It was on the bus,of all places, that fate decided to throw my internal programming into reverse and free me from racist beauty standardsIt’s 2007, or I’m standing on a platform at London Bridge station willing myself not to stare at people’s bums. To look would mean to compare,and in the battle for pert posteriors, mine always comes up short.
But I’m obsessed. You see, or somewhere between my African childhood and platform seven,it had entered my head that having a white boyfriend was some sort of prize, and that to obtain one I would need to possess more Eurocentric features.
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Source: theguardian.com