50 Shades Of Black
If you had told young me that I'd be a confident and unabashed woman who could consistently find makeup products for her complexion, I would have laughed in your face. At the time, the beauty community was not inclusive to people who looked like me. I didn't see many dark-skinned women anywhere--not in magazines, movies, or television shows. I definitely didn't see them representing entire beauty brands. At a young age, I developed the feeling that I didn't belong and probably never would. After all, I didn't really "belong" in my small hometown--so why would the world or society ever accept me?
I grew up in a small, country town in Eastern Texas; population less than 1,500. The town and school were both predominantly white. Out of 200 students in the high school, only 15 were black while I attended. The amount of jokes I heard regarding my appearance were endless. I got, "you're so black, the oil light turns on when you get in the car", or "I hope the lights don't go out Marissa, we won't be able to see you." I was never considered a pretty girl, just very intelligent. I was never asked to prom, and didn't date in high school because I was 'too dark'. Although I never showed it, on the inside, I was hurt and felt as if I was on an island. I struggled with self-esteem and fitting in for the duration of my teen years, but especially during high school.
But one place I was not struggling was makeup.
I grew up loving makeup; I would spend hours playing in my mother's old Fashion Fair eyeshadow palette. It had so many beautiful, vibrant shades; metallic gold, emerald green, violet, azure, fiery orange. These were all colors that society said dark-skinned people couldn't wear, but Fashion Fair said differently. I would pair wild colors together, knowing nothing about the color wheel. For the time I spent playing, I always felt beautiful and exotic. Luckily, I transitioned from haphazardly choosing colors as a child to actually learning the techniques to apply makeup correctly as a teen. It was so much fun to me that when I was playing volleyball, I would wear the opposing team's school colors as my eyeshadow that day. Classmates started to notice my ritual, and for once comments didn't center around the color of my skin, but the color on my skin and how well it popped.
The joy of makeup has not forsaken me; it's a form of artistry and expression to me. However, today I understand that it's not just makeup. The beauty community has been under fire over the past few years for its lack of diversity and inclusion in products and models. Nyma Tang, a popular beauty blogger on YouTube, devoted an entire series to exploring the darkest shade of foundation across different beauty brands.
As a dark-skinned woman, I related so deeply to Nyma's series. What we typically find is that the shade range ends with a very warm tan shade being its darkest OR we find a brand that has a decent range, but gives all the deeper shades an almost pumpkin orange undertone. Neither outcome is desirable. In the past, I've walked into department stores and looked major brands' foundation lines and didn't see anything close to mine. I've also experienced beauty advisors not knowing or understanding undertones as they pertain to dark skin. To give context, of the numerous times I've asked a beauty advisor to match me, only two of those times have been correct. One was a black woman, and the other a white white woman.
When we talk about beauty, no one person or community should be excluded or marginalized in the conversation. However, the black community in particular has been excluded from the table for years. It wasn't until recently that I began seeing more makeup artists and beauty advisors of color in department stores. More Black beauty influencers are pushing their way through a once completely whitewashed beauty landscape, and having these difficult conversations via their social mediums and directly with many of these beauty brands. African features and skin have been long ostracized for being 'too much'; too big, too angular, too dark, or too harsh. However, society has now placed a premium on these same features, and now people are paying to have bigger lips, bigger behinds, and be darker. It's an isolating experience; to be marginalized or punished for features you're born with, but see other non-POC communities profit off of the same look.
As I look back over my time as a child and young adult, I'm amazed at the change that has revolutionized beauty and cosmetics. More women are able to walk into drugstores and major department stores, and see themselves reflected in national ad campaigns. Products are actually marketed toward us. Influencers are activists in their own rights; pushing for change in a space that previously showed not interest in expanding and being inclusive. I believe that before Rihanna released Fenty Beauty in 2017, the beauty industry did not actually think the Black dollar was green or would spend the same way as anyone else's.
More than anything, this journey that I've been on has taught me to love myself as I am and be open about my experiences. It pains me to think that there was a time that I looked in the mirror as a young woman and actually hated my skin. What I'm about to say next is a secret that I've never divulged to anyone until now; skin bleaching crossed my mind on more than one occasion. I shudder to think about the after effects if I had actually done it, too.
I allowed outsiders to make me feel alienated in my own body, and I won't do that anymore. This is why representation is so important in beauty and cosmetics. As hackneyed as this adage is, it's still true; you can't be what you don't see. I never saw myself in drugstore aisles or at store counters growing up. It felt like I didn't belong, but I know differently now, and I hope I can save a young girl from falling into the same pits I did.
Photo: Alex Broussard