I first time that I saw Prince he was on my best friend’s wall. It was the afro. And those eyes. I was young, but I knew enough to know he was fine.
Unwanted petting of my hair, trying to put stuff in it, presumptuous questions, all were seemingly friendly and joking acts, but I could tell they were a subtle form of ridicule.
Everyday that I shop and work and speak and travel and read and exist quite happily with this gorgeous head of hair, I defy the stereotype that I have to conform to a certain standard of beauty.