I was about ten years old when I got my first American Girl doll. Every other girl seemed to have one, and when I finally got mine, I was very happy. But the doll I chose didn’t look like me at all. Her name was Julie. She had long, pin-straight blonde hair and bright blue eyes. At the time, I didn’t think much about it. She was pretty and she looked like all my other dolls, and that was enough for me at the time. I didn’t realize that my idea of “pretty” had already been shaped by what I constantly saw around me.
Growing up, I had jet-black hair that was always braided or clipped back. My mom and I didn’t even know I had curly hair because we didn’t know how to take care of it. The only other person in my family with noticeable curls was my grandmother, but even she kept her routine simple. So, my hair was brushed out and tied down, never given the chance to be what it naturally was. Without realizing it, I started to believe that straight hair was better.
In second grade, I had a crush on a boy in my class. There was also a popular girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. All the boys liked her, and I remember thinking that the reason was obvious; she fit the standard of beauty I had already accepted. I quietly convinced myself that someone like my crush would never like someone who looked like me.
Around sixth grade, I discovered I actually had curly hair. With the right moisturizer and products, my hair formed into defined curls. Even then, I still wished it were straight because straight hair seemed easier and prettier. It wasn’t until high school that something changed. I stopped fighting my curls and started embracing them. I began getting compliments, and slowly, I started loving what made me different.
Now, I see beauty in all types of features, not just the narrow standard I once believed in. I’ve realized that what we think is beautiful often depends on what we surround ourselves with. When I started following girls with curly hair and Latina features, I began to appreciate my own reflection. The little girl who chose a doll that looked nothing like her didn’t understand why she did it. But now I do, and now I get to define beauty for myself.