Dark Berries
June 29th
“Birds born in a cage, think flying is an illness” — Alejandro Jodorowski
I am pretty for a dark skinned girl.
I know that because I have been told that countless times. It took me many years to fully grasp that my beauty had to be qualified as an apology for my complexion.
I am pretty for a dark skinned girl.
I know that because I grew up being affectionately called ‘Blacky’, ‘black beauty’ ‘hot chocolate’ and other variations of that.
I am pretty for a dark skinned girl
I know that even though I wasn’t allowed to be the princess in the grade school play. Although I had memorized the script and aced the audition, the mixed race girl who didn’t audition, but fit the ‘look’ was awarded the part.
I am pretty for a dark skinned girl
I know that even though I was offered bleaching cream for the first time at 15. She told me I was getting older and I needed to ‘start looking into lightening solutions’.
Despite this, growing up, I was blissfully ignorant that there was anything wrong with my skin. I have always been drawn to other confident, beautiful, strong women because that is simply how I see myself, either by virtue of how I was raised, or completely by accident. But;
I started to realize I was pretty “for a dark skinned girl”
When I moved to America for college and boys delighted in paying me this compliment. I noticed this especially from those who were even darker than I.
I started to realize I was pretty “for a dark skinned girl”
When men who wanted to be with me, would consciously or unconsciously let me know that I was the exception to their rule, and I should be flattered for it.
I started to realize I was pretty “for a dark skinned girl”
When often, people I had hung around for a length of time would one day squint their eyes and say, “you know… you’re actually pretty”, like they just bothered looking through my darkness for the first time.
I started to realize I was pretty “for a dark skinned girl”
When I quickly learned that in the dating pool, i was anchored firmly at the bottom. The word preference was easily thrown around, but it felt a lot like prejudice.
My eyes had “opened” so to speak. Once the can of worms had been pierced, it seemed I could not help but experience some discrimination in one way or the other, mostly from my own race, no matter what Continent I was in. I didn’t have to have an issue with my dark skin, but other people had the issue for me. If i had the audacity to walk around as a confident woman, the world was waiting to knock me down a peg or two. So;
I allowed myself feel uncomfortable in my skin;
Especially when I would go out with other friends who I thought were all beautiful women and rightly deserved the attention they received, but I was often overlooked or was never the “type” of a guy I was interested in.
I allowed myself feel uncomfortable in my skin;
Especially when visits to beauty counters or spa treatments always come with expert recommendations of skin ‘brightening’ solutions, like dark skin equals dull skin. The quest for make up and shades that are flattering for my skin tone is like looking for a needle in a haystack, and the shade “nude” is a joke.
I allowed myself feel uncomfortable in my skin;
Especially when I realized I was a niche; like dark chocolate, I was very much an acquired taste.
I allowed myself feel uncomfortable in my skin;
Especially when, if I was gonna be a dark girl, i should have at least been a THICK black girl — because that was acceptable.
Then I thought of what kind of person I would be, if I allowed other people’s insecurities permeate my consciousness. If I took on the burden of hating myself so other people wouldn’t have to do it for me. So:
I continued to love myself anyway;
Despite that one girl in the elevator told me her dog was barking erratically because he “wasn’t used to dark skin”.
I continued to love myself anyway;
Despite multitudes of people affectionately telling me how “blackkkk” my children will be because I am married to a dark skinned man.
I continued to love myself anyway;
Despite opening magazines, watching movies, noting all the famous exotic beauties, and seeing that the portrayal of what is considered beautiful as a black woman, never included darker women, except the current exception to the rule.
I also learned to stop mocking women who decide to bleach. I won’t laugh at the women who cannot withstand the pressure of being considered ugly or undesirable. The women who have been brainwashed into believing lighter skin will make them more worthy.
I also learned to stop finding it curious why so many dark skinned women ended up with Caucasian men. Instead of struggling to be accepted, why not find whoever it may be that has a deep appreciation for your beauty? Or the women who desired children who wouldn’t look like them so their experiences wouldn’t mirror theirs.
The truth is, the world is cruel to women, crueler to black women, and cruelest to the ‘dark’ black women. The colonial mentality of “what is closest to white is better” has resulted in the mental enslavement of many races. Many darker complected women have experienced this to some degree, some, even worse.
“Tougher” and more negative traits are assigned to darker women, softer and more positive traits to lighter counterparts. It is these sort of notions that continue to create strife, competition and hate amongst women due to the pitting of one skin tone against the other. Many black men objectify fairer skinned women and vilify the darker skinned.
It seems the only thing darker than the berries are their experiences. But;
I continue to love myself anyway. That is my act of rebellion in the face of a world that tells me, and many other women, that they aren’t good enough. Love is love is love is love. Beauty is beauty is beauty is beauty.
Thank you for taking the time out to read what I have so lovingly shared. If you like what you read, please click the little green heart at the bottom of the screen :)
