Once Upon A Time... A Dragon Got Burned By His Own Flames

A Black Eyed Review of Fairytales

Creative Soul Photography. Cinderella

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Here’s an audio reading of this Black Eyed Fairytale .

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I never believed in fairytales involving princesses or evil stepmothers, dragons or charming princes, dreamy castles perched on the tops of hills or cozy cottages set at the edge of magical forests. 

I believed in fairytales involving Danny Romalotti and Cricket Blair in the happening town of Genoa City, Wisconsin.

I believed in Frisco Jones and Felicia Cummings in Port Charles, New York.

I believed in Ridge Forrester and Brooke Logan in Los Angeles, California.

And I most definitely believed, with all my heart, in Dylan McKay and Kelly Taylor who were luxuriously nestled in Beverly Hills –  just a few miles away from the Bold and the Beautiful love triangle of Ridge and Brooke and Taylor. 

(I absolutely did *not* believe in Dylan McKay and Brenda Walsh.)

I believed. I believed. I believed. 

I believed so much so that after particularly stirring episodes of these fantasy fairytales, I would often reenact a scene, pretending to be a blonde vixen like Kelly, or a blonde girl-next-door like Cricket, or a blonde femme fatale like Brooke. But as a Black girl in desperate need of representation in the 80s, the Young and the Restless show runners wanted me to want to be just like Drucilla Winters – who was indeed Black and certainly gorgeous with a head of ringlet curls. She was their sassy ballerina from the hood, side character. But who wants to be a side act like Drucilla when you can be a Brooke or a Cricket? I didn’t want to be her sister Olivia who, at the time, was the most gorgeous dark-skinned Black woman I’d ever seen. But, Olivia was boring. Her story arc was convoluted. She gave more of a supportive-best-friend aura than a bad-bitch-main-character sizzle.

Neither of these characters were like any Black women I knew. They certainly weren’t the kind of Black women other Black girls dreamed of becoming – at least none of my Black cousins or friends. And neither of these ho-hum, obviously DEI, White-written characters could hold a candle to Dynasty’s Dominique Deveraux. All of my friends and cousins wanted to be like Dominique Deveraux dripping in diamonds, bitch-slapping overly privileged White women, and stealing their boyfriends and husbands. Drucilla and Olivia would never have dared – at least not maliciously. Side characters don’t do a whole lot of anything. Nothing really happens to them that anyone envies. The writers of those shows saved all the good stuff for the likes of bad bitches like the Brookes or the Crickets or the Kellys – not the Brendas or the Donnas, and definitely not the Drucillas or the Olivias.

It wasn’t Brooke’s blonde hair or Cricket’s blue eyes or Kelly’s Tinkerbell body I envied. I wasn’t interested in their Whiteness. I knew better than to believe in it. None of my White friends looked anything like any of the soap stars I saw on TV (though I think my White friends believed they did).

I just wanted to be the center of the story, just like them. I wanted to be desired, hated, loved, cherished, loathed, revered, vilified, adored, scorned, worshipped, envied. I wanted to be messy and have that messiness affect a whole dang cast of characters. I wanted to be the star of the story. I wanted to be the chosen one.

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Creative Soul Photography. Rapunzel

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There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be the hero of your own story. There’s nothing at all wrong with wanting an adventurous, complicated, audacious, surprising, wow-oh-wow life. Yes, Tolkien’s “it’s no bad thing to celebrate a simple life,” is charming, but it’s also privileged. If all the storybook princes and princesses, kings and queens, and even mermaids and court jesters (not to mention elves, dwarves, wizards and hobbits) all look ethnically and racially just like you, then it’s easy to celebrate a simple life while vicariously living a more daring one in stories.

And when you’re White and privileged with an endless library of stories made just for you, it’s hard to suddenly find yourself the basic and boring sidelined story of a soap drama. 

Y’all, Donald Trump doesn’t want to be the Brandon of his story. He wants to be the Dylan. 

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CreativeSoul Photography. Princess Onyx

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Real talk: I know exactly what Trump meant when he told a roomful of Black journalists that he didn’t know VP Kamala Harris was Black. 

