my words

Living in Los Angeles for the first five years of my life marked some of the most elating memories of my childhood that I continue to reflect on today as a twenty-one-year-old. When my parents made the decision to uproot my family to Texas, I felt that a fragment of myself was prematurely left with those memories in Los Angeles. The longing to return home, however, followed me throughout all of my years from grade school to college as did the contents of my birth certificate, as I ensured that everyone recollected that, “Chloe’s not really from Texas.”

Growing up in a predominantly White suburb in Fort Worth, Texas felt like a nearly impossible task as a Black girl. I found myself counting down the days until I could finally check off the box signifying completion and the ability to move far away and truly discover myself outside of the bounds of bigoted lenses, at last. I grew tired of the unwarranted, “Your hair looks better straight” and, “You’re pretty for a Black girl,” commentaries that resulted in me internalizing thoughts about my identity that stunted my ability to prosper. The lack of Black kids in my area as well as the sheer fact that I could not turn on my TV and see people that I resembled instilled in me that I was alone in my experiences. I was not beautiful enough. I was not worthy. However, being in a new environment and the college relationships I have built have helped me learn about as well as learn how to love my culture.

My love and deep-rooted passion for film began when I was a young child. At the age of four, performing in an off-broadway production called Norman’s Ark was the genesis of my ardor. As I aged, I consistently enrolled in theater classes and performed in school plays until I came to the realization that my calling was behind the scenes. During the Summer of 2020, I began teaching myself the art of screenplays. From taking Aaron Sorkin’s online masterclasses, to watching YouTube videos explaining what Sluglines were, I progressed and fell in love with screenwriting. My dad displayed shock as he greeted me while preparing for work at wee hours of the morning as I refrained from sleeping to write. From my fascination with screenwriting, my decision to be a film major, and my desire to diversify the industry was born.

Being attentive to the kind of representation that Black people were allowed infuriated me, as I would constantly see modern-day enactions of caricatures and, “comedic relief best friends” as opposed to dignified main characters with complex stories. That discovery then segued into that of the “trauma story” and the perpetuation of the idea that Black people’s stories are only worth being told if they are rooted in trauma. I then noticed that most of these stories were not even written by Black people, but instead by White men, who also seemingly dominated the film industry. Enough was enough, but I knew that in order to get my foot inside of the industry door, I would need to approach it with knowledge. Upon my acceptance to Emory, I could not wait to take Dr. David Resha’s Film 101 course to expand my scopes. In his class, we screened a Spike Lee film entitled, Do the Right Thing. The subject matter of the film and the way in which it was produced put various things regarding Black directing styles and the portrayal of Black characters into perspective.

During my sophomore year of college, I decided to enroll in a Media Psychology lecture with Dr. Scott Garner to educate myself further on the technicalities and marketing aspect of the industry. Read in Garner’s course, an article by Albert Bandura entitled, “Influence of models' reinforcement contingencies on the acquisition of imitative responses,” delves into the topic of “self-efficacy,” which is essentially the belief in one’s capacity to succeed at tasks and believing in oneself to have the capacity to handle said tasks (Bandura, 1965). Relating to representation in media, if there is an absence of people that resemble Black viewers, especially young, impressionable minds, there will be a link to those viewers feeling incapable of being represented or unworthy to pursue the specific field.

Diversity, both on and off screen, fosters ways for media and entertainment to promote healthy societal perceptions of underrepresented demographics as well as rid the industry of the already existing stigmas and harmful stereotypes perpetuated in film. This not only aids Black people by supporting them economically and bridging the gap between White media and Black media, but also inspires more generations of writers, directors, actors and production crews from diverse backgrounds to pursue their dreams that once were intangible.

The release of Ryan Coogler’s Black Panther in 2018, a top ten-grossing Marvel film placed at number six, marked a new groundbreaking way to “do” representation, paving the way for Black filmmakers and aspiring writers to empower with their work. Similarly, the viral global reactions to the release of the first teaser trailer of the live-action film, The Little Mermaid, starring Halle Bailey as Ariel were overwhelmingly positive from Black and brown viewers. They were long-awaited exhales from Black parents who finally had more than solely Princess Tiana and King T’Challa to use as examples for their children to show them that they could and will be great. A reality that many were not afforded while growing up, this reminder was not and is not just for the children, as many adults, including myself, continue to be moved by these productions that act as mirrors into our lives. Mirrors into our beautiful, multifaceted lives, as opposed to our traumatic ones.