![]() ![]() I felt insulated, isolated with the belief of what was being told to me: namely, that I was the odd one out, because I did not listen to what “girls like me“ were expected to be into, such as mainstream music, books that barely scratched the surface of our immeasurable potential, and films and shows that thrived on backhanded stereotypes about people of color. Countless other girls like me have appreciated and worshipped pop culture and artistic prodigies - but this, I wouldn’t know for a long time. ![]() I liked art, in short, be it weird or venerated, obscure or apotheosized. ![]() I began to realize, at a very young age, that I was setting myself up for a colossal, lifelong complication: I, a little girl of color, liked whiling afternoons away listening to Chopin and other piano virtuosos I lost myself in classic cinema and devoured vintage musicals I was so intoxicated with fine art that I was gifted a massive tome on Monet’s life and career for my eleventh birthday. ![]()
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