My Story

Some people walk into a room and belong before they even speak. Others walk in and are already a problem to be solved. I was 17 when I learned which one I was.

In a ballet studio, after years of training, I overheard an artistic director say, "She’s really good, but her complexion is too distracting." It was like he was just commenting on the weather.

I was old enough to understand what he meant, but too young to unhear it. That moment didn’t just change how I saw ballet. It changed how I saw power. Who gets to have it. Who gets to make the rules. Who gets left out. Once you see that pattern, you can’t unsee it.

We dress it up in different names—“aesthetic” in ballet, “culture fit” in boardrooms, “qualifications” in hiring—but the function is the same. These are not measures of excellence—just measures of who gets to hold the pen.

Keeping people out doesn’t make something great. It just makes it smaller.

When I love something, I don’t protect its exclusivity—I fight for its expansion. I fight for it to be bigger, better, stronger than it was ever allowed to be.

That’s not charity. That’s how excellence works.