When Wallflowers Bloom

By: Danielle Barrett-Powell

Black is beautiful. We’ve all heard it; seen it plastered across the media, especially in response to the ridiculous Twitter debate of light vs dark skin. While most of us forward thinking people agree to it, how many of us are sold on it for real? I, for one, have to say my black has only recently become beautiful to me. It’s taken years to come to terms with who I am (and who I am not). While stereotypes exist for a reason what about those of us who are too eccentric to fit squarely into any particular box? Well, we are just left to carve out our own niche.

Oreo. I hate that name. It’s like being spit on if it’s said in a certain way. I used to believe I was one, often jokingly referring to myself as one to beat others to the punch. Growing up, I don’t recall much wanting to be white but I do recall wanting little to do with being black. I, too, fell victim to flawed thinking based on stereotypes of loud, unabashed ghetto-ness, obsession with rims and Jordan’s and a love of demeaning rap music.

You see, I was quite the opposite–an introvert with a love of literature, writing, art and a taste for rock music, none of which earned me any points in the black community. On top of all that I was–and still am–not what black men find attractive. They, along with many other acquaintances, strangers, and even friends, constantly questioned whether or not I had an issue with black people and accused me of acting white. I begged to differ. It was black people who always took issue with me.

I am from the north but spent the bulk of my life in the south and never quite lost my northern outlook, which made adjusting to the south a challenge at first. I arrived in Louisiana as a child, dragged down there by my mother’s remarriage. My stepdad and his family let me know upfront that I was the “redheaded stepchild” and before I spoke, my light skin and freckles spoke for me. I was assumed to be snooty and entitled and was regularly singled out as being “high yella”.

Here I was thinking that being well spoken, polite and respectful were good things, which apparently they were for everyone else except for me. I was informed that I was acting white, something I did not grasp well because I am actually part white and truly, I simply act like myself.

School exacerbated these issues. My frizzy hair and off trend clothing got me barred from the popular groups, Im basically use to wear whatever makes me feel comfortable, but I love to use scarfs and beanies (also find quality richardson 112 hats here) so most people don’t like it because of my hair, I actually found n alpaca fabric for this pieces and Im going to look for it as it sounds amazing! including the light skinned girls with good hair are using them. The dark skinned students would never give me a chance anyway and to most of the white kids, I was just another black student, albeit less threatening. As a result of this my friends, and later, boyfriends, have always been mostly white. I just seemed to get along with white people much better. Of course, this did no favors for the Oreo label I wanted to unload.

I tried to act black for a couple of years by keeping up with rap , trying to copy dances I was too shy to do in front of anyone, and even begging for Air Force Ones, the popular shoe at the time. In hindsight, I know people saw straight through it. Eventually, I gave it up, resuming being an Oreo.

Even as a young adult in college, I struggled to accept myself. For a solid year, I covered my frizzy hair in a bandanna and tried to be invisible. As I settled in, I began to see more people like myself. Few and far between but still there. I began to slowly surround myself with these people and I began moving in the right direction. I stopped fighting my hair, stopped turning down my music, and embraced my gravitation towards interracial relationships. I no longer engaged in destructive conversations and interaction with dissenters.

If I made that sound simple, I assure you it was not. I have had to cut ties with quite a few people and let go of a lot of hurtful childhood memories. There are probably a ton of great people I skipped over while figuring myself out.

To many people, I will always be an Oreo and a sellout and even today most black women( both dark and light skinned) react negatively to me regardless of how I react to them. Black men often give me sideways looks when I’m out with a non black man; even the ones who aren’t interested or have a non black girl on their arm.

There will always be people who question my choices and tell me that I am wrong. However, one thing the years have taught me is that your happiest you is the real one. People often say they would go back and change things in their past if they could. I would not. It’s taught me a valuable lesson of which I’m thankful for every day.

In closing, I would tell every quirky, different, eccentric black woman out there to stay true to yourselves. Save the background for the wallflowers. Even if you have to unload some baggage to do it. It’s worth it.