Coping With Colorism
Thriving in the face of shade-based prejudice.
Colorism is a silent but deadly practice that lurks just behind its louder big brother, racism. Colorism is the idea that a person of a darker shade is somehow inferior, ugly, or unworthy of respect.
As a dark-skinned black woman growing up in the Midwest, I’ve been subjected to instances of colorism throughout my entire life — be it from a boyfriend that made insensitive comments about my dark skin while spinning it as a compliment, or seeing social and popular media’s paltry or problematic representation of darker skinned women.
Dealing with a colorist society is not easy. Out of all of the challenges I’ve faced in life, loving myself and my skin in spite of people’s predilections for those of fairer shades is a challenge that will never subside.
Overall, I try not to let colorism tear up my psyche, and I’ve survived and thrived in the face of what could be a crippling existence by relying on a few truths.
Dark skin is beautiful.
I am gorgeous because of my skin, not in spite of it. It is dark, perfect, and all mine. It’s the same shade as my father’s skin, and he always reminds me of how gorgeous I am — even when I wear that purple lipstick that he hates.
In the summer, I lie in the sun to get a few shades darker. The darker I get, the prettier I feel.
Colorism is practiced by those who hate themselves.
Black people and other people of color who practice colorism are the ones with the real issues. They are the ones who hate their black features, the darkness of their skin, their unmistakable blackness. My darkness reminds them of what they hate about themselves.
I refuse to let their untreated (and largely undiagnosed) psychological issues mar my fabulous existence. I duck their projection like I duck catcalls on the street; with dismissive disregard.
Bleaching is not the answer.
Some people of color become obsessed with getting lighter. Some bleach their skin in a bid to, hopefully, reap the benefits of preferential treatment. Sadly, sometimes bleaching their skin does get them the attention they’ve always wanted, the role they coveted, the acceptance they’ve sought.
This breaks my heart.
Bleaching is dangerous and it NEVER looks good, or natural. I’ve watched celebrities who were formally dark and beautiful gradually lighten their skin over the years, destroying their beauty in the process. With the exception of some high-profile men (like Sammy Sosa, for example) black women and other women of color tend to take this measure the most.
When I see someone who has obviously bleached their skin, I get pissed. In bleaching away their darkness, their blackness, they’re teaching little black girls — and the world at large — that there’s something wrong with being dark. Bleaching sends the message that dark skin is something that needs correction.
Despite how much I understand why they do what they do, I do not support bleachers. I consider them weak and a danger to society. Period.
For every colorist, there are loads of normal people who appreciate dark beauty.
I truly believe that MOST people aren’t colorist (at least this is what I tell myself — I have to cope, after all). This belief has made it easier for me to attract the types of men and the types of friends who respect people of all shades. Additionally, this outlook made those instances when I experienced colorism pale in comparison to all of the positive encounters I’ve had in life.
Colorists must be cast out of my orbit.
I correct them, then eliminate them. That sounds harsh but it’s what I have to do. Long ago, I decided to treat all colorists like I would an annoying fly: smash their asses and go about my business.
When someone makes even the slightest colorist comment, I call them out on it immediately — in public or otherwise. I do not suffer such foolishness, and as a result I’ve cut a LOT of people off for my own mental health — even people I called friends. Even family.
Colorism, like racism, is an annoying reality.
As with racism, one way to to cope with colorism is to simply get used to it. That sounds awful, but what is the alternative? Dwelling on it until it causes me to withdraw from society, or worse, bleach my skin to erase something that makes me special?
I have learned that colorism, like racism, is a useless, pervasive, archaic thing that doesn’t deserve an inch of my mental real estate. These days, I don’t lament the darkness of my skin, but I never forget that colorism is a real problem that is glazed over and ignored, by and large, in the black community.
The fact is, while colorism is a byproduct of a racist society, that is still no excuse for perpetuating it. Colorists must venture to develop the critical thinking skills and the decency to stop it in its tracks, not practice it as a way to feel superior.
I hope that over time, colorism will go the way of the dinosaurs. I try to quicken its erasure by boycotting any facet of pop culture and/or media that promotes it. This means that sometimes I shut everything and everyone out, look in the mirror, and worship my melanin, because self-love is the best and healthiest coping mechanism against yet another of society’s most ruinous and enduring weapons.
