Into the Mystic

The neo-soul icon Erykah Badu has long made spiritual, theatrical, ethereal style her calling card. Finally, fashion has caught up with her.

- By Chioma Nnadi. Photographed by Jamie Hawkesworth

Erykah Badu likes to wear clothes that make music when she walks—it’s why today she has strings of bells strapped to her ankles. She also has a tangle of amethyst crystal pendants thrown over her paint-splattered overalls, gigantic silver rings on each finger, rubber bangles stacked up to her elbows, and a red beanie pulled over her hair. Standing on the porch of her South Dallas childhood home, a modest white clapboard house where her mother still lives, she’s serving a look that’s part shamanic priestess, part artist at work. This is a Tuesday in mid-December and the area has been under a tornado watch all morning, unusual for this time of year. But now the clouds have parted, and the normal sounds—birds, traffic—of the tree-lined neighborhood are filtering in. “I grew up listening to these trucks and cars pass by,” she says, motioning toward the freeway, her tiny flip-flop-shod feet jingling as she approaches the door. “The vibration is familiar, soothing, like wind chimes.”

The door opens and outbounds the welcoming committee: an excitable snow-white Malt-Tzu. “Hi, Tyrone,” she purrs, petting the puppy, named after Badu’s most enduring single from 1997, a hilarious freestyle about a deadbeat boyfriend. Badu’s mother is Kolleen, goes by Queenie. “Once you meet her, y’all are going to forget all about me,” the 51-year-old Badu says. In other words, if you want to know where Badu got her trademark irreverence, her mischievous wit, it’s best to come here and call on Queenie.