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Black My My
The Story of the Black My My
“My, My, My.”
It is not merely a phrase. It is not just a slogan. For me, it is a brand — it is my identity. Tell someone you are looking for Clifton and you will probably get a blank stare. Ask for “My My” and immediately the response is warm, wide, and knowing.
A Mantra Is Born
“My, My, My” is my mantra. When I am feeling down, just whispering those three words fills me with hope. When something spectacular happens, my immediate response is My, My, My! Whether the moment is critical or comical, tender or triumphant — my reaction is always, unmistakably, My, My, My.
The Vision
Florida, 1986
Picture this: the year is 1986. My mission — a road trip to Florida to acquire an automobile. My car of choice: a sleek, fairly new 300ZX. I was just about to take it for a test drive when, lo and behold, something stopped me cold. There sat a lowrider pickup truck. It was painted entirely in black — black low-profile tires, black rims, black everything. But what caught my eye, what truly arrested my attention, were two words emblazoned in gold across the doors of that black beauty: My, My, My. I didn’t know it then. I couldn’t have imagined it. But that single vision — that flash of gold against black — would mark the beginning of an incredible journey. The confidence radiating from that phrase was even more striking than the color combination itself.
A Phrase That Travels
A Phrase That Travels With Me
I was completely taken in. Certain phrases have a way of latching onto people. “My, My, My” latched onto me — and it has never let go. I say it more than ten times every single day. That’s over 3,650 times a year, and still counting. I catch myself saying it in response to excitement, to gratitude, to joy. It is my reaction to every good thing in my life — a positive lens through which I choose to see my day rather than venting frustration or sinking into negativity. It is how I reset. It is how I reframe.
From Profanity to Peace
From Profanity to Peace of Mind
I remember the first time the phrase truly took hold. I was going through a great deal at the time — more than I could easily carry — and because of that, I had become fluent in a very different kind of language. Profanity flowed freely. Anger had wound me into a tight, relentless ball of stress. Then came My, My, My. Almost immediately, the curse words fell away, replaced by those three simple syllables. I balanced myself. I evolved — into a happier, less angry, far more grounded person. The transformation was quiet, but it was real.
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