I moved to America from Jamaica when I was just three, and my locs came with me. Even as a little girl, I felt the pressure around my hair. I remember being five and hearing adults say things like, “She’s so pretty. Why would you loc up her hair?” That stuck with me. I even heard it during summer trips back home to Jamaica. It felt like my hair was a problem, like I’d be prettier if it was straight or loose.

But my hair was never the problem. It was just being judged through the wrong lens.

Years later, one of my closest friends mother, photographer and makeup artist, offered to take my first modeling headshots. Seeing myself through her camera changed everything. I saw something different. Something beautiful. That same year, my mom took me to a kids’ casting at Wilhelmina Models, and they actually picked me. But my mom, being smart and protective, said I needed more time before jumping into that world. She was probably right.

Fast forward to college. I went back to Wilhelmina thinking, okay, now I’m ready. They were still interested. But this time, the woman I met with, who was a Black woman, told me, “You’ll go further if you cut your locs and start fresh.”

That threw me. I didn’t expect that from her. It reminded me that sometimes even people who look like us still carry those same ideas about what beauty should be.

But it’s okay. I learned a lot from that experience, and I never blamed her. She was just doing her job the way she had been taught to. I actually thank her sometimes in my mind because she helped me see my own potential. That moment pushed me to choose myself and define beauty on my own terms.