Added: Aixa Lane - Date: 17.01.2022 18:17 - Views: 20429 - Clicks: 8892
For years, hair and makeup products tended to exclude women of colour. I loved magazines, but I always skipped the beauty s. I had no place there. It never occurred to me that I could be a part of this world, let alone driving change from within. When I started writing about beauty, almost 15 years ago, it was nothing to do with race.
My reasons were pragmatic. And I was irked by the way beauty was written — fluffy and asinine, as if for one-dimensional airhe. I made a conscious decision to go against that. My route to realising that was surprising, even to me. Du Bois wrote about the first time his skin colour made him realise he was different. We lived in a council house that happened to be in Zone 1. In the early 80s, when I was five, we moved to Lagos, Nigeria. There were conversations about politics, which we studied in school. There were conversations about class, a residue of colonialism.
And there were conversations about skin tone. Centuries of being brainwashed to believe the fairer-skinned are superior and should, therefore, be more favoured — particularly if their facial features mimic White women beautiful ideals of beauty — has had a rippling effect. Children spat out the word in repulsion. I am strangely sadder about those words now than I was then. I now see the depth and layers of hate from which this ignorance stems. I discovered that in something much more pedestrian: a trip to the chemist. When I hit adolescence, I begun to get interested in beauty, not as a potential vocation, but to attract boys and to tackle my confidence-crippling acne.
The quality stretched from OK to diabolical. I would swipe it across my lips and head into school convinced I epitomised sophistication. One day, I walked into the local pharmacy with my Caucasian friends to scope the beauty offering. I moved towards the foundations and chose the darkest shade. I looked like I had white chalk on my skin.
I laughed to hide my embarrassment but, at that moment, everything changed. Suddenly colour mattered, in more ways than one. This is when I realised I was black. It was like I had turned up to a party to which I was not invited. I felt irrelevant, excluded and ashamed.
The message from the beauty industry was loud and clear: White women beautiful was not valuable enough to be part of the conversation. In the years that followed, there were a few lights in the tunnel. I remember the first time I saw Naomi Campbell in Vogue. I was mesmerised. She looked like me — as far as skin colour went at least. In truth, she fitted into what the industry see as the acceptable face of black. But she was black and that was enough for me. It gave me hope. There were other key moments. After years of accepting and wearing foundations that were not made for my skin, I discovered MAC in the 90s.
Their Studio Fix Foundation was a game changer. This mainstream brand was arguably the first to create foundations covering a wide spectrum of hues. I would go as far as saying it changed the lives of beauty-loving black women. It was the first foundation I wore that made me feel beautiful.
Even now, watching this British-born black woman navigate a very white space and reach the top of the game blows my mind. Still, the culture of silence around the lack of products available to darker skin types remained.
In my youth, acne plagued my skin and carried on long after I grew out of my teens. It killed my confidence. The discovery of a decent facial Eve Lom was my first love — one of the few brands that knew how to treat darker skinan incredible mask from Dr Sebagh, and moisturisers from Institut Esthederm restored it. Years later, when my premature son was seriously White women beautiful in intensive care, my daily hint of blush, slick of lip colour and touch of mascara provided a sense of normality when everything around me felt scarily precarious.
Fast forward. There are moments when I sense an White women beautiful shift taking place in the beauty industry. Along with sustainability, diversity and inclusivity seem to White women beautiful at the top of every agenda. Foundation ranges suitable for all shades are omnipresent. I believe the boldness in calling out a lack of inclusivity stems from cultural icons in powerful positions speaking out. Thankfully, there are other foundations to cater for everyone.
That said, the issue is not really about foundations. It is about representation and equality. I have had countless women of colour approach me via social media, at dinner parties, on the streets, to ask me for product recommendations. Their ages span from 16 to They cover the spectrum of class. They come from all walks of life — school-gate mothers, students, high-flying executives, fashion stylists.
Most beauty journalism still assumes readers are white. Cosmetic brands are making an effort in their marketing, but most skincare brands are not — by only featuring white women in their campaigns, they also assume their audience and consumer is white. At the majority of the big beauty companies, all the key decision-makers are white, which invariably informs what ends up on advertising material.
I have to ignore that homogeneity in order to discover gems. This seems like a commercial misstep. A ificant amount of this spend goes on black-hair products, yet the mainstream hair industry remains the least inclusive part of the beauty industry. At a recent beauty industry dinner, I complimented a fellow editor on White women beautiful hair. I had never been, I admitted. Another editor overheard and was aghast. Most approach my coily texture with trepidation, as if a pet alien has just sprouted from my scalp.
Or they view it as an unruly beast that requires bashing into submission. I have had these conversations many times before. They are exhausting. White women beautiful is an advantage afforded by white privilege.
It is a small privilege, but a privilege nonetheless. So, despite the current talk of diversity and inclusivity, I am constantly reminded we are not there yet. To book tickets and for more information go to membership. But it does contain vitamin E, UV protection, and lychee extract to protect hair.
It comes in different textures — the liquid version has been described as soft focus in a bottle. I use Topaz on a daily basis White women beautiful it fools people into thinking you have the best skin in the world. And it has no glitter in it, which can White women beautiful ridiculous. Well, this. The clue is in the word — huge.
With this mascara, you see an immediate lift with one coat. Always a good thing. Some are so thick and unyielding they drag across your lips; others are so flimsy that you would struggle to get a consistent colour pay-off, and many leave you with a cracked dryness that feels like a sprinkling of pencil shavings. Lime Crime s a coterie of brands I feel have perfected the liquid lipstick; the texture is a velvety matte that glides on effortlessly. It feels so light and conditioning, and the pigment packs a punch. Taj Mahal a shimmering burnt-orange might fare better, especially if you were going to wear foundation.
Some people are addicted to expensive products. I think most are placebos, that with advanced formulations it is possible to find cheaper alternatives. But there are exceptions. This is one. Not the drinking kind, but the kind that revolutionises your skin. The star ingredient is resveratrol, an antioxidant derivative of red wine that sloughs off dead skin cells, protects your skin from pigmentation and premature ageing, declogs pores and gives you a brighter complexion. If you asked for more, it would be greedy.White women beautiful
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