The first time I hated my skin color was when I was eleven and I was watching a Tyra Banks episode on colorism. Prior to that moment, it had never occurred to me that there was a difference between lighter-skinned Blacks and darker-skinned ones.
I rushed to the mirror to check which one I was (light skin or dark skin) and was met with disappointment upon discovering I was the latter. I was the complexion that people did ca like. The one that meant I’m picked last for prom, chosen last by Black men and men of other races, and generally undervalued in society. For the eleven-year-old me who wanted to be a star, this news was especially disheartening. It did mean the end of my singing career; it only meant I was going to have to work extra hard just to get half of the credit that (I thought) I deserved.