‘Every Inch a Lady’
By Audrey Smaltz with Alina Mitchell
c.2026, Amistad
$27.99/256 pages

Snaps, zippers, buttons, ties.

Toss that garment on, pull it up, wrap it around, you know what you like and how to wear it. The color is perfect for your skin tone, the fabric enhances your form. Yep, you always look your best and, as in the new book “Every Inch a Lady” by Audrey Smaltz (with Alina Mitchell), that best is fabulous.

”Born, bred, toasted, buttered, jellied, and honeyed in Harlem” in 1937, Audrey Smaltz was a force to be reckoned with almost from the time she could walk. Her parents imbued confidence in her, they nurtured her creativity and sent her to charm school, but they never allowed her to create a stir.

“That,” says Smaltz, “is not what ladies did.”

By the time she was a teenager, Smaltz was modeling for New York City designers. Shortly thereafter, she started working for a married man with whom she had an affair, and whom she loved very much. She broke up with him, attended college, worked a series of jobs that taught her about fashion and jobs that didn’t seem to fit her. An ill-fated marriage took her to Chicago where she ultimately landed a position that sent her to work in Ebony magazine’s New York office.

Working at Ebony was a career-changer, in a way. Smaltz was able to travel the world and learn more about fashion, but she didn’t exactly get along with her boss.

Finally, seizing an opportunity, Smaltz decided to launch her own company, Audrey Smaltz, Inc., a “fashion production business,” but she couldn’t get any designers to take a chance on her. Undaunted, she reorganized, re-branded, hit the streets, and knocked on doors until she finally found one client, which led to many others.

Through it all, her personal life was a whirlwind. She dated “more men than you can shake a book at,” settling down occasionally, briefly. Fashion had always been her first love, but she accidentally found real love, “the love of a woman,” at a leadership course.

There’s an old saying that writers need to add lots of “color” into their stories. Read a little of “Every Inch a Lady,” and you’ll notice immediately that author Audrey Smaltz (with Alina Mitchell) quite literally takes that to heart by mentioning nearly every color of the spectrum here. Hmm.

That oddity aside, Smaltz is a wonderfully lively storyteller, speaking with the energy of a woman much younger to the heart of anyone who loves fashion. That glee extends to collectors of vintage clothing, who will be delighted to read about the industry long ago and the way things worked then. Smaltz says she experienced racism, which is not unusual for pre-Civil Rights America, but doors were surprisingly closed for other reasons that will astound anyone who’s savvy about the fashion industry, even today.

There’s quite a bit of name-dropping in this book but most of it belongs in the anecdotes, so you likely won’t mind. If you’re a fashionista, too, find “Every Inch a Lady,” and snap it up.

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‘Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom’
Sept. 9-Oct. 11
Round House Theatre
4545 East-West Highway
Bethesda, MD 20814
$50 and up
Roundhousetheatre.org

Among the Black blues women of the 1920s and 1930s, being “in the life” wasn’t uncommon. Self-supporting and often on the road, they followed the Great Northern Migration to places like Chicago and Harlem, where they lived independent lives, made music, enjoyed same-sex relationships, and partied with like-minded ladies. 

Gertrude “Ma” Rainey, best known as the “mother of the blues,” fit the bill. A big star, Ma toured the country and sold hit records nationwide. She lived an openly bisexual life. 

In 1925, hosting an “indecent” all-female party at a Chicago apartment, landed Ma in jail, but blues singer Bessie Smith, Ma’s protégée and erstwhile girlfriend, promptly bailed her out. Three years later, Ma released a popular track whose lyrics included “Went out last night with a crowd of my friends / They must’ve been women, ’cause I don’t like no men.” 

She was also a woman who knew her value. Ma’s voice was a powerful passport. 

Ma Rainey is the ultimate force of strength and resistance in August Wilson’s 1982 play, “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” the first of the late playwright’s brilliant Century Cyle, a collection of mostly Pittsburgh-set plays that chronicle the 20^th century African-American experience.

