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Niaylah Mascall

Word Count: 546

Brown Skin Dreams

As I sat in my 6th grade stuffy history class, I talked with a new friend that I had just

made. She had beautiful milk chocolate skin and her hair wasn’t voluptuous and curly. She was

different. And then it struck me, “Wait, she’s pretty and she’s not lightskin?!” This realization

was something that has truly altered my perception of what beauty is and has formed into the

person that I am today.

Colorism is the prejudice or discrimination against individuals with a dark skin tone. It

typically resonates within the same ethnic or racial group. It can be brainwashing and degrading

to an individual, especially if that individual is a chubby, brown skinned 11 year-old girl. I

mainly surrounded myself with two other light-skinned girls who were my best friends. We

would go skating and have sleepovers every weekend. But what I didn’t know was that my “best

friends” made me feel ugly on the outside. I would notice that all of the boys would accumulate

to their call, while I would be left alone on the sideline. “Why am I so worried about boys right

now? I’m not even in high school yet,” I would repeatedly say in my mind. This appalling

feeling would creep its way into my kind every time I would hang out with them. It started to

take an unhealthy toll on me to the point of a burning question, “Why am I not pretty? Is it

because I’m not lightskin?” I realized that I was indeed the fat, black and humorous friend; my

only job was to make my friends look better and more appealing. Sometimes I would cry and ask
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God, “How come you couldn’t bless me with lighter skin?” I was officially sick, sick with the

overwhelming disease of Colorism.

Black Girl Magic. It was something that was hidden; I wasn’t sure how to unleash it.

After a stressful day of 10th grade, I bent over the stainless steel sink making sure to saturate

every inch of my thick, coarse black hair. Going this long without a touch up to my relaxer was,

well, something else! What I didn’t know was that my authentic self started to introduce itself.

As I applied and massaged the shampoo into my scalp, I felt the softest and silkiest texture. It

was at that moment that I ran to my mom with my dripping wet hair and proclaimed, “ Mommy,

I want to go natural?!” Going natural was something that I have always wanted to do. I have

always looked at it as a goal on a bucket list. Seeing black women embrace the luscious,

unpredictable tresses on their heads made me want to partake in that type of self-love. This

decision I decided to make was refreshing and reassuring. It increased my confidence as a Black

woman in this society. My knowledge and level of appreciation for Black culture has immensely

increased.

All in all, this cruel and demeaning mindset had broken down my perception of what

beauty was. But through my teenage years, I have transformed into this magical and resilient

being. And the best part, I still have plenty of room to flourish; never will I even question the

validity of my skin tone.

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