Skin cancer is terrifyingly common—20 percent of Americans will eventually get some form of it, and more than 36,000 women will be diagnosed with melanoma, the deadliest type, this year. Most of us know the best prevention: Wear sunscreen daily, stay out of the sun during peak hours (that’s 10:00 A.M. to 4:00 P.M., FYI), avoid the literal deathbeds that are tanning salons. OK, easy enough. But other things up your risk too. Keep reading to get smart about four more culprits.
For years, women of color have had to search high and low for makeup that properly blends and matches our skin tones, and as the beauty industry continues to make major shifts toward diversity, Target has joined the list of retailers working to ease the plight of brown girls everywhere. Beginning today, eight new diverse cosmetic brands will be available online at target.com—with the in-store options landing on May 20. In total, the retailer is adding 150 more products that are aimed specifically toward medium to dark skin; including eyeshadows, lipsticks, and highlighters, along with more than 60 shades of foundation.
While the lines are pre-existing, Target reps say that it was a lengthy process to determine which eight made the cut; which includes Coloured Raine, EveryHue Beauty, Haleys, Hue Noir, Makeup Geek, Reina Rebelde, The Lip Bar, and Violet Voss. The biggest consideration was that each had to be owned by people of color. That way, the products are coming straight from those who not only know what’s missing in the market, but also know exactly how to satisfy those needs.
According to Christina Hennington, Target senior vice president of beauty and essentials, the retailer is also working closely with each of the brands to help market them for success. Like, for example, making sure they have the infrastructure in place to handle the massive demand that comes from selling at such a big box store. (This is also why Hennington says they’ll be rolling out limited numbers at first, just to ensure the demand doesn’t harmfully overextend the brands.)
These lines, of course, are not the first multi-cultural brands to be stocked on the shelves at Target. Instead, this move highlights how retailers are now deepening their commitment to having more inclusive offerings—and not just hidden away in the back corners of the beauty aisle. “We went from having nothing but a wall of relaxers in the back of the store to assortments that speak to every hair and skin type, with messaging that’s inclusive,” said SheaMoisture owner Richelieu Dennis during an inclusive beauty panel hosted by Target today in Manhattan.
Jasmin Foster, Target’s senior beauty buyer, says the products will be featured in prominent displays on the end of beauty aisles—which is considered prime real estate for a beauty brand, given that there’s a stronger chance shoppers will see your product. While product testers are still just a pipe dream, in-store, brand-led events are also on the way to give shoppers the chance to test products and find shade matches. And as of today, Target’s website lets you filter by foundation shade—think Sephora’s Shade IQ program, but for mass brands.
Above all, Target is making inclusive beauty more accessible. Where a Fenty foundation or shade from Make Up For Ever falls in the $30 to $45 range, everything from these brands will cost between $10 to $25. The reason? Because women of color have been demanding it. “Social media is holding the industry to task and saying diversity is a need,” EveryHue Beauty co-founder Gizelle Bryant said at the inclusivity panel. And from whence it came, the response has been overwhelmingly positive:
So just when I thought my Target obsession couldn’t get any worse, they turn their beauty aisles into a haven of black girl magic. Thanks, Target, you’re getting all of my coin.
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After a long day full of staff meetings and the news cycle, nothing feels quite as good as going home, tearing open a fresh sheet mask, stretching it over your face, and pretending that you don’t have 700 new emails waiting in your inbox. Although a sheet mask won’t reply to your emails for you, it can still do a lot for your skin. From suctioning grime and makeup out of your pores to infusing your skin with antioxidants, there’s a solution for every skin complaint out there. And now, they get even better. After going down a rabbit hole of searches, we stumbled upon jet.com‘s face mask selection. It’s not the most obvious stop for skin care, but surprisingly, it’s got one of the best mixes of drugstore and affordable K-beauty brands. Here’s what we’re adding to cart.
Get ready for another major groan in Hollywood’s direction: Baywatch and Quantico star Priyanka Chopra recently said that she feels she once didn’t get a part in a movie because of the color of her skin.
Chopra, who grew up in India, spoke to InStyle in honor of Equal Pay Day to discuss the gender wage gap, a cause that she’s been vocal about in the past—especially as it relates to women of color. “No one will say that a woman is getting paid less because she’s a woman of color, but the numbers mostly end up reflecting that,” she told the magazine.
