By Sabine Joseph

Yes, it’s that serious.

The premier of Black Panther in my little Town of Miami Lakes was as glamorous as the one for Hollywood’s hottest stars and most acclaimed critics. Excited viewers who arrived early had to be kept outside behind velvet rope to prevent the theater from becoming an overcrowded fire hazard. All around, people were draped in brilliantly vibrant Dashikis. I was so proud.

I am seventeen years old and Black Panther is the first movie with a predominantly black cast that doesn’t revolve around slavery, racism, or Civil Rights that I can recall seeing.

Think about that for a moment.

Media is influential. The things we watch and read shape our personalities and perception of the world from as early as childhood to well into our golden years. Seventeen years of gazing upon the big screen and people of my color have existed almost exclusively as slaves, defiant protesters, boys in the hood, or the funny token black friend included for the illusion of diversity.

This is not to say that there has never been a big screen movie outside of these parameters, but these eyes have seldom seen them.

That’s why Black Panther is so important to me.

Not only is it a great film as a whole, it’s a great film that celebrates my ancestors’ culture and puts people who look like me in the spotlight. That fact is important; representation is important.

Seeing such amazing black women on the screen satisfied the part of me that felt like I didn’t entirely relate to the girls I saw in movies and on TV.

Brilliant, funny, innovative, and fierce—Shuri (Letitia Wright) immediately became everyone’s new favorite Disney princess. As soon as she was on screen, she captivated my attention. She had space buns and a baseball tee, she was sassy and smart, and I could already envision her meeting Tony Stark and giving him a run for his money.

As the story progressed, we saw her as a doctor, a princess, and a warrior. It was so refreshing to see her portrayed as a three-dimensional character, and someone who was so much more than just T’Challa’s sister.

Then there’s Nakia (Lupita Nyong’o). There’s nothing not to love about her. In her first few seconds of screen time, she showed her aptitude as a spy by recovering the mission that T’Challa compromised. She could easily have been queen, but she felt her skills would be of better use if she weren’t sitting on a throne, and instead managed to help people in a way that Wakanda wasn’t.

It was Nakia that made me realize the true impact this movie had on me. When the camera did a close up on Nyong’o, her skin glistened and I was in awe of her beauty—the rich darkness of her skin, the skin that she and I share. That shot felt like a recognition on Hollywood’s part that beauty doesn’t only come in one shade. It’s not only in people with blue eyes and blonde hair; it’s in my people too.

Not only did the casting of the movie solidify the truth of black being beautiful, but the Dora Milaje, specifically Okoye (Danai Gurira), showed that femininity is not necessary to make a woman beautiful. I loved the fact that Okoye didn’t like the wig that was part of her disguise (and that she beat someone with it, presumably out of spite). Hair is so important to black women, and it seems that someone always has an opinion on what we do with it. Our natural hair is “unprofessional,” but if we wear a weave or relax it we’re “trying to conform to western standards of beauty.”

Okoye’s head was shaved, and she didn’t care what anyone thought about it. In fact, she probably didn’t want the wig because being shaved was as important to the Dora Milaje (they have head tattoos marking them members of the elite group of women warriors) as hair is to American black women.

The pride she takes in being a soldier is another thing to love about Okoye. Female soldiers are rarely in combat movies, but Black Panther had a whole force of them who were entrusted with guarding the palace and the royal family. Okoye’s dedication showed that not all women want to settle down to be perfect wives and mothers.

She swore loyalty to the throne and never broke her vow. Her sense of duty was so strong that she abandoned people she loved to serve her purpose. Okoye is a soldier first and everything else comes after. This is a reality for some women that is often only half portrayed; in the end, the woman who was always so focused on her work falls for her male coworker or dreams of having kids, which isn’t the case for every woman.

Superheroes come about in the darkest times. For black Americans, these are dark times. It seems like after the election, the racists have come out of the shadows and are blatantly spewing their hate in the light of day. We are being gunned down and incarcerated at a ridiculous rate, and they try to silence us when we speak up about it. We’ve stayed strong, and now Black Panther is a symbol that amplifies that strength.

Black Panther gave us the saying “Wakanda forever.” We cross our arms over our chests as we say it, a sign that means we’re holding our people and our culture close to our hearts. Black Panther helped us gather as a community; it makes this seventeen-year-old, the generations before her, and hopefully the generations after her feel loved, appreciated, and invincible.