After a year of stepping back from beauty rituals, Halima Jibril explores what it means to reject looks-based expectations – and why opting out can be uncomfortable, but necessary
It has been almost a year since I last got my hair braided. To many, this may not seem like a big deal, but Black people, especially those socialised as women, know the impact that not having one’s hair ‘done’ can have on them mentally. From a young age, many of us are reminded that our hair is our ‘beauty’, our ‘crown’, that it makes us a ‘queen’ – all words that essentially mean that it makes us ‘women’. Our hair and beauty maintenance are often used to reaffirm our femininity; to help us gain employment, be treated better, to find love, and to be allowed to remain in the classroom.
I stopped getting my hair done, and started wearing my afro out for a variety of reasons: I’m broke, time-poor and lazy. But beyond those things, I also wanted to challenge the way I thought about beauty. I know that the hair that grows out of my head is not ugly and that it is the pervasiveness of white supremacist ideology that makes me want to have long curly braids all the way down to my bum so that I can feel pretty and desirable. ‘If I know this,’ I thought, ‘I owe it to myself to challenge this way of thinking’. Not doing my hair has also faded my interest in wearing make-up, along with my fixation on clothing and, honestly, on looking in the mirror at all. Gradually, my appearance as a whole became something that I stopped thinking about as other things in my life took priority, and I got busier. This has resulted in a deeply uncomfortable, but also incredibly thrilling and freeing, year for me.
We are continuously bombarded with so much beauty-noise. Nothing personifies this better than the TikTok videos that layer images and videos of every new beauty trend, product or procedure – from the Skims merkin, Shay Mitchell’s skincare line for children, Kourtney Kardashian’s probiotic vaginal lollipops, anti-wrinkle straws, exosomes, buccal fat removal and more – over the sound of a woman screaming. In the comment section, young women often quote Fiona Apple from an interview she did with Spin in 1997, writing that “there is no hope for women”. Beauty noise, like food noise or phone noise, is constant and paralysing. It stops women from wanting to leave the house when they don’t have make-up on, creates a deep anxiety around going out when their legs or armpits are not shaved, and even prohibits women from enjoying sex if they’re not freshly waxed or lasered. To put it simply, it’s exhausting. But our existence under the patriarchy does not have to be this way, and there are lots of people who, like myself, are making the conscious effort to exist otherwise.
To put it bluntly, as a normal-looking person living a pretty normal life, no one seems to give a shit if you can see the acne scars on my chin or not
26-year-old Charlie stopped wearing make-up a year and a half ago after major surgery. “[After my surgery] I spent the next week in bed. By the time I was able to leave the house, I was so focused on being able to move and do things that I just forgot about wearing make-up,” they explain. “Then I noticed that a month had gone by, and my life had been fine, and I thought to myself, ’Wait… why did I even start doing this in the first place?’” In our society, beauty confers a certain social power. It can provide you with respect and love, and, as recent studies show, can even help you secure prestigious job roles. So, how has divesting from beauty affected Charlie’s treatment in the world?
“As far as I can tell, quitting make-up has had absolutely zero impact on the way others treat me,” they tell Dazed. “I think it’s somewhat undeniable that people who are considered especially beautiful and people who are considered outwardly unattractive are treated differently by the world. Maybe I’d be treated differently if I had a face like Devon Aoki or Catherine Deneuve. But, to put it bluntly, as a normal-looking person living a pretty normal life, no one seems to give a shit if you can see the acne scars on my chin or not.” It’s important to note that Charlie is in a long-term relationship and admits that being in one (along with getting prescription treatment for their rosacea) has made it easier to divest, as they already know someone they find attractive finds them attractive in return.
Similarly, 21-year-old Anushka found that being in a relationship has also helped her combat her “unhealthy” fixation with her appearance. “I have been with him for three years now, and I have never felt more beautiful, and a lot of that I attribute to how much he assures me… regardless of how I look.” It is easier to opt out of beauty when you are no longer actively searching to be desired by another person romantically. But Charlie importantly stresses that the opinions of people who only notice them, or would only see them because they’re wearing make-up, are “unimportant” to them.
In her book Woman Hating, Andrea Dworkin writes in harsh but necessary terms about what it says about men, that women feel they must turn themselves inside out and participate in beauty culture for their love and validation: “It demonstrates that man’s love for woman, his sexual adoration of her, his human definition of her, his delight and pleasure in her, require her negation: physical crippling and psychological lobotomy. That is the very nature of romantic love…” she writes. But it doesn’t have to be.
23-year-old Julia started to divest from beauty culture in 2020, when she was 18. She stopped shaving her body hair and wearing concealer, and became heavily influenced by feminist rockers and experimental make-up artists like Selena Ruiz and Juliana Horner. “My divestment looks like being hairy, glamorous and using practical skincare,” she tells Dazed. Additionally, Israel’s genocide in Gaza has been a significant reason why Julia is continuing to opt out of beauty culture. “I keep it minimal and boycott brands on the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions list (BDS).” Many of the most prominent players in the beauty industry cosy up to Trump or have historically voted Republican, as Nessa Humayun highlighted in her essay on MAGA beauty aesthetics for Marie Clarie UK; it is essential now more than ever, that we are well informed on where we are spending our money, who it has the potential to cause a significant amount of harm to, and question if any of that is worth it, in the pursuit of beauty.
When 26-year-old Amelia started to divest from beauty in college, they were asked why they “insist” on making themselves “ugly”, after they cut off all their hair, stopped shaving and started wearing clothing seen as unflattering. Their response: “I want to look cool, fun, queer, alternative – but I don’t need to look ‘pretty’.” It often comes across as a brutal offence when one does not adhere to beauty standards or gender norms, and in the most extreme situations, it can result in violence. “After I began expressing my queerness more visibly, I did face increased street harassment and some homophobic/ transphobic harassment in public,” Amelia confesses. “Although my privilege as a white AFAB person has shielded me from worse treatment and violence.”
My divestment looks like being hairy, glamorous and using practical skincare. I keep it minimal and boycott brands on the BDS list
Divesting from beauty is not an easy task, but investing and participating in beauty culture is not the easier option. In her transformative Substack essay, ‘Being ugly is liberating’, Fabliha Yeaqub, acknowledges that “to be ugly is to be powerless, but to be beautiful is to be rooted in colourism, fatphobia, antiblackness and colonisation. None of which I wish to be a part of.” Eliza McLamb, in her Substack essay ‘Easiest Thing’, reminds us that we need to rethink the way we understand the dichotomy of easy and hard: “Smoking a cigarette is easy, but a wheezing cough is hard. Spending four hours on Instagram is easy, but disassociating from your life is hard. We all live difficult lives in some capacity. It makes absolute sense and feels right that we should look towards the easiest way of doing things. But I don’t think the easiest thing is actually easy.” This same dichotomy can be applied to our relationship with beauty, too. Participating in beauty is easy (and beneficial), but bending yourself out of shape to follow constantly shifting beauty trends and standards dictated by racism, patriarchy and consumer culture is hard.
When I look at pictures my friends take of me on nights out or when we’re at dinner parties, I don’t always like what I see: my tight 4C afro, the black circles under my eyes, the dark marks on my face from continuously picking at my skin, the unflattering way clothes hang on my body and much more. But most of the time, I can push those feelings aside because this experience has also given me the clarity to see and focus on the other people in the pictures beside me, who love me and treat me with respect every day, regardless of what I look like.