It's not easy being Honest

I was fortunate enough to grow up in a family with an amazing sense of humor and an innate ability to laugh at oneself. Our favorite part of every family get-together for us children (we’re talking way back when) was story time.  No, not those tried and true nursery rhymes or children’s fables. Story time for us was listening to the adults speak of recent life events. The events always had a comical spin, were enacted with hands moving everywhere, and driven home with the perfect face and a well placed f-bomb or two. These stories were masterfully crafted out of nothing more than a trip to the corner grocery store or a train ride to work. Like the story my Uncle John told of the pigeon who sought him out every day for more than a week, through a crowded New York underground train station at rush hour, to torment him. Him. Out of a crowd of hundreds. Every day. For over a week. Gosh, I can still see him now, hands flailing, as he re-enacted warding off the determined bird. 

I grew up in a family where “come over here ya little fuck ya” was said with as much love and tenderness as “come, my beautiful”. Therefore, it’s no surprise that I grew up talking like a truck driver, sarcastic as shit and with an ability to laugh at pretty much anything- even death. There was that time...when my uncle died...Me, my sister, and my oldest children rushed up to the hospital as soon as we got the call that my uncle wasn't going to make it. We made our way to his room, sat with him for half an hour saying our goodbyes. I rubbed his leg, I let him know it was ok to let go. My sister stood, indicating it was time to leave. We gathered in the hall just outside his room. I was indignant that she could even think of leaving at a time like this; our uncle lay there dying! She looked startled, taken aback. Then whispered the words to me “you know he’s dead right?!” “What? No, I just told him he could go” I screeched. “He didn’t hear you. You were too late.” my sister chuckled. Then she looked at me and we both laughed that laugh where you run out of breath and sound. The one where as soon as one stops, another starts the laughter again. And the kicker?...My uncle passed on April Fools Day! 

So, maybe I have thicker skin than some. Maybe I beat to a different drum than other people do, or I have a more warped sense of humor than most. All of which are quite possible. But never, not once, did I think any of that was a bad thing. 

When I lay there, broken, contemplating how to move forward, and the idea of Be Honest Co was born, never did I think there would be such resistance to the humor we bring to market. 

When we first opened, I purchased some mockup photos of a baby for our two adorably funny baby onesies (if I do say so myself, and I do). It was a cute picture of a little girl, face cut off, daisy dukes on, and my design superimposed across the white t-shirt she wore. When the photographer saw my design, I was issued a refund and asked not to use her photos again.

I tried to advertise my best selling absolutely hilarious t-shirt, Cunt, on Facebook, but I was denied. I was even denied my IDGAF-ish funny graphic tee. It doesn’t even have a foul word in it- it just hints at it.

I know my designs, and humor, is not for everyone. But, I did not foresee it being treated as such a taboo. After all, agree with it or not, we are living in an age where cursing is widespread all across public TV, radio, and social media. Sex and mistreatment of women is almost a sales and marketing requirement. So is watching someone drink from a coffee mug that sarcastically says Fuck Off, (and might I add, makes the perfect gift?) really any worse than seeing Kim Kardashian naked in any one of thousands of social media posts? Something to ponder, I guess. 

That’s just my 2¢