Growing up in Scottsdale, Arizona had always made Jasmine a little bit insecure. It’s pretty much the land of no black people. Moreover, it’s the land of wealthy Arizonans. Anyone who has money in the Southwest owns a nice property in the desert there—and there are all sorts of nice shopping districts, things to do and see. Fancy tailors, places to get dresses done, nightlife…
The whole works exists in Scottsdale, Arizona. Anyone who was anyone goes there if they wanted a slice of New York out in the heat.
Jasmine had always grown up around wealth. Her father managed a bank, plus her mother worked as a premier hairdresser. People from all over the world came to see her for her styles. Together, they appeared as a power couple and magazines, and booked interviews with people Jasmine saw on television. They even appeared together on news broadcasts, having their own opinions about this issue or that. Jasmine oftentimes felt her parents were stratospheric, but in a bad way.
They lived an extremely lofty lifestyle. One where neither really was aware of the pressures of other poorer countries. It was a hard thing to be aware of when both of them had also grown up privileged. Poverty was something exclusive to…well, anyone but them.
Not that Jasmine was complaining. By the time she was twenty, she had accepted her fate as a young rich black woman. Moreover, she was curvy, and had tons of sexual power. Men always lavished all sorts of praise over her. They loved a woman who could show up all of the others—especially those who thought they were better simply because of being conventionally beautiful. Not that there was anything wrong with being a conventionally beautiful woman. It’s just Jasmine faced a lot of discrimination for being curvy and bigger. So she had a sense of “making it” that other women might not have.
Eventually, after making it past her freshman, sophomore, and junior years, Jasmine was officially senior. The first semester was…trying, to say the least. She was still living at home, having her parents pay off every single one of her bills. She truly did not even need to go to college, simply going for a vanity degree. Her parents would hang it up on the wall, lavish her with praise, and tell her how smart she was for having graduated. Going to Arizona State Desert University pretty much ended up being a choice because of its renown for parties. Sure, that wasn’t exactly the reason why you’re supposed to go to school. But Jasmine was privileged, and she didn’t really understand much about her world.
She grew up so sheltered.
She barely even identified as a black woman.
Of course, she did face discrimination. Whenever she applied for jobs or internships, bosses and future employers always did a double take. “Is that your real name? Jasmine?”
And Jasmine would always nod furiously. “Yes, that’s my real name.”
And people would constantly tell her how “articulate” she was. How “well spoken” she was. Constantly giving her lip, as if she wasn’t an actual person. As if she had to have a handicap going through life.
What was worse was when people asked her if she made it into college simply because of certain government programs. They were just as competitive as any others, but nobody saw it that way.
Still, Jasmine, being shielded by her wealth, never faced many problems. Anything that came her way, well, she simply waved her arms, and charged it to the family credit card.
Her father’s bank was called Southwest Financial Resources, and mother’s hairdressing business was called Beautiful Hair For You LLC.. Everywhere she went, people pestered her about her family’s success. A part of her enjoyed it. The attention. The love of strangers. When she was younger, she definitely milked all up. Teachers and other classmates wanted to get to know her more simply because of her family name. And guys who dated her never broke up with her…she always had to be the one
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