Stacy Byrd

Last Saturday, I performed my latest trick for my family here in Atlanta. It wasn’t just any trick—it was one I’d spent weeks perfecting. The setup was simple: borrow a piece of jewelry or a watch, “vanish” it, and then reveal it in the least likely place imaginable. My dad’s face when his missing watch turned up in a sealed jar of peanut butter was priceless. He actually checked the jar twice before laughing and calling me a genius.

What they don’t see is how much work goes into making magic look effortless. I’ve spent hours practicing misdirection in front of a mirror, studying how people’s eyes follow movement. I’ve learned to time my patter perfectly, using words to guide their attention where I want it. It’s not just about the trick—it’s about the story I tell while doing it. That’s what leaves them amazed.

Sometimes, I think about what it would be like to perform for huge audiences, not just my family here at home. But being a magician is harder when you don’t fit the stereotype. Most magicians are men, and very few look like me. I remember searching online for women magicians and finding almost none who were black. That didn’t discourage me, though—it lit a fire. I want to be the kind of magician someone like me could look up to.

My mom says I’ve always had quick hands. She jokes that I could pick pockets if I weren’t so honest. I tell her it’s not about stealing—it’s about creating wonder. Even at 12, I understand that. Here in Atlanta, surrounded by people who believe in me, I feel like I’m already on my way.