As Told To is a recurring segment on xoNecole where real women are given a platform to tell their stories in first-person narrative as told to a writer. If you have a story you'd like to share but aren't sure about how to put it into words, contact us at submissions@xonecole.com with the subject "As Told To" for your story to be featured.
This is Dana's story, as told to Charmin Michelle.
So, funny story: I was once pulled over on my way home from work for driving 55 mph in a 45. Three male cops surrounded me, two of them with their hands on their firearms, all three of them with flashlights shining in my face. I was surprisingly calm, even after I was asked four times if I had been drinking, twice if I was on drugs or narcotics, and once if I had any weapons in my vehicle—all before even being asked to hand over my driver's license.
I instead got out my pilot's license and was "about" to hand it to them and looked at it and said, "Oh, wait...that's my pilot's license…" which I then handed them my drivers license. Head honcho asks, "Oh, you're a pilot?!"
Checkmate.
I knew from that moment I had him in my pocket. "Yes sir, I am," I replied.
White men love that shit.
In typical fashion, we began to discuss some of the planes that I have flown and other general flight-related questions I'm always asked when people find out I fly planes.
Super long story short, I didn't get a ticket. Apparently, not only is white privilege a thing, but having a white male-dominated occupation or hobby is a privilege too.
The first time I had ever been on an airplane was a JetBlue flight from Orlando (MCO) to Newark. From the moment we took off, I knew I wanted a career in aviation. In middle school, a classmate and I would dream about flying, not knowing I would speak it into existence almost 14 years later.
My passion for flying was solidified as a kid on an overnight British Airways flight to Europe. I wrote a letter to each of the flight attendants and flight crew members, thanking them for the most amazing vacation that hadn't even really started yet. One of the flight attendants approached me a few minutes later and said in his silky British accent, "This note was very kind—would you like a tour of the airplane?"
It was a Boeing 747.
He took me to first class upstairs, shared the most delicious British chocolate, and introduced me to the rest of the crew, who were just as kind. Probably the closest thing to Heaven On Earth I had experienced yet. For years after, every time I got to a gate, I would always pick the brains of the pilots waiting for the airplane to arrive.
Down the line, I went on to graduate from Florida State with a degree in music. I got a boring post-graduate job where I would pass the Orlando Executive Airport every day on my way in. One day, instead of driving past, I drove into the parking lot. I walked in, went straight up to the woman at the counter and said, "I want to fly airplanes." She responded with, "OK, let's get you started."
Courtesy of Dana Rozier
When I told my parents I wanted to fly, they weren't surprised. They knew I always had a vast interest in many things, and they have always supported the life decisions I've made. I went from receiving a music degree, to paying my way through flight school. To be honest, I wasn't sure how it was going to happen; I wasn't sure if it was going to happen. To aim for something that was once so foreign to me, and because I hadn't known any pilots before deciding to pursue this profession, a little voice in my head told me that doing it wasn't likely.
Until I started doing it.
A year ago, on a flight from Orlando-Sanford International Airport to Deland, my flight instructor and I were practicing. And, after one of the landings in my favorite plane to fly (Cessna 172- P model), he had me perform what we call a "taxi" off the runway and park. We did the shut down and he hopped out of the airplane. I was about to get out as well, when he said, "No, stay in there. You're ready."
At the moment, I didn't have time to be nervous. I looked at the checklist, did my start up, and was off. My first solo flight. Those were some of the best landings I had toward the beginning of my journey. I was fearless. We had a mini celebration, and my instructor wrote on my backpack, documenting my first solo. One of the greatest days of my life.
I often reference my first solo when discussing what it takes to be a pilot because being one is directly synonymous to your focus, discipline, ability to multitask, self-trust, and pure fearlessness. Being thrown in the ringer suddenly had awakened the monster in me, and ever since, my sense of adventure intensified. I've swam with sharks and alligators, and I've parachuted on a whim. There have been times where I've even randomly hopped in a plane and flown from Orlando to Tallahassee (300 miles) just for pancakes.
Yet, through my adventures, I've become very mindful that stereotypes and assumptions plague black and brown women in this industry.
For some reason, when people see women and hear "flight school", they think "flight attendant", so supreme tenacity is required. My sister-queen and mentor once posted a photo of her flying a Boeing 737 with the caption: "Whenever you see a successful woman, look out for three men who are going out of their way to try to block her." (Yulia Tymoshenko) and this instantly became one of my favorite quotes; it has always stuck with me.
Because a pilot that looks like me is so taboo, being one means developing the skill of disregarding—and correcting—the microaggressions and naysayers that come with this industry. I'm routinely questioned, and surprised at how often people approach me with their questions and confusion—as if to wonder how I had the audacity to know how to fly planes. I've been asked, "Why are you here?" or "Wait, so you're going to be a flight attendant?" more times than necessary.
No. I'm flying the plane.
To decompress from the stresses, I surround myself with those who heal me. Any time spent with The Lord, my family, my dog, @OliviathePooch, and myself (which usually is in the car listening to audiobooks, or watching movies on Netflix before bed) are all priceless moments. Also moments of stillness fill my cup; the simple things. Sure, I work a lot, but I don't do anything that I don't enjoy—whether flying or reserving moments for self-care.
Courtesy of Dana Rozier
Today, thankfully, there has been a major shift in more POCs pursuing aviation, and this trend is so fulfilling. A majority of the pilots I'm acquainted with on social media are pilots of color, and almost all have influenced other POCs to start flying as well. Some of these wonderful women are ArabiaSolis, Flylady_Gizzy, AviatrixAddy, and so much more. The support is endless, it's a beautiful thing.