Then she went on to say she thinks she was passed over for a role because of the color of her skin. “It happened last year,” she says. “I was out for a movie, and somebody [from the studio] called one of my agents and said, ‘She’s the wrong’—what word did they use?—’physicality.'” Understandably, she was confused. “So in my defense as an actor, I’m like, ‘Do I need to be skinnier? Do I need to get in shape? Do I need to have abs?’ Like, what does ‘wrong physicality’ mean?” Chopra said. “And then my agent broke it down for me. Like, ‘I think, Priy, they meant that they wanted someone who’s not brown,'” she told InStyle.
“It affected me,” she said.
In 2017, the actress opened up to Allure about her experiences growing up. “[My skin] is as complicated as I am. When I was growing up, I didn’t see anyone on TV who looked like me,” she said, noting that it was also hard to find makeup in a shade that suited her back then. “Everyone in America wants to get a tan, and everyone in Asia wants to get their skin lightened. I straddle both countries. Girls there are told that they’re too dark or dusky and that lighter skin is better. Because I’m a darker tone, I had issues growing up as a teenager.”
Now, though, she views her skin color as an asset, regardless of what certain people in the movie industry may have said. “I’ve achieved what I’ve achieved, and skin color has nothing to do with it—in fact, it might have been an asset,” she told Allure. “I like the color of my skin very much.”
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The beauty—and absurdity—of the internet lies in its ability to rile people up in such a way that the drama of the day can be reduced to one tweet with no context. One I saw last night: “Black Mirror: Skin Care” and I knew exactly what the author was referring to. A story published on The Outline Tuesday called The Skin Care Con, in which writer Krithika Varagur took a guns-blazing yet remarkably unresearched approach to tearing down what she calls “New Skincare,” a hobby seemingly adopted by desperate millennial women who will do anything because it’s cool and self-satiating, not because it’s helpful or useful. “A scam,” is what Varagur calls it.
I’m not here to refute the core of her argument—Cheryl Wischhover over at Racked.com did that, and did it very well—but I feel compelled to insert myself into this conversation not only because of my experience covering beauty at various points in my career, but also because skin care, in many ways, has changed the way I present myself to the world, which wasn’t always easy.
After reading The Outline story a few times, I’ll admit I don’t disagree with every point Varagur makes, though I think her frustration is misguided. I have certainly rolled my eyes at the It-girl mentality that surrounds skin care as it stands in 2018, and have felt disappointed when a roster of frequently regurgitated products by girls with cool clothes, cool hair, and cool jobs do nothing for me. I’ve also gotten angry at natural skin care brands who make irresponsible claims backed up by nothing but earnest testimony—such as the promise that garden-variety oils and esters can cure cystic acne. It cannot. Some oils might help keep chronic breakouts at bay, but cystic acne is the beast unto which my own obsession with skin care was born.
After having regular adolescent skin—smatterings of red pimples and an oily T-zone—I found myself at age 15 faced with a rapid, violent outbreak of cystic acne that included quarter-sized nodules under-the-skin, and red, inflamed lesions on both cheeks that hurt to the touch. After several rounds of Tetracyclines, I was placed on Isotretinoin—a.k.a. Accutane. Two pills daily for six months. I’ll spare you the details of the peeling skin, the bone-dry lip and eyes, and what it was like being a teenager having to sign paperwork pledging she won’t get pregnant because of the severe birth defects the drug can cause—all while her male doctor looks on. This was before iPledge.
I was grateful to be on Accutane—painful acne was a misery—but at that age, outward appearance dictates a lot, and I wasn’t comfortable with mine.
I was deeply distraught. I was grateful to be on Accutane—painful acne was a misery—but at that age, outward appearance dictates a lot, and I wasn’t comfortable with mine. I decided my best recourse was to start wearing makeup—dense, matte, full-coverage foundation to mask what wasn’t really able to be masked. But, at 15, I had no idea how to buy or use makeup so, traumatized, I made a trip to the drugstore and grabbed the first bottle of Revlon ColorStay foundation I saw, not bothering to check the shade. It looked white, and I was white. That’s how it works, right? I also quickly realized that if you wear as much makeup as I was, you have to remove this makeup at night; my first experience with routine daily washing. My cleanser of choice back then was bar soap, Cetaphil or Yardley, and—because Accutane sucks all the moisture out of your skin—I also leaned on attainable moisturizers like Lubriderm, often mixed with SPF 30, because light is not your friend on Accutane. Voila, cocktailing.
