I imagine how she gets ready in the morning. She wakes up wearing a black silk bonnet, yawning off yesterdays and anticipating tomorrows. I know she always remembers to turn off the faucet water when she brushes her teeth, and never forgets to lotion. Her clothes, tailored and fashionable, fit like a warrior’s uniform. Before she leaves for work, she sprays perfume, and somehow I know its scent: power.

The First Ladies before her often had to make a choice: to be bold or beautiful. Most chose the latter, demurely folding under the shadow of their presidential husbands, or performing a difficult Jackie Kennedy balancing act. However, Michelle Obama struck onlookers by being bold, beautiful and black, unapologetically.

I was in seventh grade when a man who looked like my family was inaugurated as President of my country. My school held an assembly that day so that every twelve-year-old could witness this piece of history. My mother was at work, holding her breath through most of it, fearing an assassination attempt or a crash during the parade, something that would take this dream away from her, take away this man who looked the same as my family.

But I felt reassured that day, not because of the secret service agents stationed, but because I saw a tall black woman, 5’ 11’’ — as tall as I am today — in a bright green dress, smiling. Her back was strong and her arms were lean, and I knew nothing bad could happen.

I watched her throughout the campaign, her narrative unfolding. A girl from the southside of Chicago, holding a bachelor’s from Princeton and a law degree from Harvard.

While other speakers circa Obama 2008 heralded Barack as some sort of political messiah, Michelle brought a dose of reality. She conveyed that this was a man with as many flaws as a human could have, but who would work endlessly for the greater good of this country. Our country. He was a man who forgot to put his socks in the laundry but would never forget the people who needed his help. He was a man who wrote bad poetry, but would write great history. He loved too hard and aimed too high — and she was living proof. The love of his life who probably was a little out of his league.

Her oration skills had the wisdom of a thousand black grandmothers and their quietly self-assured confidence, too.
“The closer” they called her, because she knew how to tap into a person’s core with her words, resonating with audience members like a final chord.

With growing nostalgia and perhaps a bit of the rose-colored glass it affords, we all love her. Across media and partisan lines, we are all in love with the beautiful “girl of the southside,” the statuesque woman who graced covers of Vogue and Essence. Even though I remember when she was compared to a monkey, a terrorist, “emasculating” and as part of the angry black woman caricature that I knew too well. I feared those stereotypes, making sure not to be too passionate in debate class, letting white girls touch my hair without permission; but as the critiques of Michelle continued, at times relentlessly, I realized that the world would always criticize a black woman unafraid of her own sexiness and strength.

As First Lady, she chose her words more carefully, launched a relatively non-controversial campaign – and though she made sure her roots were always freshly relaxed, still she maintained her bluntness, kept passion always unaffected, unwatered down. She wore bright colored clothes, from evening gowns to workout clothes, and raised her daughters much like my mother raised me — making sure we never doubted our own intelligence.

In his farewell address, Barack Obama addressed his wife, “You made the White House a place that belongs to everybody.” But moreover, Michelle’s frankness inspired me to be a little less afraid to be myself: a young black woman who is allowed to be passionate, resilient, beautiful and smart without sacrificing one attribute for the other. For that, I forgave her for replacing my middle school’s candy vending machine with healthy snacks.

We speak a lot about Barack’s legacy and his accomplishments, but it is Michelle’s that I carry with me day-to-day, a positivity that urges me never to be complacent. Her words stick with me: “There are still many causes worth sacrificing for, so much history yet to be made.”