Chapter 1 - Meet Jimi

Jimi never met a piece of silk that he didn't fall in love with. Though he adored silk, his favorite, he cherished fine wool, mercerized cotton, synthetic blends, and anything with lace. Unlike most men, who wouldn't step within two feet of lace, Jimi embraced the frizzy, shiny, and girlishness his lace shirts shone. But, the dazzle didn't bother Jimi. He was born with a taste for laced Pampers.

Yewande Hussein worried about her son, Jimi, on the first occasion during his fifth year when he refused to wear jeans. He pouted and cried the moment he laid eyes on the blue denim as though she had put a fork of broccoli in front of his mouth. Something about jeans turned Jimi into a rain cloud. First, he'd cry himself dry to avoid wearing dungarees, as they called him in Nigeria. Next, Jimi would sit there on the edge of the bed with arms folded and lips pursed, refusing to budge. Then, if he was really feeling himself, he'd close his eyes and act like a statue. Unless Yewande dressed him in non-denim, he was done.

At first, she wondered whether she'd done something wrong. Maybe, she was a bad mother. Was God punishing her for some maternal defect? Friends told Yewande her son was different from the other boys. Any boy who cried under such circumstances must be unique, they'd say. Yewande stood by her son through the sideways glances, gossip, and second-guessing. She knew every child deserved the luxury of pursuing their passions. She soon realized Jimi arrived into the world passionate about clothes and everything that went into making them.

Buying, making, and designing clothes led Jimi into the retail business. By age 30, Jimi had worked in dozens of clothing stores and men's departments in big box stores like Macy's, Bloomingdales, and Neiman Marcus. He lived and breathed delicate fabrics, which showed in his personal style and career moves. If clothes make the man, Jimi epitomized a made man.

Falojimi Hussein, called Jimi by his friends and family, dreamed of owning an upscale shop in the Dallas Galleria. He imagined his shop right outside of Macy's. That location on the mall's grid would ensure his shop commanded visibility and foot traffic headed in and out of the anchor store. He knew better than to settle for a corner spot or one drowned out by the food court. Any such move amounted to retail suicide because he'd never achieve his desired optics. If push came to shove, he'd consider a second-floor space next to Macy's. But, a ground floor placement sealed his fate to success.

Persistence was Jimi's middle name. The last time Jimi met with Dallas Galleria management, they insisted that he improve his finances. The lease required bank statements demonstrating six months of liquidity. He wondered if management created rigid criteria just for him because he was Black and a foreigner. Did they scrutinize White boys the same way?

"Mr. Jimi, we want to offer you a lease here at the Galleria. The mall needs more diversity amongst its tenants, and you'd be a great addition to our line-up. We can give you a retail space in the middle of the mall right now," said the Galleria real estate manager, Elan Andreessen.

"But Mr. Andreessen, you know I want placement by Macy's," Jimi pleaded. "Can't you work out a deal for me? I'll work day and night to get that lease!"

"Mr. Jimi, the mall is not open day and night. You know it. The mall schedule has set hours. We don't make exceptions. This isn't an mall Oak Cliff." Finishing that sentence, Andreessen knew he had slipped up. Dallas Galleria management discouraged any language suggesting discrimination. They recently came under fire for lack of diversity. Had Jimi been wearing a mic, Andreessen would be caught.

Such an off-handed remark amounted to a racial slur. That was crystal clear to Jimi. Oak Cliff was the "urban" section of Dallas where people of color lived. Andreessen was calling out second-class malls in the area. The "Black" malls, like all others similarly situated around the country, suffered from decline and, as a symbol of that decline, tended to rent space to mom-and-pop shops and cell phone vendors. Most middle-class people of color didn't shop in those malls.

"What do you mean by that, Elan?" Jimi said. He pushed back, but was one step from becoming indignant. Switching to the first name wasn't getting too familiar, only letting Andreessen know he wouldn't tolerate such a slight nor any suggestion his shop would be less than any other tenants.

"I'm sorry, Jimi. You know I'm not racist," Andreessen retorted. "We treat all of our clients in the Galleria with respect and dignity, Mr. Jimi. So forgive me for saying that, please."

How many times had Jimi heard White racists declare, "I'm not racist!"? More than he could count.

Jimi put the remark in his back pocket with the uncountable slights and micro-aggressions he'd experienced since he arrived in America. He'd long since learned it was best to let such remarks roll off his back like water on a duck. Holding on to such pain caused self-inflicted trauma, which would weigh him down like a disability.

Like most people of color, Jimi believed White people would one day shed their racist ways and accept Black and Brown people as equals. But unfortunately, the retail industry had few Black or Brown-owned firms. As a result, there were few role models for leadership or creating industry standards. Some companies had a Black or Brown executive; however, you rarely saw Black or Brown people in the front rows at major events like the annual Magic Show in Las Vegas. Nor were there general managers in the anchor stores in the Galleria.

