Topics Body image Opinion. A boy in my very white high school, very drunk at a party, told me: So I decided to make that choice to ignore and learn how to love who I was and accept me. I kept trying on look after look, perfecting and discarding different versions of my blackness. W hen I was a little girl, I thought that I was gorgeous. So I decided one summer before I started to move on to the next grade to cut my hair. Before I became culturally bilingual and understood the power and impetus of code switching, I spoke like the white parents and family that raised me.
So I just started to cry.
Black & Ugly…
Surrounded by girls with smooth, pale skin and shiny blond hair, who tried to tan but never to openly affect blackness, and who crimped their hair but found my coarse, kinky hair oddly remarkable, I realized that Barbie was real, and she was a nightmare. I started to cut my own hair with the scissors and then my mother noticed one day when it was time to wash my hair and asked me what happened. But at the time I thought different. Self love is monumental. Before I became culturally bilingual and understood the power and impetus of code switching, I spoke like the white parents and family that raised me. But growing up black in an all-white town, I was also a generally accepted kind of pretty: