I was born with a skin-tone that falls somewhere between “fresh milk” and “blank paper.” I’ve heard every “where are the Seven Dwarves?” and “Ah! You’re blinding me!” joke in existence, replacing my joyful anticipation of summer with an ominous dread. As girls with non-glow-in-the-dark skin flounce down the street in their shorts and minis, my legs have been relegated to hot, dark jeans.

In years past, in order to reach the deep, savage “normal-people” color I have so longed for, I have resorted to the religious application of self-tanners, which, while making me darker, have also made me smellier. And we all know nothing is more appealing to a man than a girl who smells like chemicals and has weird, orange-streaked sheets. And to top it all off, after my daily self-tanning regimen, there would almost inevitably come the cruel mockery of the phrase “you’re so light!”

Sigh. Read More »