In six months, my cysts had mostly subsided and I’d familiarized myself with the nightly routine of washing my face to remove my makeup, though I never strayed from Cetaphil for fear of my acne returning; never mind it was knocked out of me by high doses of Vitamin A.
In college, my face looked better, but not great—I still habitually wore a ton of makeup to cover the indents and light scarring my acne had left behind. It was there, though, in the dorm bathroom, that I discovered a gateway rainbow of drugstore face wash, each claiming they did different things; each I’d never tried thanks to an adolescence filled with caution. The gold of Neutrogena Oil Free Acne Wash, the sky-blue gel of Clean & Clear, the peach of St. Ives Apricot scrub. I’d try whatever my friends had in their shower caddies, while staring into the mirror and talking—mostly about parties and our bitchy RA, but I remember those communal nights and mornings well.
After college—early 2000s—my acne was mostly gone but I was faced with a new affliction—circular dry facial patches that would flare up whenever they felt like it, and were resistant to derm-prescribed hydrocortisone, to Vaseline, to straight-up olive oil. Patches that were so flaky, I couldn’t wear foundation without looking like a had a polka-dotted face. It was then I discovered the beauty of a website called Makeup Alley, a gen-one digital community of impassioned beauty fanatics who swapped reviews, tips, and stories. It was on that site, practically still in beta, that I discovered some people swear that two uncoated Aspirin melted by lukewarm water with a little honey can help heal dry, inflamed patches, and you know what? That worked for me. It was also around this time I starting gently dipping my makeup sponges into iced coffee before applying foundation, swearing that the caffeine woke up my skin. I believe we now call these hacks.
In the decade-plus I’ve been covering women’s lifestyle, I’ve tried thousands of products and over the years have graduated from hoarding lipsticks and bronzers to hoarding serums, moisturizers, exfoliants, and balms. It’s become a passion because I see results. In this space, I find I’m able to think analytically and critically about what actually works for me, not just what looks good or is flattering. There’s some work involved, and I find that satisfying—especially now that my skin and my hormones have settled into a place that allows me to experiment with different formulas according to problems I’m trying to fix.
There’s also an abundance of science as far as skin care goes—despite Varagur’s opinion that it’s “chiefly about buying things, and displaying them for others to see.” The trick, of course, is doing your science homework, which I know—based on some conversations I’ve had with women around the Glamour office—isn’t always easy.
Chemical violence is not seeking out things that have been proven effective to look and feel better. Chemical violence is slathering deodorant on your face as a primer because you saw it on YouTube.
“If I’m being honest, I really don’t know the science behind half of the products I use and why they’re ‘good for me,’ our social media director Madeline said, adding that she’s often as guilty as the people mentioned in The Outline story who know little about the powerful ingredients they’re using but slather them on anyway. Usually because a certain product is permeating their feed. “It’s not clear how those ingredients will interact with each other or how they’ll impact my skin,” she said.
It took me a long time to resist the urge to buy whatever cream I felt like at Sephora or to rip open every expensive treatment I see in the beauty closet at work. During the last year or so, I’ve been much more attuned to what I’m putting in—and on—my body for many reasons, and I’ve committed to taking the time to learn. I have a steady dermatologist, which I hadn’t had since my Accutane days, and I email her questions if I have them. I Google. I ask friends who are beauty editors. I read packaging, not just look at it. For my own health, I’ve chosen to educate myself about why products are able make the promises they do.
I now know exactly what acids—AHA, BHA, glycolic, lactic, malic, citric, salicylic—do, and which ones work for me. I know humectants and Hyaluronic acid are essential for my lifelong dry skin. I know how to apply retinols responsibly. I know the rejuvenating power of a vitamin C serum, because—feeling overwhelmed by the bottles on my bedside table—I asked my dermatologist to suggest one non-negotiable product during my last visit.
Varagur mentions a few of the above ingredients, but assigns them blame, writing, “At the core of the New Skincare is chemical violence.” Nope. Chemical violence is not seeking out things that have been proven effective to look and feel better. It is not being curious about Biologique p50—which comes with a mass of printed instructions—or wanting to try out Glossier’s new chemical exfoliator. Chemical violence is slathering deodorant on your face as a primer because you saw it on YouTube. It’s dousing your face with Pepto Bismol because a supermodel thinks it works. It’s ordering Juvederm online and injecting it at home.
