I miss ballet. I miss Irish dance. I miss being comfortable moving my body. The best I felt was when I danced like no one was watching which is pretty silly, but true. I used to love the feeling of having a good practice. I was in such a comfortable environment and space I had grown up with. Now it’s all changed. There’s no way for me to go back to how it was completely but I still wish to experience the joy that dancing gave me. I feel like a light has gone out in my heart and I don’t know how to get it back. If I did kind of know, I am too scared to act on it. I wish there was a space to dance for people like me.

Recent Reflection: Being Called “African, Not Black

I migrated to the U.S. from Ghana in my teenage years, and the transition was enveloped in opportunities for growth and connectivity with new communities. I have grown to appreciate the rich layers of my identity shaped by my Ghanaian roots and those fostered while living here. But there’s one experience that has followed me for many years: being referred to as “African, not Black.

The first time someone said it to me, I didn’t know how to feel. At the same time as I was proud of my African heritage and the rich culture that grew me up, I felt this strange alienation. Growing up in Ghana, I loved the celebrations, the music, and the sense of community that were at the core of my childhood. It was as though my experiences living in the U.S. and navigating life as a Black person here were being invalidated. The reality is, moving to the States didn’t erase the color of my skin or the assumptions that came with it. I’ve faced racial profiling, microaggressions, and moments where I’ve felt the weight of systemic racism. These experiences made me realize that my identity as a Black person isn’t separate from my identity as an African it’s an expansion of it.

But looking back, I can see how I began to internalize some of these comments. I started feeling like I didn’t fully belong to either group-as if I wasn’t “Black enough” because I didn’t grow up in the U.S. or “African enough” because I’d embraced parts of life here. I even found myself hesitating to speak about my experiences, unsure of where they fit into the larger narratives of either identity.

It is a beauty I have learned lately: holding multiple identities. I have learnt that I don’t have to choose between African and Black because they coexist. Each single one of them is valid; together, they speak for me.

Now, if I’m told, “African, not Black,” the justification isn’t really necessary anymore; it is a reflection of how far I have come to accept the full range of my experiences. My identity is not dictated by one else’s perception, but rather shaped from where I come from, through the challenges faced, and the connections made on the way.

Ultimately, I’ve learned that identity is personal and multifaceted. It’s okay for it to feel messy or complex it’s what makes it beautiful. And for me, being both African and Black is a source of strength, pride, and belonging.

Being in a larger body and wanting to participate in fashion trends and overall fell good about the body your in can be challenging.Majority of the styles and fashions you may want to wear may come with an high price tag or be from a fast fashion company that has unethical business practices that many in your everyday life or online community spaces may not agree with (shein, temu etc).

The body positivity movement, gained popularity in the middle to late 2010s. It embraced the notion that all bodies, regardless of size, shape, or impairments all bodies are beautiful in its natural state.From this movement I saw society move into a positive direction from beauty brands such a Fenty beauty being released that had over 50 foundation from fair to dark. Or other major brands like Nike, Old Navy, Yitty, and Target, who used plus-size models in their advertising campaigns and had plus size mannequins in all there stores and offered size-inclusive apparel lines often going up to an 5xl or 6xl. Those in plus size and fat bodies had options and could shop, browse ,window shop and enjoy the in store shopping experience that weren’t out of dated stores like Torrid, Ashley Steward and Lane Bryant .It was such a beautiful thing to enjoy the in store shopping experience without asking a sales associate if you had an 2xl or 3xl in the back or having to see if your size was available online.

However I’ve notice a shift happened in the last year or two both with major brands and certain social media trends as the body positivity movement in a way faded from the mainstream fewer plus-size models in advertising for plus size clothing , reduced availability of extended sizes, and a lack of representation in physical stores. Some brands that once championed inclusivity have quietly phased out size-inclusive options, even on there websites which left me and many plus size shoppers frustrated and disappointed.It feels like we took such a huge step backward especially with the “unbig” and “big back trends” on social media.Some of the videos are actually funny as its people talking about times were they indulge in a food they like or get themselves a sweet treat but when people began to stuff pillows and bedding under there clothes is were I fell like it crosses the line and becomes fatphobic and harmful.

Last year, I took one of my favorite classes I’ve taken for my major – the anthropology of adornment. The class covered the diversity of changes that humans make to their bodies, both permanent and non-permanent, and covered the cultural reasons as to why people adorn their bodies in specific ways, and for what reasons. I took that class with a few friends of mine, one with stretched lobes, a septum, and a myriad of other piercings, and the other, who had been working on her patch sleeve for years at that point, and who seemed to have a new tattoo every month. Sitting next to them during class I looked rather unadorned. I feel a little silly, looking as plain as I do. I keep telling myself that one day I’m going to dye my hair, or get my septum pierced, or get a small tattoo somewhere on my body, anything to differentiate myself from the crowd. 

That class got me thinking about what I do to adorn myself. Despite being a transgender man, I tend to fit the gender binary when it comes to what is expected out of a masculine person. I’ve worked hard to pass as cisgender, for many reasons. As it is, there’s a lot of misinformation and prejudice against the trans community, and I try to work against that by being open about my transmasculinity – despite how “normal” I may look to a cisgender audience – so that cis people can learn and grow to accept trans people as a regular aspect of everyday life. In a way, my lack of any obvious adornment is an act of adornment in its own right, complete with its own cultural and political reasonings and justifications.

Despite my reasoning, is conforming to cisgender notions of masculinity for the sake of cisgender comfort an effective strategy to increase acceptance of transgender people? I can’t help but be envious of trans people who feel as if they are able to express themselves outside of the strict cisgender notion of what is masculine and what is feminine. Hell, even my friends from that anthropology class (who both happen to identify as cisgender) feel as if they can adorn themselves with piercings and tattoos, so why should I be any different? No matter what I do to conform to the gender binary, cis people as a whole would rather that transgender people didn’t exist, rather than accept our existence.