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Debbie M. Rigaud
was born in Manhattan, the third of four daughters. She’s
certain her first greeting into this world was, “A girl…again?”
At the time of her birth, her family lived in Brooklyn. But
before Debbie could say “Theodore Aloysius Huxtable,” the Rigaud
’rents packed up the kids and headed to East Orange, NJ to break
from urban life. (Ha!)
Her parents never fully
transitioned to Jersey living. Hence, her childhood was happily
spent heading back to Brooklyn for doctors’ visits, summer
vacations, ripe plantains—every excuse in the book.
By age four, Debbie was already
reading. When dubious relatives assumed she’d memorized her
story books, little Debbie aced their challenges to read daily
newspapers (“Man—Jumps—Off—Bridge”).
But writing is what really took
her places. In grammar school, she wrote screenplays for fun,
kept a book of poetry and, sneakily passed reams of juicy notes
to her friends during class. An interest in fashion design
introduced Debbie to a love of magazines (Her bedroom closet
stayed stacked with back issues of Elle.). In high
school she realized she could pursue magazine writing as a
profession. That’s when she began winning college scholarship
essay contests she’d entered. Inspired by one such grant awarded
by The Star Ledger labeled “For Excellence in
Journalism,” Debbie majored in journalism at Rutgers University.
Her first internship was with
YSB magazine (published by BET) followed by a year at
Entertainment Weekly. From there, she’s worked at/written
for Seventeen, Vibe, Vibe Vixen, Inside TV,
Twist, J-14, CosmoGIRL!, ESSENCE, Heart &
Soul, seventeen.com, and spent two years working for
Trace magazine in London, England. She’s also contributed an
essay about the Haitian Revolution to the anthology
Transculturalism (True/2004). Her essay about loss is
featured in the anthology It's All Love (Random
House/2009).
A few more futile facts about
Debbie: An overprotective upbringing has made her adept at
household/backyard activities like double Dutch, dancing,
drawing and doing drills (i.e., “Boogie Night—my name is Deb,
I’m livin’ in the city” [clap-clap-stomp] “Boogie Night—you mess
with me I’ll punch you in the t----.”) . Of course, it also
meant she learned to ride a bike kinda late and she still can’t
swim all that well. Okay, she can’t swim at all. But she thinks
commercial jingles and classic TV show themes should be karaoke
standards.
Today, she’s mostly known as the girl you invite to your
barbecue during a citronella oil shortage. Mosquitoes adore her.
This doting aunt/newly-married
girlie recently jetsetted on an adventure with her husband. The
giddy couple now live in sunny Bermuda. |
