paying attention to very closely recently. My skin is getting clearer and I’m much happier now that I’ve taken complete control of my life. 

While my hot girl summer is winding down (thank god), I’m thinking about redownloading Tinder strictly for experimental purposes. Stay tuned.