1. She looks down at her glass shoes; I look up at the
Glass Ceiling
The Prin “cess” Diaries

4. I wonder what whitening cream and my medical form say about me? Analyzing it, medical
reasons come to mind:
-Whitening cream: because of dark marks on my body that will never go back to its
colour on its own, and so I will change my whole shade to have an even complexion?
-The jaw reconstruction surgeries; due to an under bite that causes me breathing
problems and a bad profile?
-The cosmetic procedures: because of my large breasts causing back pain? Due to
treatment for a kidney infection that left horrible stretch marks on my stomach?
Yes. But there is another reason; one that, whilst watching the Royal Wedding live in the early
morning hours of May 2010 resurfaced in me that can no longer be silenced.
I want to be a British Beauty. To be the next White Royal princess. ..Okay, not white, but mixed
complexion. BUT I STILL WANT TO BE A PRINCESS DAMMIT!!!!!
As a little girl, watching The Princess Diaries showcased the glamor of the princess life. What
little girl wouldn’t want to be like Cinderella? As I grew older though, my perceptions of being a
princess showed a pattern. Meaning, a girl had to look a certain way to be considered a
princess.
A princess is the daughter of a monarch. Prin-cess. Not much to say about ‘prin’ but what is a
‘cess’? Slang for tax. A tax is something extra given up for the greater good.
Here are reasons for my racial re-presentation.
In 2004, Barbie introduced a promotion known as “Barbie: Princesses of the World”. It was self-
explanatory: a display of Barbie princesses from around the globe. My cousin knew I was going
through a princess phase and offered to show me the website where all the Barbies were.
“Perhaps we will see a princess like us.” I was excited to see exotic royalty; now I could see
beautiful, non-white princesses, and compare them to western Beauty. My cousin pointed out:
“Oh, here is the Princess of Africa!” I was ecstatic! She will be the most exotic looking one of all,
never saw an African princess. Her image showed up: My god, she was soooooo UGLY! Her skin

5. was dark, DARK, like oil. The whites in her eyes sticking out. Second, her robes’ colours did not
match; it looked like a rainbow threw up on her. She almost looked bald! What really got to me
were her feet: she had NO SHOES. No glass slippers at all! I was crying so hard at what a joke
this was. An African Princess does not really look like that; would I want to? No! I did not want
to cut off my pretty hair to look like Homer Simpson, and I do like shoes, what princess cannot
even afford shoes?! Looking at the Royal Wedding brought that memory back. It showed me
that I would be happier being in Kate’s shoes as a princess, because, well, she has shoes. She
looked so beautiful and graceful and all of Canada’s eyes were on her. Yes, I do understand that
it is the Western world therefore Western beauty. Reality check: I LIVE in the Western World.
Long flowing hair is considered pretty here, not baldness in Royal Africa. And another thing:
how the hell can you the Princess of Africa? Is Kate Middleton the Duchess of Europe? No, she’s
the Duchess of Cambridge. Do we call him the Emperor of Asia? No, it’s the Emperor of China.
You cannot be in charge of a whole continent; each country has sovereignty. I would like to be
the princess of a place that actually knows how royalty works.
To calmme down, my mom took me to Dairy Queen. I got a small chocolate dipped cone;
vanilla ice cream solidified by a chocolate shell; I could relate to it.
My mom predicts I would hate living a royal life. How so? She grew up in a big family in the
1960s and 1970s in Ghana, a country in West Africa. Her mom was a homemaker and her father
was the local priest, the only priest in the region. Now this is Africa back in time, where people
were, and still are, very religious. So, of course, the priest has the highest form of authority in

6. the town. My grandfather was like a king. My mom was like a princess. Everybody was scared of
her; she couldn’t find a boyfriend because men were scared of her father, she was popular in
school, but many girls felt inferior to her. Here’s the twist; she was afraid of her own father. She
was always intimidating, still is, but the only person she could never even look in the eye was
her father; this still haunts her. So, she had a taste of being royal and hated it. My mom always
gave good advice, but this time I have to turn on her. One contradiction is that being royal
meant being bombarded by paparazzi, and never enjoying life. Yea, no Western celebrity ever
had that problem.
I do not want to be famous, nor do I want to be “sexy”, at least not until I’m 30. I want to be a
dignified beauty, like Kate Middleton. How elegant she looked on the Royal Wedding Day, her
dress fitting her perfectly, and her thin feminine features. I want to live in royalty, with honour.
I cannot sing, therefore I can’t be like Beyonce; and I do not want a big butt and an expert level
‘twerk’ to be famous like Nicki Minaj; and I definitely do not want to become famous for
starring in a homemade filmin which a D-list rap star pees on me. (Do I have to say who that
is?) Kate had no talent to attract Williamto her, her attitude was what made him fall in love
with her. Her features and fashion sense, however, was what he noticed first.
I did not live the life my mother had, and for once I cannot take her word for it. I would like to
experience being a princess first hand and decide on my own if that’s the life I want to live.
“The only source of knowledge is experience.” –Albert Einstein

7. I understand that no guarantee has been made that the procedure(s) will improve the
condition(s).
I am aware that you cannot change your race based on a little reconstructive surgery. I am
aware I will never be white, at best, I will have the privilege of a white person by majority of
people, there is black in me. I am always told to remember where I came from; well, I came
from my mother’s cunt. Yet I started to think about it; white teens think ‘nigga’ is just a label,
like prep or emo. Their belief is backed up by the way Blacks call each other that. But the one
thing that non-Black ‘gangsters’ fail to understand, is that if they were to ever be offered a job
interview, as they put on a business suit, the “nigga” label comes off.
My predicament has a negative perspective; when I become light-skinned, straighten my hair
and have cosmetic surgeries, yes, I will have a higher social status. I wouldn’t be called black,
but rather Black Barbie. If I decided to wear baggy clothes one day because it was the weekend,
or if I was craving chicken, or getting angry at somebody and snapped at them, the Black Barbie
would come off and I’d just be another coon. It would be a very big issue in Britain if I was ever
to be sworn into the Royal family with my current look. Europe is already having issues with
multiculturalism, what would they say about me being the next People’s Princess? “I do not
want that jigaboo’s genes ruining the Royal bloodline.” “Will there be zookeepers at the
ceremony to keep all those monkeys in place?” “Her bridesmaids will probably be a twerk
team.” I don’t want to come off as self-hating; I understand where I come from and my culture;
I also know where I’m going, and which cultures to explore. It’s good to integrate, and that is
what I’m doing... By lightening my skin, reconstructing my body, I am not losing my black

8. identity, I’m giving up my blemished complexion and my facial/body abnormalities. I am re-
presenting myself in the eyes of a new world. I am not brainwashed by media, I am self-aware. I
wish to try glass slippers, if that will make my miracle come true.
To anyone who says to me: “You will never be a British beauty. That’s impossible.” What do I
say? The same thing: “I’M – POSSIBLE!”