The microphone felt heavier than expected. Standing on stage at a London comedy club last December, looking out at a room full of strangers who were sitting quietly and waiting to be made to laugh, the whole thing felt nerve-racking and surreal. After years of hiding vitiligo and hoping nobody would notice, the plan was now to joke about it in a set.
The first patch of vitiligo appeared at age three, on the back of the hand. It later spread to the arms, legs, face and other parts of the body. By age six, 70% of the body was covered. Too young to understand what was happening, and blissfully unaware that being different was something society views negatively. Childhood was happy: swimming, shorts, T-shirts, barely a thought given to skin. The parents taught that vitiligo was simply part of her, not something that had to hold her back. What nobody could foresee was how other people would perceive her later in life.
The teenage years were by far the hardest. Painfully self-conscious and increasingly aware of being different. Swimming lessons became a struggle because of the worry about wearing a swimsuit. During summer, clothes stayed on to keep everything covered out of embarrassment. Thick foundation went on the face to cover the patches around the eyes and mouth, and excessive layers of fake tan went on the body. Skin had complete control of life.
Then, in November 2025, a six-week comedy class got signed up for. Nervous, yes, but there was a buzz from doing something so far outside the comfort zone. During the first few sessions, students had to think about subjects they could joke about. The one thing that kept coming back was vitiligo.
For years it had been disguised, out of worry about being judged or spoken about negatively. But as time went on, things started to change. Years were spent working on mindset, blocking out negative thoughts and the pressure to look a particular way. The global vitiligo community was connected with online, which made it clear that she wasn't alone, and public advocacy and awareness-raising began. An Instagram page called Gifted Skin was created to share the journey and help others living with the condition.
Writing a seven-minute comedy sketch about a skin condition that had hugely knocked confidence while growing up felt strange. The goal was for people to laugh with her, rather than feel as though she was making light of something that might still be very painful for others. There was worry that the material could offend or upset someone in the audience, or simply fall flat.
But the more the issues around dating with a skin condition were considered, the struggle to form relationships, growing up mixed race with vitiligo, time at school and how society judged, the more material was found.
The course sped by and, before she knew it, it was the night of the performance at 21 Soho in central London. When her name was called, she walked up to the stage, acting confident but feeling far from it. The vitiligo jokes didn't come first. The crowd needed warming up, and some laughs needed earning first.
After a few minutes, the first joke was introduced. It started by telling the audience about having vitiligo and asking if anyone else in the room did too. Silence. "Thought as much," she said, "out here on my own again." The room filled with laughter and she instantly felt at ease. It was like inviting the audience to look into her world with vitiligo, but on her terms. She felt in control, and it was nerve-racking, funny and unexpectedly liberating.
Some jokes focused on dating experiences and the unfiltered ways children react to her skin, while others focused on the responses she has given when people have asked inappropriate questions. The cheers felt like the biggest sign of approval, as if she was educating the audience and advocating for vitiligo while standing under a spotlight and owning it.
Although she hasn't performed again since, she is keen to explore more open-mic nights. So much was learned about herself that evening, but most of all, she realised that the little girl who wanted to disappear and wished she looked "normal" had become a woman who was proud of who she was. She had chosen to make herself visible in an empowering way. She was never going to shrink herself again.