Once upon a time in a public restroom, somebody told me, “You’d be so pretty if you’d wear something other than black all the time.”
I drew myself up to my full height, looked her right in the eye and said, “When I wear black, I feel beautiful.” And then I walked out.
I could hear her behind me, clucking and fussing about how she was just trying to help. It’s always so droll when people want to help, isn’t it? Because I don’t recall asking her for her opinion, and yet she was all too ready to offer it.
But that’s the way of the world. We form opinions and judgments about each other based on what we look like. And we treat people better or worse based on that shallow set of surface criteria. Throw things like ink and non-traditional hair color into the…
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