COURTESY OF FORBES

A new Forbes profile of the lip kit-slinging Kylie Jenner has named the 20-year-old a "self-made" multi-millionaire. In fact, says Forbes, she’s set to become the youngest "self-made" billionaire in history. And Kylie deserves some credit for that: she’s capitalized on a trend, a social media-led moment, and put her name on the right products. Kylie Cosmetics is nearly unmatched in the scale of its success.

But Kylie is not "self-made," and Forbes should have known better than that cover line. By definition, self-made implies success in life unaided. The dictionary says so! She is an inheritor of generational wealth and all the privileges that affords. While the Kardashian-Jenners were certainly not the cultural icons they are today in 1997, when Kylie was born, Keeping Up With The Kardashians premiered less than a decade letter (9-year-old Kylie pole-dances in the premiere episode, remember?). At 20, she's been famous for longer than she wasn't — in a culture that increasingly lionizes the famous. And momager Kris Jenner has always been there for Kylie (and her siblings), pulling strings both on-camera and behind-the-scenes.

If you’re going to spin Kylie’s narrative into a rags to riches tale, then where are the rags?

It’s naïve, and lazy, to think a white woman born into fame and the upper classes — a woman with a famous last name, brand cache, a seemingly infinite amount of investment capital to play with, safety nets, and access to a tapestry of resources — is a model for the "self-made" success story that, to many, represents the American Dream.

If you’re going to spin Kylie’s narrative into a rags to riches tale, then I ask: where are the rags? Let me tell you who ought to be the subject of a Dickensian narrative: me, you, us — black women.

Studies show that it is increasingly difficult for Americans to become socially mobile. Since the 1980s, it is more likely that if you start in one class, no matter how educated, you will stay in that class. And it is increasingly the case that only those who start wealthy are able to increase that wealth. Yes, there are exceptions, but we can’t all hold out for miracles — for the rest of us, there is just hard work, more hard work, some luck, and unwavering hope that often borders on self-delusion.

And black women are paid even less than white women's $.77 to the dollar of every cis white male, at $.64; Latinx women even less than that, at $.54. In 2013, the wealth of the average white family was $116,000, while the average Latino family’s was $2000, and the average black family’s was $1,700. Black women, meanwhile, are the most educated group in America and the fastest growing group of entrepreneurs.

I am an Afrolatinx millennial woman. I am not rich. I will probably never own property. Like most black and Latino families in the United States, I will likely leave little to nothing behind for future generations. But I’ve achieved something else, something nearly impossible: I moved from poverty to the middle class. I did this all by myself. I am self-made.

Emerald Pellot Courtesy of Emerald Pellot

When you are poor the stakes are high. One missing paycheck sets off a chain of setbacks and failures: there’s no food, the rent is late, the lights are cut, the phone is turned off. My father, an immigrant from the Dominican Republic, has been a security guard for 30 years in the same building; my mother a mentally-ill, second generation Puerto Rican, collects disability. They raised me and my brother in a one-bedroom apartment in The Bronx.

I went to schools so overcrowded that students huddled around the teacher’s table because there weren’t enough desks in the classroom. There were not enough books either. I had a teacher who slept during class; a third of my middle school’s teachers were entirely uncertified. I was viciously bullied for wearing hand-me-downs and dirty clothes.

I made the choice to fight for my life, and I became exceptional because it was the only way.

But having ambition at an early age meant I took a risk, the biggest risk any little black girl can take. I bet on myself instead of my circumstances. I made the choice to fight for my life, and I became exceptional because it was the only way. I became a voracious reader. I won a Random House writing scholarship in high school. I joined the debate team, the only extracurricular activity offered, and won 1st Place Speaker that year. The first person in my family to go to college, I was accepted at NYU (and incurred $90,000 in debt). I started my own business, GRL TRBL, selling intersectional feminist merchandise. I knew I wanted to be a writer, so I wrote myself into a better story, literally and figuratively.

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Being self-made is sitting in front of your laptop at 17 years old, filling out a FAFSA form alone because your parents cannot. It is countless hours of studying and diligence because access to tutors or college essay writers is not an option. It is knowing that you have to aim for the most prestigious schools, even though you won’t be able to pay for them, because having that name on your resume is what might get your foot in the door in spite of your race. Might get you in the door.



Being self-made is simultaneously going to school full-time, interning full-time, and working part-time, while your classmates go out drinking. It is trying to get a job on your merits alone — not who you know, because you know no one.



Being self-made is spending countless hours reading financial blogs because you don't know what an investment portfolio is, certainly can’t afford a financial adviser, and have to figure it out on your own. It's becoming your own teacher, adviser, and mentor because these luxuries are not available otherwise.



Being self-made is a life where your parents love you, and your family supports you, but they cannot help you, because what you’re doing is unfathomable to them.



Today I make more money than my parents ever will. I make enough money to be a card-carrying member of the middle class. I make enough money to pay my student loans on time. To go to foreign countries. To eat out at my convenience. To Kylie, I’m sure these are basic, ordinary pleasures. To me, they feel extraordinary. And for many Americans they are still impossible.

Kylie Jenner is American privilege. I am the American dream.

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