Selina

"If I don’t love all of me — who will?"

By Students of NYC

January 15^th, 2026

"It was my junior year when our college counselor came into class and said, 'Do you want to learn about financial literacy?' At first I was like … maybe. Then she said Capital One — and that’s my bank. So I thought, okay, I’ll go. They held the info session in the library. They talked about the student ambassador program and this new café that was opening. You could become an intern at the Capital One Café. I knew right away it was important to start structuring myself financially, and I was really interested. I told myself, I’m getting this job. They said to talk to my counselor for more information, so I applied. After that, I was basically living in her office. 'Did they get back to you? Did they get back to you?' It took a whole month. I was on a school trip when I checked my email and saw, Hi! You’ve been selected. ... I was so ecstatic. They gave me a date and time for the interview. I got dressed, I was ready. There were two interviewers. One asked about me — my behavior, how I interact with people. The other asked what I knew about the company and the café. Yes, I got the job.

I learned that I’m not there to sell anything. I’m there to serve people. The café is meant to be a community space — to eliminate the stress of banking. They want to move away from that transactional feeling, where you walk in already anxious about bills and money. It’s about creating comfort, connection and trust. And that really stuck with me. I see it every day. People’s faces light up when I ask them how they’re doing — really ask them. Not for a reason. Not for gain. Just because I want to know. They tell me about their day, their life. And you can tell it means something to be seen that way. I love talking to people. I’m very social. I wave, I give high fives. I don’t even have to know you. Being surrounded by people in a community makes me happy. It brings me fulfillment. Sometimes people come in upset. Usually, they’re not mad at me — they’re mad at the situation. I’ve learned not to take that personally. There was one customer who came in yelling. He was stressed because money kept getting taken from his account. I let him talk. I listened. Then I said, 'Let’s take a look.' It turned out to be a recurring charge. An easy fix. I showed him how to dispute it, helped him order a new card and updated his information. When we were done, he apologized. He said he was sorry for how he approached me — he was just frustrated. He thanked me. I offered him a complimentary drink. He walked out smiling. That moment — seeing someone come in angry and leave feeling relieved — I knew I was doing something right.

A lot of people talk about jobs as something you do out of necessity, just for money. But I look forward to going to work. That says something about the environment and the people around me. There was a lockdown at my school once. When I got to the café, my manager and assistant manager pulled me aside and asked if I was okay. They told me I could take a moment, go home, get support. They cared more about me as a person than as an employee. I wasn’t just a number. I could be myself there. And being myself is something I’ve learned matters a lot to me.

My hair is a big part of that — being myself. Growing up in a Ghanaian household, relaxing your hair was just what women did. My mom did it. Her mom did it. Me and my sister got our hair relaxed every couple of months. It was considered 'easier.' But as I got older, I started wondering why. I’d feel my new growth come in — curly, textured — so different from the rest. I saw girls my age wearing their natural hair, and I asked my mom about it. She said it was just tradition. My sophomore year, on Thanksgiving day, I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was half-natural, half-relaxed. And I thought about the future. One thing I knew for sure was this: I never want to have a daughter and not know how to do her hair. So I grabbed scissors from the bathroom caddy and cut it. All of it. I watched it fall into the sink. I closed the door and just stood there. I felt free. It was a short Afro. It was cute. It was me. Everyone was busy getting ready to go to my grandma’s house, so no one noticed right away. But I was smiling. I felt proud. Like I did something my mom never got the chance to do for herself. When my mom saw my hair, she was shocked. But I felt like I was giving her something — a reminder that our natural hair is beautiful, that it’s ours. Over time, I’d catch her staring at my hair. Two years later, she accepts it. She even buys me hair products she thinks I’ll like. She’ll call and say, 'I got you this leave-in conditioner.' I started learning about my hair — texture, porosity, how to care for it. And then people started coming to me for advice. That meant everything. Because for a long time, I didn’t have anyone. Going natural made me more comfortable with who I am. I don’t have to follow what everyone else is doing. I can do my own thing. It gives me individuality. It makes me me. I don’t want to love myself only when I look 'presentable' to others. Natural. Braids. Wigs. All of it. This is who I am. If I don’t love all of me — who will?"