Lux

Lux

My jet-black cropped afro needs to be braided down, but I don’t feel like it. I will just go to bed as usual and comb it out in the morning. I see a new commercial just released by White Out being played on the television. Beyonce is in her dressing room using their new straightening potion and brightening cream.

Straighten out the kinks in your hair, clean your skin. It’s the only way you will feel beautiful within.

As those words are muttered out of their mouths, I cannot help but think about my days as a model. Thirty years ago, I was an upcoming fashion icon. I graced the covers of Vogue, Elle, People, Cosmopolitan, and the list continues. Tempest Brown was becoming a household name. Then suddenly one day, no one would hire me. My agent of ten years Jonathan suggested that I try a new beauty product that would enhance my look. “Maybe you should try this White Out cream. It’s supposed to remove all of your blemishes and lighten your skin. Instead of the natural look, critics are suggesting that you try extensions. That’s what people are looking for now.” What he meant was he wanted me to look white. And I was going for that shit.

I went through every agency possible and no one would hire me. There was usually a White Out representative present who would whisper in the president’s ear when I entered the room. “She’s too dark, her hair is too kinky. She won’t attract our targeted demographic.” I politely thanked them for their time, grabbed my portfolio and left. There were billboards everywhere with white women out to dinner with black men in fancy restaurants. Black men were on the Steve Harvey show saying that they preferred more “traditional women” who weren’t flamboyant or cultured. What the hell is cultured? Was black not good enough anymore?

The year is 2050 and White Out has erased any remnants of the “Melting Pot.” I see so many different people but all of them are the same person to the core. When I walk into a building, everyone stops what they’re doing and stare. I can feel their piercing eyes burning a hole in my back. I go to work at the White Out Corporation, go home, feed my cat and eat a television dinner. I’d rather stay at home then go out and be ridiculed for me being me.

One particular evening in 2020, there was a breaking news announcement that flashed across the television. It was Sidney White, the president of White Out and President Griffin. I nestled on the couch with Big Red (my cat) and ate a plate of rice, sweet peas and Salisbury steak. He stated that because the nation was in debt, they had to take financial assistance from outside conglomerates. Since White Out had generated so much wealth, they bought out America and created Lux, “A heightened and lightened place.” There were certain stipulations in place. Everyone had to wear straight wigs to cover their natural hair. Everyone had to pass the brown paper bag rule. If you were darker than the bag, you were placed in a “hood.” You had thirty days to conform or be punished. They did not specify what the punishment was, but I was sure that it was not good. Because I didn’t comply, I had to enter a work release program with White Out. I work for $1.50 an hour and have to attend “beauty” classes. I’d rather this than to lose Tempest Brown forever. She’s somewhere under the hair cap I’m required to wear and mask that covers who I really am.

Whenever I feel like giving up, I grab the heart-shaped necklace my mother bought me on my tenth birthday. As a child I would always ask her, “Ain’t I pretty enough mama?” She would say that I was the most beautiful girl in the world and that no matter what anyone said, I should always love myself.