Poised to kick off a month-long run at Round House (Sept. 9-Oct. 11), the production (co-produced with Olney Theatre Center) is directed by Lili-Anne Brown and features out actor and powerhouse vocalist Nicole Michelle Haskins making her Round House debut as Ma Rainey. 

Set in a Chicago recording studio in 1927, the drama follows Ma, her Black band members and white producers as they try to record a new album of her sons. Tensions over artistic control, racial exploitation, and personal ambitions come to the fore. Amid the difficulties and a fair bit of humor, arises a serious clash involving hotheaded young trumpet player Levee (Yao Dogbe) who wants to alter musical arrangements on the titular song. 

Playing blues icon Ma Rainey wasn’t on Haskins’s radar. Because the bulk of her work is in musical theater, Haskins never foresaw being tapped to do a Wilson play. 

“It’s kind of like Shakespeare. Not restrictive but respected; not everyone gets a ticket to the party. So, I figured that I just wouldn’t pursue that,” she says matter-of-factly. 

However, fate would dictate differently. Haskins and director Brown are longtime friends and collaborators. They recently worked together on “The Color Purple” at Chicago’s prestigious Goodman Theatre where Haskins played Sofia, another powerful Black woman who, not unlike Ma, is navigating life in a patriarchal white world. 

When the opportunity came up to play Ma at Round House, Brown encouraged Haskins to audition. She did and got the part.  “I’m so grateful to be working with a wonderful director like Lili-Anne, especially during my introduction to Wilson’s work. He is a theater god, and I’m swept every day.” 

And is it special to be queer and playing queer? “For me, it’s special to play any role where there is an impassioned Black woman who sticks to her guns and fights for the things she deserves. Her sexuality is the icing on the cake.” 

The production adheres to Wilson’s text and the text describes a woman who is in a relationship with another woman. Though her sexuality is provocative, it’s not the only thing about her that’s compelling. She’s also portrayed as an artist, businesswoman, and a loving aunt. 

Haskins, a New York-based actor who made her name on the Chicago theater scene, grew up in Detroit. At 12, she became involved with the Mosaic Youth Theatre of Detroit; after high school she went on to earn a BFA at Detroit’s Wayne State University. Detroit is also where Haskins learned storytelling: “It’s very natural for a Detroit native to greet people on the street. There’s an expectation to be open to someone else’s story and to share your own. I’ve done this many times.” 

Queer characters are famously underrepresented in Wilson’s work. “I see that, but do we really know for sure? After the first day’s read through of the play, some of the actors, for different reasons, wondered if in addition to Ma, perhaps one or two of the other characters might be queer too. Now wouldn’t that be interesting? That’s something I’d like to see.”

There are a lot of queer coming-of-age movies about how hard coming of age can be when you’re queer – and that’s because, for far too many queer young people, coming of age is a very difficult experience.

Yet as difficult as it may be, imagine how much more so it is for queer kids who are also struggling with other factors that make them a potential target for bullying and social stigma. When your awakening sexuality is complicated by fears and self-esteem issues that can cause you to feel ostracized even by the other queer kids, it’s pretty hard to find a place where you fit in. Unfortunately, there are far fewer movies that address that kind of “double whammy” scenario, and even fewer whose leading characters don’t look like model-perfect “influencers,” complete with chiseled abs, perfect hair, and flawless skin – which makes it all the more welcome when a movie like that actually does come along.

That’s why the arrival on Netflix of “Here the Whole Time” – a Brazilian teen romcom from director Daniel Lieff – feels a bit like a surprise gift.

Its central character – Felipe (Miguel Lallo), a teenager who lives with his single mom Rita (Débora Falabella) – is already out as gay, but that’s not the only reason that his life at school is torturous; as he informs us through his own narration, he’s always been the butt of cruel jokes and public bullying because he’s always been (in his own words) “fat.” He’s teased in the classroom, humiliated in the hallways, and victimized at dodgeball in his gym class; so when his eagerly awaited summer break arrives, he’s looking forward to weeks of freedom in which he never has to interact with anyone except his mother.

