Kyla Pratt Represented Black Girls Through Roles I Still Think About Today
I’m not sure if it’s all the reboots in development or nostalgia culture in general, but lately I’ve been on a Kyla Pratt kick, revisiting some of the actor’s TV shows that shaped my adolescence. She was a millennial presence whose work has quietly permeated pop culture for 25 years, and two of my favorite Prat shows are set to be rebooted soon: The Proud Family, a classic Disney Channel cartoon that Disney+ will revive as The Proud Family: Louder and Prouder, and One on One, which arrives on Netflix in full on October 15.
Pratt’s early work, as both an animated character and onscreen teenager, was all about authentically showing a Black girl’s navigation through life and challenging the traditional, white family structures we’d been accustomed to seeing on TV for decades.
They aren’t the only parts Kyla Pratt played that mirrored her life as a growing millennial (and mine). She emerged in the early ’90s as a child star, making appearances on shows like Living Single, Family Matters, Friends, and Sister Sister, always playing outspoken characters—she was never cast as the meek Black girl in the shadows. As a Black girl around the same age as Pratt, I always felt as if she was someone I knew; she nailed the nuances of who I actually was at the time.
Pratt’s roles transcended TV and included costarring movie roles, like Love and Basketball, Eddie Murphy’s Dr. Dolittle series—the third of which completely centered on her character—and the 2004 Fat Albert remake. Each character was incredible representation, showing the range and multifaceted nature of who Black girls truly were. And are.
People often say “You can’t be what you can’t see,” and to me, that couldn’t be more true: It’s hard to navigate adolescence without seeing fictional characters that represent your cultural upbringing. Pratt’s portrayal of young Monica Wright in Love and Basketball, for example, showed us that not all girls wear pink and dresses, that we can be competitors and fight for our passions—a rare introduction of entry-level feminism for Black girls. It taught us to accept ourselves, wholly, whether “traditional” or not.
And Pratt’s One on One character, Breanna Barnes, was essentially a walkthrough of my own high school experiences without overly exaggerating, sexualizing, or undervaluing the experience of teenage life.
To say that Black girls are just like everyone else would diminish our experiences because we are, indeed, unique. How we’re depicted in entertainment doesn’t always have to align with some of the harder realities of who we are, and Pratt’s career has allowed us to be celebrated in various ways, including comedically.
I’ve watched Pratt transition from child star to an impressive adult actor (don’t sleep on her Insecure appearance; Issa Rae, unsurprisingly, is a fan), and she has consistently set a standard of realness that’s allowed me to see myself, my friends, my cousins, and our stories.
She not only gave us these characters but offered us herself too, playing the roles during many of her own transformative years. Her work continues to plant seeds of representation and empowerment for young Black girls. She doesn’t just deserve her flowers: She deserves the entire garden.
Imani Bashir is the deputy editor of Travel Noire and a writer covering motherhood, womanhood, and travel. Follow her on Instagram @sheisimanib.
Originally Appeared on Glamour