I do not find self worth in the “enormous quantity” of products I use, despite Varagur’s argument. In fact, it’s just the opposite. There’s nothing better than finding a core few that work in tandem to produce results. Today, my routine is face wash (Skinceuticals Gentle Cleanser), toner (Bioderma Sensibio), a morning serum (Skinceuticals CE Ferulic), moisturizer (I swap between M61’s Hydraboost Cream and Desert Essence’s Revitalizing Oils), an eye cream (Red Earth), and a twice-weekly retinol (A60, which my sister brought me from Paris). I also have a weekly rotation of treatments to target different areas of concern (Dr. Brandt’s Oxygen Facial Flash Recovery Mask for dullness, Drunk Elephant’s T.L.C. Sukari BabyFacial for clogged pores and sandpaper texture are two I keep coming back to).
Avoiding your gaze, hiding behind my hair, and being a slave to pan stick are things I’d like to avoid, if possible. I like to look good, too.
But considering the volume of innovative brands and breakthroughs, I’ll always want to try new things, so I might switch or eliminate as I go—and that might mean spending a little more money sometimes. For example, I recently swapped my Holy Grail Clarisonic—which my skin was becoming resistant to—for the NuSkin Lumispa, and I unequivocally noticed a difference in tone, hydration, and clarity in literal days. Buying a new tool wasn’t the equivalent of eating my feelings, so to speak, but rather an actionable thing I did to fix my enlarged pores and dull skin after a good amount of research.
“Before you start a militant skincare regimen, it’s instructive to think about why you want one,” Varagur instructs.
Probably because I hid from the world in high school, and I have important things to accomplish daily that need my full confidence. Avoiding your gaze, hiding behind my hair, and being a slave to pan stick are things I’d like to avoid, if possible. I like to look good, too.
I’m in my mid-to-late 30s and look younger than I am—much younger, I’ve been told. Yes, that could be because of my 5’1″ frame, but I like to think it’s because of my skin’s tone and elasticity. I’m not saying this to boast—I was not blessed with good skin at birth. I treated it with one of the heaviest medications you can find, and ever since I’ve tended to it, and not because anyone told me to, or because I’m chasing some bullshit ideal dictated by Instagram.
“Real, flawed women have real, flawed skin—it’s fine,” Varagur writes. Yeah, we know. I don’t think any skin care-obsessed women I’ve met flips out over a blemish or a breakout. If anything, they’re able to identify the cause—a new ingredient, a bad-eating week, PMS. And that ability to understand and take action, to me, is the definition of perfect skin.
Perrie Samotin is Glamour‘s Digital Deputy Editor
Another year brings another cycle of America’s Next Top Model, one of the few constants left in this world. Tyra Banks swung by the AOL Build Series stage on Tuesday to hold a Q&A before her return to the show, and one audience member posed the question: Does Banks think the fashion industry is liberal, and if so, why has it been such a long, slow slog to see more inclusive beauty standards, and less racially insensitive ad campaigns? In response, Banks laid out one of the biggest problems in the fashion world.
Banks starts her answer by point-blank saying no, the fashion industry isn’t liberal. While the people within it may be liberal-leaning, she says the industry as a whole doesn’t merit the label, and there are some people who use their power to preserve the industry’s flawed state. For years, the fashion industry had dictated which ethnicity’s “look” is trendy each season—and that mindset prevents lasting change, and keeps models from gaining the respect and recognition that they deserve.
ANTM has always made a point of showcasing diverse women, and the show’s new season has the most diverse cast in its history. But from Banks’ years in the industry, the show is an outlier, and long-term progress is yet to come. “[The industry] is liberal and cyclical, and trends,” Banks says. “Oh, it’s a black girl season! Oh, it’s a Brazilian season! Okay, now where are they? Oh, it’s the Russians! Oh, now it’s the Asian girls!” Banks continued: “To me, race is not a trend. My skin is not a trend, your skin is not a trend. We are who we are, so we should not go in and out of fashion. My booty, her booty, should not go in and out of fashion, that should just be.”
It comes down to objectification, she says. “The trend should be what we put on our bodies, not our bodies. And so that’s the part of fashion that I don’t like, is they’ll say, oh, the chocolate girls with the short hair is in for two years. And now, where’s that girl? She’s trying to figure out how she’s going to pay her bills, because she’s no longer hot, and cannot pay to get hired. And that’s what hurts me.”
Watch the full video, below:
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