The Dress that Changed Everything

by Alayah Byers (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Italy

Excitement filled my body as I boarded my first International flight. Thoughts of worry filled my mind, accompanied with anxiousness for me to embark on my new adventure. I settled into my seat, ready for the 13-hour flight ahead of me. As we drove from the airport through the city, my head hung out the window like a dog on a car ride. I was gleefully taking in the new town that I would call my home for the next six weeks. In the months leading up to my trip, friends and kind strangers have told me about their beautiful experiences within the city. When we finally arrived at our loft, we rushed inside and screamed like toddlers in amazement of the size and beauty of our new home. Two weeks had passed, and the city began to lose its shiny new toy effect on me, and I began to look at it as a regular city with flaws and problems. This two-week mark was very memorable to me because it changed the way I experienced the city for the duration of my stay. Two Saturdays after I arrived, I walked on the cobblestone streets like I had done every day since being there. My friends and I wanted to go shopping that beautiful summer afternoon. We walked into a boutique, and I saw the most beautiful maxi dress with detailed hand stitching. As I went to pick up the dress to get a closer look, the saleswoman ran across the store, snatched the dress out of my hand, and yelled: "No, not for you!" Her words paralyzed me; for a few seconds, I felt unable to move, speak, or process what had happened. My friends stood there, perplexed on what they should do. As I left the store, my head bowed as though I was trying to hide from the shame that I felt coursing through my body. We decided to continue our day as if nothing was wrong, but my vision of the city was permanently skewed. The ancient architecture, timeless art, and aroma of freshly baked bread were attributes that made me happy, and I was numb to the joy they had all once brought me. I began to notice that in most of the spaces that I occupied, I was the only one who looked like me. The people on the corners selling knick-knacks off of cardboard boxes, who appeared to be homeless, were the only places I saw people with my shared physical characteristics. When I got back to my apartment, I went to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. I analyzed my wide nose and full lips covered in mahogany skin with coils on top of my head. I rubbed my hands on my dress, searching for imperfections. Why would she treat me so horribly? I thought to myself. She viewed me no better than the knick-knack seller on the corner. The people who resembled me needed help, whether it was attaining the essentials to live, or help with adjusting in their new lives in a foreign land. It dawned on me that I was not living in a utopic home away from home. I was living in a real country with real problems in addition to its amazing historical attributes. White supremacy has not only plagued the United States; it is everywhere. I began to volunteer at a refugee welcome camp and a homeless shelter in the city. I refused to let the plague of racism interfere with the life-changing experiences I could have while living in Florence, Italy.