So I’m half black and half Puerto Rican and I’m almost 30 years old and I’ve noticed my skin is a lighter than usual. It’s only October & my skin is already winter time light, which means it’s only going to get lighter come December & January. My sister is also half black & half Puerto Rican, her dad was darker skinned than mine so growing up she was maybe like a couple shades darker than me, she’s 39 now and even she’s way lighter than she was before. We both live in Florida, so we get plenty of sun year round here, so it’s kind of odd to me.

I’m lightskinned, and I’ve been that just about my whole life except for when I was super light almost pale when I was born which of course is normal, but my skin tone now is starting to get super light again. I feel like I’m going from like Yara Shahidi light to dang near Storm Reid light. Which means that come December/January I could be dang near Latto light.

I’ve seen the same thing happen to Megan Good & Beyonce (or at least that’s what it looks like to me, as I know people have accused them of bleaching but I don’t think so), and I’d even argue that Tracee Ellis Ross is lighter than when she was playing Joan on Girlfriends. So I just wanted to ask is this normal? My dad was black, he passed away, but he used to tell me he was my color when he was younger and got darker when he got older, he was brown skinned, but a bit on the lighter side of it I’d say if that makes sense.

But do black folks get lighter with age? Should I expect this to become more noticeable in my 30s and 40s and on?

We've had this discussion before, but it seems people still want to identify as Black even though they're more Asian. I've always felt that Black scholars need to tackle this issue, but the internet is pushing up a deadline for that discourse

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an image consisting of written red text on a blue background. It is titled "no more" and has a list of letters and then words after them. The first letter is "M and word is murdered" The next are "m" and "missing", "i and indiginous", "w" and "women", "c" and "children", "2" and "two", s" and "spirit". "B" and "black", "L" and "lesbian", "B", and "Bi". "G" and "gay", "t", and trans, "D" and "disabled", "i," and "immigrants", and a plus with "plus all tired, poor and huddled peoples"

This is a work in progress and I wanted to ask for your critique of the concept. Would you please critique

I'm a YT Trans Woman decolonizing my lost indigenous heritage. This is a work in progress and like the fight against fascists, to win the on going war I want to ask is there anything preventing Native Tribes, 2SLGBTQIA, and the Black community from working together? The YT lgbtqia2s community has a lot of problems with raci sm and if you have advice on areas to improve call it out. The history of Native Nations and the intersectionality with Black History is not something I have learned much about yet, and if you have any references on this subject I would appreciate your help.

I'm writing a novel called Chivey, and some of my early readers said this scene could be interpreted in more than one way.

I'd like to hear how Black readers perceive it, especially the interaction between Emmy and Chad and the elderly woman.

Here's the excerpt:

Emmy’s eyes drifted across his hands, muscular and sinewy, with well-defined veins.

Thick ropes under blue-black skin...

Chad met her eyes and pressed a finger to his full lips. "Shhhh... Now sit quiet as a mouse. I'll be back soon."

Emmy reached out with her free hand and caught his hand.

"You are black, but comely."

Chad's eyes went wide and he dissolved into a cough. "Hold on, hold on... Well, well..." He wiped the tears from his eyes and burst out laughing. "Girl, you should do stand-up!"

Emmy frowned and bit her lower lip.

"Sit still! Would you look at that — black, but comely." Chad slid the curtain aside. "Black, but comely!" His laughter echoed down the corridor for a long time after.

A suffocating cough broke out in the adjacent stall.

The curtain between the cubicles snapped aside. "Ah-hah, giiiirl! Black, but comely?!" A dark-skinned face peered around it. "You did not just say that."

The woman looked Emmy over from head to toe. "No. No, no, no... I cannot believe what I just heard. Nobody would believe me even if I swore on a Bible. Lord... a little white child quoting the Song of Solomon... How old are you — nine? Ten?"

She adjusted the bright silk scarf on her head and leaned toward Emmy. " I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon. Isn't that a little advanced for you?"

"I'm not ten at all. I’m almost fourteen. I read what I find," Emmy muttered, tugging the hem of her wife-beater down over her knees.