The industry had serious work to do before claiming equal employment. Following George Floyd's killing in Minneapolis, Black and Brown people were restless. They were fed up with the slow progress on civil rights. Sitting here talking to Andreessen, Jimi realized a lot of work remained. Life as a Black person meant constantly carrying a shade shield.

"I forgive you, sir, but I'd appreciate you being more sensitive and respectful in the future. I treat you fairly and expect the same from you," Jimi said. He believed in standing his ground when facing explicit racism, and just because Mr. Andreessen held the key to the door of his future boutique, that didn't mean Jimi had to bow down to him. Nevertheless, Jimi refused to be a "yes man."

Jimi pictured himself opening a first-class men's store at the Galleria. He wanted nothing less than a Fifth Avenue-style men's clothing Mecca, which attracted sophisticated buyers. The store would strike a huge contrast from his Big T Bazaar shop. The Cedar Springs store also catered to a niche clientèle. Jimi conceived it as a stepping stone to his ultimate identity, a clothier.

His Big T Bazaar store, called "Jimmy's," sold clothes to hip-hoppers and shoppers who enjoyed sporting causal, budget-priced clothing referred to as "urban." The Cedar Springs store sold cutting-edge apparel, which appealed to gay men, primarily. The merchandise was upscale and struck a note of flair and haute couture.

Everyone knew Big T as the hood spot for ballers and the twerk set. The building's façade was vintage 1970's with its arcade-like floor plan. Walking inside felt like a step back into time. It was part mall and part shopping barn. Folks in the hood considered Big T a hidden treasure. From an aesthetics perspective, the uninitiated would immediately know they were treading in a Black flea market that used to be something else. Before the current epoch, that part of Ledbetter Road, close to New Birth Baptist Church, and right off Interstate 35E, had a middle-class status.

If you timed your visit right, you'd see the homies cruisin' around the place, low-riding, blasting music, flaunting weed, and whatnot. If you timed it poorly, you might run up on gang bangers, fools driving by waving guns, or in the worst-case scenario, live gunfire gone astray.

That scene wasn't a good look for Jimi's business resume. He might improve his odds by not listing Jimmy's on his Galleria application, although he needed to show his experience. He considered closing Jimmy's and opening up a new store in a sturdier locale catering to a higher-income clientèle. So far, that, too, remained a lightweight pipe dream.

Jimi loved hanging in the hood. Being in the space made him feel more legit and down. Privately, Jimi liked the young ladies who strolled through Big T. Something about the 20-something crew captured Jimi's fancy. But unfortunately, he didn't know about the seven-year rule. A wise man knew to keep his relations within the confines of the seven-year rule, an unspoken convention designed to prevent people from romantically pursuing their grandchildren's peers. According to the rule, a person determines their youngest dating prospect by a specific mathematical formula: one's current age divided by two, then add seven.

His boys tried to talk Jimi down from that ledge, but he insisted on going to the edge, peering into the abyss, and sometimes, dipping his toe in.

"Jeemi, Jeemi," his boy David would say to him, "You gots to leave the young women alone. You're too old for that crew." Jimi was 45-years-old. He knew David was right. He was Jimi's close friend who loved wearing expensive cologne. You smelled David coming before he was in your face, and you kept smelling him long after he left. But, Jimi couldn't resist the 20-something booty, or "bootay," as he called it. Besides, Jimi was married to Ayoola, a woman his age.

Andreessen knew Jimi's retail history and doubted Jimi's ability to rise to the Galleria level. He had reviewed Jimi's finances because the documentation was a part of his Galleria application. The truth was Jimi needed to raise more money to qualify for a space in the Galleria. But he could do it with help. Jimi's best course of action was to find a partner with a solid credit line. A partnership would open wide the Galleria's doors. But, even with a solid partner, he needed luck to secure his dream space.

Jimi was sitting in Andreessen's office because of his determination. If Websters' had a picture beside the word determination, it would be Jimi's face. Determined but not desperate, Jimi made sure he didn't come across as thirsty.

Sitting across from Andreessen, Jimi mentally devised a plan. He would find a well-monied business partner, and he'd get the Hell up out of Big T. This encounter with Andreessen finally brought him around to his senses. He wouldn't show up in Andreessen's office again until he was ready to sign on the dotted line of a Dallas Galleria lease.

"I just figured out my next steps, Mr. Andreessen. Don't worry. I'll be back ready to make this thing happen. Time for me to bounce. I'll catch you later, my brudda."

Jimi sprang up, smiled, and extended his hand to Andreessen, who wore more rings than normal and cuff-links on his poplin shirt. Though he thought the rings added to his flair, they gave him an old style look he badly needed to shed. A quick pump of the hands and Jimi bee-lined out the door.