donyale luna: the price of escapism & illusions
Peggy Ann Freeman, aka Donyale Luna—a Black girl from Detroit—was such an ethereal, mysterious being. I watched her documentary this time last year, & it's heartbreakingly beautiful. I love that she was able to use her imagination to create a persona that propelled her into the career & lifestyle she wanted. But I just wish that persona hadn't been born from a desire to escape her Blackness. She was the first Black woman to appear on the covers of Vogue & Harper’s Bazaar, a groundbreaking achievement, yet her name remains largely unknown because she distanced herself from her Black identity and the movement that could have uplifted her.
Two things stood out the most in the documentary: how childhood trauma can shape an entire adult identity, & how, because of that, people rarely get to know the true depths of a person. Peggy created Donyale as a means of survival—an alter ego to escape the abuse in her home & the bullying in her community. But what happens when the persona meant to protect you becomes a prison? She became an icon of beauty, surrealism, & fantasy, yet those closest to her never truly saw her.
Once she reached adulthood & stardom, no one was able—or willing—to hold space for her. They were enchanted by the illusion she crafted but didn’t seek to understand the wounded girl behind it. A friend recalled a moment when she had a nervous breakdown, crying, "I'm just a girl from Detroit, please help me," yet those around her continued to refer to her as a “goddess” & “otherworldly.” That should have been a moment of reckoning, a call to action—but instead, it was met with indifference. Because of the image they had constructed of her, they claimed, “There was nothing I could do to help her."
This just goes to show how dangerous it is when we don’t address our traumas & instead use escapism as a shield. We risk getting so lost in our facades that, when we are most vulnerable, we aren’t recognized as people in need of care. Instead, we become ideas, projections, objects of admiration rather than beings deserving of support. The tragedy is that Donyale was crying out for help, but no one listened—because they were too mesmerized by the myth she had become.
She died of a drug overdose, & her husband said, “I don't believe she wanted to die." I honestly agree. I don’t think she intended to leave this world—I think she got lost in the persona she created & no longer knew who to turn to for help. How do you reach out when the world only sees you as a dream, not a human? How do you come home to yourself when the self you’ve built is a mirage?
Donyale Luna’s story is one of beauty & pain, of innovation & isolation. She was a pioneer, a visionary, but also a deeply wounded soul searching for belonging. Her legacy should be remembered not only for the barriers she broke, but also as a cautionary tale about the cost of erasure—whether self-imposed or societally encouraged. She was so much more than an ethereal being. She was a Black girl from Detroit who deserved to be held, to be seen, and to be loved for who she truly was.