ABC journalist Rachel Scott (for whom I will forever feel nothing but love and admiration) asked a stupendous (in my opinion) and specific question, and Trump gave a messy, soul-sick, red-white-and-blue American answer. Let’s all take a breath and re-examine: 

SCOTT: Some of your own supporters, including Republicans on Capitol Hill, have labeled Vice President Kamala Harris, who is the first Black and Asian American woman to serve as vice president and be on a major party ticket as a DEI hire. Is that acceptable language to you and will you tell those Republicans and those supporters to stop it? 

TRUMP: How do you define DEI? Go ahead… how do you define it?

SCOTT: Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion? 

TRUMP: Is that what your definition… give me a definition then…

SCOTT: Sir I’m asking you a question… a direct question…

TRUMP: You’re not. You have to define it for me… define it for me if you would.

SCOTT: I just defined it, sir. Do you believe that Vice President Kamala Harris is only on the ticket because she is a Black woman? 

TRUMP: Well, I can say, no. I think it may be a little bit different. So, I’ve known her a long time indirectly, not directly very much, and she was always of Indian heritage… I didn’t know she was Black until a number of years ago when she happened to turn Black and now she wants to be known as Black. So, I don’t know, is she Indian or is she Black? I respect either one but she obviously doesn’t because she was Indian all the way and then all of a sudden she made a turn and she went… she became a Black person… and I think somebody should look into that too…

The audience guffawed and laughed and gasped, but Trump was unflappable. Make no mistake, the man had thought hard about Harris’ racial identity long before he’d been asked the question. He didn’t trip up on his words. He didn’t seem embarrassed. He said, “She became a Black person… and I think somebody should look into that too…” 

But look into what?!? What about Kamala’s race does Trump want someone to look into? 

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Creative Soul Photography. The Princess and The Frog

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Like me, Trump doesn’t believe in stories of princesses being saved by true love’s kiss. But unlike me, he believes in stories where a bartender rapes a girl and she falls in love with him, marries him, and the whole world tunes in for the wedding. That’s an actual General Hospital storyline. Luke rapes Laura and she marries him, and their wedding was one of the most watched events in soap opera history with over 30 million viewers. Yall, my whole family was part of that viewership. We cried tears of joy for their union! Liz Taylor even made a guest appearance! It was a beloved storyline in Trump’s “Lifestyles-of-the-Rich-and-Famous” 80s.

Trump, who loves a guest appearance on TV, of course prefers these kind of patriarchal, misogynist fairytales. When he says, “Make America Great Again,” he just might mean, “Bring back the 80s when rapists aren’t just forgiven but venerated and rewarded.” 

I don’t think Trump is questioning Kamala’s racial identity. I think he’s questioning its validity and star quality. I think he’s confused by the suddenness of Drucilla having the better storyline and everyone else’s story depending on the magnetism of hers. He can’t believe Blackness is desirable. To him, as with many White men, Blackness is camp. It’s something to imitate and play to for fun. This sudden turn of events is like the sun suddenly orbiting the moon. He doesn’t understand the shadows this new phenomena has cast upon his poll numbers. 

In all the stories he’s ever heard, men like him are the ones who are supposed to be desired, hated, loved, cherished, loathed, revered, vilified, adored, scorned, worshipped, envied. He’s the star – the White patriarchal archetype. It’s the only story that makes sense to him. It’s the only happily ever after he’ll ever accept. Kamala can’t ride in on a white horse! She’s meant to be the Vice President, the sassy best friend, the no-nonsense personal assistant, the backup singer, the magical negro who soothes his White fragility. She’s nothing like the Whitewashed, supremacy-camouflaged Black caricatures he’s used to dealing with (looking at you Tim Scott, Kanye West, Bryon Donalds, Ben Carson and Candace Owens). 

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Creative Soul. Snow White

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I don’t think Trump’s faking his confusion. Remember what he said: “I didn’t know she was Black until a number of years ago when she happened to turn Black and now she wants to be known as Black.”

I think what he really meant to say was: “I didn’t know that her Blackness mattered. I didn’t know her Blackness could be an advantage without releasing a line of gold sneakers or having tee-shirts printed with your mugshot. I didn’t know there were so many Black people who are the heroes of our stories. I was too focused on Taylor Swift, so I didn’t see Kamala coming.” 

And y’all, this is my favorite fairytale: Once upon a time, a dragon got burned by his own flames. THE END.

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