And I feel most beautiful existing in these moments. Contributing to something bigger than myself and proving myself (and others) wrong, going after something I want, and taking the initiative to get it.
Praise from strangers keeps me going as well. Acquaintances have told me on numerous occasions that they find the fact that I fly admirable, and how they've never seen a pilot of color—which, I, myself, have yet to have a black female pilot flying one of my commercial flights. But that's the point of it all, right? That's why we're here, that's why I'm here: to be or to get inspired, and to inspire, provoke and manifest change in our community.
Makes me glow.
Currently, less than 3% of American commercial pilots are African American, and even less than that are African American women.I am showing you in living color that we are, or are going to, progress in aviation. I'm committed to swaying these stats towards us.
And I'm bringing a few brown ladies with me.
For more of Dana, follow her on Instagram.
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Featured image courtesy of Dana Rozier
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THE ITGIRL MEMO
I. An ItGirl puts on for her city and masters her self-worth through purpose.
II. An ItGirl celebrates all the things that make her unique.
III. An ItGirl empowers others to become the best versions of themselves.
IV. An ItGirl leads by example, inspiring others through her actions and integrity.
V. An ItGirl paves the way for authenticity and diversity in all aspects of life.
VI. An ItGirl uses the power of her voice to advocate for positive change in the world.
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Today, that movement has turned into a wig uprising where Black women are able to experiment with colors, styles, and more without causing irreparable damage to our hair. It could even be said that we’ve arrived at a new level of acceptance: one that does not equate love of oneself to one’s willingness or lack thereof to wear her hair the way others deem acceptable. Not even other people who look like us.
However, as with Blackness itself, the issue of Black women’s hair is layered.
On the surface, it’s nothing more than a matter of personal preference. However, in a deeper dive, issues of texture, curl pattern, and of course, proximity to social acceptance, as well as other runoff streams from the waters of racism and patriarchy, rear their heads. The natural hair movement, though a wide-reaching and liberating community builder, also gave way to colorism and often upheld mainstream beauty standards.
Sometimes, favoring lighter-skinned influencers/creators with very specific hair textures, the white gaze leaked into our safe space and forced us to reckon with it. Accurate representations of natural hair in various states of being—undefined curls, kinks, and unlaid edges—are still absent from brand marketing. Protective styles, though intended to provide breaks from styling for our sensitive hair, have become a mask to help our hair be more palatable. A figurative straddle of the fence in order to appease the comfort of others in the face of our hair’s power.
And then there’s the issue of length.
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As a woman who has spent much of the last decade voluntarily wearing her hair in many variations of short hairstyles, from a pixie cut to a curly fro and a sleek bob, what I’ve gleaned throughout the years is that there is a glaring difference between how I am treated when wearing my hair short than when I opt for weaves, extensions or even grow it out slightly longer than my chin.
The differential treatment comes from women and men alike and spans professional and personal settings, including friends, coworkers, and industry peers.
What has become abundantly clear is that long hair is often conflated with beauty, softness, and any number of other words we relate to femininity in a way that short hair is not. That perceived marker of the essence of womanhood shows up in how I am received, communicated with, and complimented.
Even more so than texture, length has a way of deciding who among us is deserving of our attention, affection, and adoration. Whether naturally grown or proudly bought, the commentary around someone’s look or image greatly shifts when “inches” are present.
When it comes to long hair, we really, really do care.
In an effort to understand whether I had simply been misinterpreting the energy around my hair, I decided to take my findings to social media. I began with two side-by-side photos of myself. In both pictures, my hair is straightened; however, in one, I am wearing my signature pixie cut, and in the other, I am wearing extensions.
I posited that treatment based on hair length is a real thing, and what followed was confirmation that I was not alone in my feelings. “Long hair, like light skin, button noses, and being thin are all forms of social capital,” one user commented. “Some Black women enforce the status quo too, why wouldn’t we?”
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This also brought to mind the many times celebrity women (like most recently Beyoncé's Cécred hair tutorial) have done big reveals of their own natural tresses in an attempt to silence any doubt that Black women are able to grow their hair beyond a certain length. Of course, we all know that to be true, so why do we still feel the need to prove it so?
The responses continued to pour in from women of all skin tones, who felt that hair length played a role in people’s treatment of them. “When I have short hair I always feel like people don’t treat me like a woman, they treat me like a kid,” another user commented. “When my hair is long I get a lot more respect for some reason.”
From revelations about feeling invisible to admitted shifts in their own perceived beauty, Black woman after Black woman poured out her experience as it relates to hair length. Though affirmed by their shared realities, knowing that reactions to something so trivial have become yet another hair battle for Black women to fight was disheartening. Though we continue to defy gravity and push the bounds of imagination and creativity by way of our strands, will it always be in response to the idea that we are, somehow, falling short?
Unlike more obvious instances of hair discrimination, the glorification of longer length is sneakier in its connection to Eurocentric beauty standards. Hair commercials, beauty ads, and even hip-hop music have long celebrated the idea of gloriously long tresses while holding onto the ignorant notion that it is inaccessible for Black women.
Even as we continue to fight to prove our hair professional, elegant, and worthy in its natural state to the world at large, we’ve also adopted harmful value markers of our own as a community. It’s evident in how we talk about who has the right to start a haircare line and which influencers we easily platform. It’s evident in the language we use to identify those with long hair versus short hair. And it’s painfully obvious in how we treat one another.
It makes me wonder if India.Arie’s brave rallying cry, almost two decades old in its existence, will ever actually hold true for us. Or will we just continue to invent new ways to uphold the harmful status quo?
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Feature image by Willie B. Thomas/ Getty Images