His blissful dreams of isolating himself in his room are shattered, however, by a rude awakening in the form of Caio (Diego Lira), a neighbor boy and former childhood friend, whose mother and father have left him to stay with Rita while they are away on a trip. Athletic, handsome, and popular, he’s everything Felipe is not, and despite any previous bond of companionship they may have had, Felipe has no intention of playing the gracious host.

Yet as the days go by, the two boys begin to resuscitate their friendship; rather than being the bully Felipe expects, Caio is mostly respectful and exceedingly polite in trying to negotiate their temporary co-habitation. Forced to spend time together, the two gradually warm to each other, opening the door to a renewed friendship; they begin to “hang out” together, expanding the usually isolated Felipe’s social circle to include Caio’s BFF Beca (Mika Soiero) and her girlfriend Melissa (Bel Moreira) — leading to a revelation that turns his newfound friendly feelings for Caio into something more of a crush.

Is the feeling mutual? Can Felipe set aside his insecurities enough to even find out? We did describe the movie as a “romcom, so you can draw your own conclusions from that, but it’s a wild ride of a story, and half the fun is watching it unfold through each new development, so we won’t give any of those surprises away.

It won’t be a spoiler, however, to discuss the way “Here the Whole Time” undercuts the sentiment of its predictably “sweet” formula with its presentation of Felipe as something of an anti-hero, a strident “rebel with a cause” who disdains and distrusts everyone around him except for his mother and sees his therapy (or at least pretends to) as just an extension of school — complete with the unwanted inconvenience of homework. 

He’s also, ironically, something of a bully himself, initially responding to the presence of Caio — who is no happier about their temporary living arrangement than he is — with willful and deliberate contempt, and levying his position as host (or as son of the hostess, at least) to assert his circumstantial power and dominance over an unwanted guest. Of course, we can see all along where it comes from, the habitual offense-as-defense tactic that has helped him survive and gain what little self-confidence he has, but that doesn’t make it any less rude.

Still, we don’t dislike him for it; a lifetime of body-shaming can do that to a person. Besides, it makes the transformation that comes in him — after learning to stand up for others like he stands up for himself, and other valuable life lessons he undergoes along the way — feel much more like an uplift. And if his insecurities win out once in a while (as they do, to dramatic effect, in the film’s penultimate chapters), who can blame him?

Caio, too, is portrayed against expectation. His self-assured swagger, like Felipe’s misanthropic hostility, comes from a young lifetime of self-protective compensation, but it’s just as easy for us to see through, and as the tenderness inside is revealed, he’s a far cry from “popular jock” stereotype that Felipe — and the audience — assume him to be,

It’s the dynamic between these two eminently likable characters that makes the film work, granting each of them their own dovetailing journeys toward self-discovery and allowing the feel-good sentiment of the story to emerge as something authentic, rather than just another trope-driven fantasy.

Much of this is thanks to the two young leads, who fully commit to their roles and strike a winning chemistry that makes us want them both to find their way through the amusing — but no less traumatic — growing pains they experience, both together and apart. They succeed in building an onscreen world in which we can believe, with them, in the possibility of rising above the obstacles thrown in their path, and it leaves us feeling not just uplifted, but maybe even a little joyful. 

Kudos also go out to Falabella, whose performance as the quintessential “cool mom” makes her stand out as the film’s adult MVP; likewise, director Leiff handles the material with a superb sense of balance between over-the-top absurdity and quietly joyful moments of truth.  In the end, though, it’s screenwriters Ray Tavares and Victor Brandt — adapting from a book by Vitor Martins — that’s truly responsible for crafting a charming coming-of-age story that allows itself to reach for the unlikely happy ending instead of sticking with the tried-and-true bittersweetness that usually arrives to provide an extra dash of unrequited yearning.

Of course, more jaded viewers — especially if they’re adults — might find the overall effect of “Here the Whole Time” less of than convincing. But for most of us — and hopefully it’s target audience, especially — it’s a charming reminder that “coming of age” isn’t just about sex or compromising with disillusionment. More than anything else, it’s about learning to let go of our disappointed assumptions to blossom into the life we truly deserve. 

As a refreshingly upbeat entry into a genre that somehow holds a key position in our compromised adult lives, it’s definitely a ride worth taking,