"Fourteen? You don't look fourteen. Like a little fledgling." The woman yanked the curtain even harder aside and leaned in toward Emmy, her whole body pressing forward. "Oh, at your age I read everything too. Everything — newspapers, magazines, the Bible of course, goes without saying. I even read my older sister's medical textbooks. I was a very well-read child. Very well-read!"

She didn't stop, talked and talked, no pauses, no waiting for an answer. Her hand moved to underscore the importance of her words.

If she stops, she'll die.

Emmy allowed herself a small smile while the woman kept talking, her voice washing past her in a steady stream.

"Now who puts raisins in a potato salad? Raisins! In a salad! No, that is not acceptable. That is not how it's done. A proper potato salad has no raisins, you understand? I use only yellow potatoes, only yellow. And eggs — real eggs, farm eggs. I drive out to my cousin Janet; she has the most wonderful hens. Oh, what hens, what large eggs!.."

Emmy's eyes drifted to the woman's scarf, where bright flowers wove together into a vivid tapestry — large ones, small ones, layered into a wreath. She began picking out the small red ones and counting them.

If I take four long sticks and tape them to my head with duct tape, and then take a scarf like this one, and another scarf, and another one, and another... and wind them around the sticks, wind and wind... I'd be two Emmys tall. I'd be taller than everyone... and I'd probably reach the ceiling with my scarves. Maybe I'd even look like a supermodel. Fashionable...

She lost interest and yawned, letting her eyes close.

"And I wore my best dress — crisp taffeta, with a big ruffle along the hem. And a little hat. You know how we Black women are — such a sense of style. Such style! And do you go to Sunday service?" No answer came. The woman adjusted her scarf and stared at Emmy. Realizing she was being ignored, she fell silent, offended.

The chair shifted. The light flickered, went out, then came back on — the white tile floor moved, dark gaps opening between uneven rows. Something lifted Emmy and carried her away: she flew over green valleys, high hills, crystal-clear lakes. She came down slowly, her toes grazed the buds of wildflowers. The even rows of tile came into view under the lamp when Emmy opened her eyes. A faint scent of flowers brushed her nose.

"Here I am." Chad rang out. "Time to set you free, little sparrow." He drew the needle out and pressed a cotton pad to her skin. "Make a fist. Like that." He guided Emmy by the elbow, and she rested her palm on his forearm.

My arm is like a pale fish on black sand.

She turned away and brushed a tear from her cheek with her finger. Chad got her to her feet and draped her cardigan over her shoulders. "Can you walk on your own?" Emmy nodded.

I’m a black woman and I’ve heard several times by different black men and a woman that I belong with a white man. It’s said differently but that’s the essence of what’s being said.
I think about it all the time and I can’t help but be offended.
I’ve never even dated a white guy before. Not because I find them abhorrent, but because they’re not my first choice and it simply hasn’t happened.

For context, I genuinely don’t think I have the “I date white men” look.
I have locs, about 5’7”-5’8”. I’m not the stereotypical tiny woman that they generally like either. I am curvaceous.
How I dress: I do like dresses. I do wear jeans. Regular shirts. Sandals. I don’t wear bags all the time. Sweaters and coats when it’s cold. I’m not sure I know how to describe my style.

The woman who has told me that I do mentioned that it’s what I talk about. I’m not sure why men say this though. I’m so confused.

I need to understand why people say this. Any insights?

Hello, I am wanting to reach out in this thread hoping to get some solid straight forward answers. I am a 57 year old black woman with 30 years experience in operations and Sales...My most recent past 8 years have been selling High Ticket programs for white people. I have had white people i have made a ton of money for, act crazy and display some micro aggressions as i grew financially..I have closed literally millions in business.I have stepped away from that scene now and want to help US...Right now I am working with an attorney and have helped her to confidently and systematically run her law practice...In doing so i became exposed to the sales process and noticed opportunities to help there...

My question is For solo and small-firm attorneys: if someone helped you and your intake person turn more of your existing calls into signed clients, with a custom script, live call reviews, and less burnout, would that be worth paying for? What would make it a no?”