(Still) Feeling Like An Outsider in the British Beauty Industry
While my mother is white, within society, and within myself I am seen as black, at work, when I travel, etc, but this doesn’t mean my life experiences, particularly of racism, are the same as my black father and black husband. That being said, my experience working within the beauty industry as a writer, editor and more recently, photographer, has been one that, at times, has been so, so joyful, and at others, soul-destroying.
Beauty means a lot to me, it always has. From those first issues of Elle and Vogue from around the world, I wondered at the lives that these beautiful (nearly always white) women surely must lead. I wanted to know their secrets, even from a young age, and I would tell myself: ‘one day, I will write words and make pictures that appear in these pages.’
Beauty is also a form of expression, and communication. How many conversations, or even friendships, have been started in the bathroom of a bar or restaurant with, ‘wow I love your lipstick’?
Right now, I’m still writing about beauty and I am totally in love with shooting it too. I’ve managed to carve out my own niche, because being ignored for years can be draining! Instead of pitching to the glossies that I thought I would love to write for, I decided to write for myself, and see what happens.
When it comes to the allure of purchasing the ‘next big thing’, I’m very familiar with that feeling. I know what it’s like to believe that a brand actually gets you, perhaps even sees you and likes you. It’s so easy to believe that you’re part of some kind of tribe or community, purely because your habits and interests mesh with other lovers of that brand. I’m still obsessed with it and curious about it, but while the world of beauty itself has come along leaps and bounds when it comes to bespoke formulations and more sustainable options, not much has changed with how beauty works.
I remember attending a Kilpatrick PR event years ago as a staff writer. It was a press day where the firm would show everything that was new from each one of their brands. I went along with my friend/hair industry colleague Charleen, also black, with a darker skin tone. When we walked into the entrance it seemed that the staff members didn’t see us. So, we guided ourselves into the main room. Again, no greeting, no, ‘I’ll be with you in a sec, feel free to look around!’
No drinks were offered, although we could see our white counterparts all had a drink in their hand. The event was held across several rooms, so we continued wandering around. As we walked around, we picked up, prodded and smelled the products, waiting for one of the numerous staff members to pounce on us and tell us about their clients.
But no-one came. Not one. We began to look up more as we picked up each and every single product, wondering if we would catch anyone’s eye. And the fact is, I know we must have caught someone’s eye; despite everyone else in the room being in a flurry of white and fluffy activity, you tend to always stand out when you’re one of the few.
We continued to walk from stand to stand and room to room becoming increasingly annoyed. As we left, even the staff member on the hallowed goody bag table seemed to be busy doing nothing. In hindsight, I should have instantly questioned someone, and that’s where I have to hold myself accountable. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t say if anything would have actually changed if we had complained. This wasn’t a one-off though; it’s happened often, and more recently. But perhaps if the same thing happened today, in a post Black Lives Matter reality, things would be different? I hope so.
In another role, this time editing a hair magazine, I remember showing the publisher two cover images. One was of a light-skinned, mixed-race woman with beautiful, textured hair filling the page, the other was of a blonde woman with a bouncy blowdry. I asked him, which cover did he think looked best. He said, ‘well, we all know that one (pointing at the blonde woman) will sell better.’
I’m annoyed at myself for not saying something that day, but what happens is, when you’re black or non-white, you often end up quieting the voice that’s in your head. You remind yourself of why you applied for this job, what you’re hoping to achieve in this role. You tell yourself about the ‘bigger picture’ and how sacrificing one battle doesn’t mean the war has been lost. You remind yourself of the bills that need paying. So you make yourself smaller, more palatable.
Add to this my love/hate experience of being backstage at Fashion Weeks around the world – I have literally never felt more invisible in my life, not only because of my colour, but also my acne-prone skin and my size – and, I hope it’s easy to see why I/we have had enough. Diversity is being given an invitation; inclusion is being asked to dance, and I want to dance, now.
I have had conversations with other black journalists and also PRs over the recent weeks and I am cautiously optimistic. It feels weird to say that, right now. Because, right now, we are living in a world where people are watching out for the next act of violence against black bodies; we are ready to fight. We are assembling allies who will hopefully stand with us this time next year, and for many years to come. We are feeling the hurt, anger and sadness but we are also feeling like this could be it. We might well be tearing that ceiling down. Given the fact that some black-owned beauty brands here in the UK and US have experienced growth they have never seen before, thanks to hashtags such as #supportblackownedbeauty and #supportblackcreators, we are feeling that excitement and urgency that yes, we are being seen. We are not a trend. We are here. I am here.
Have you had a similar experience? Let me know! I’m working on a part 2 of this feature, that will be more about the systemic racism within the beauty industry media, from PRs to influencers.