‘I’d Put Talc On My Legs To Try To Make Them Look Lighter’

There are many shocking scenes in Beyoncé’s latest video, Pretty Hurts, which has had over 15 million YouTube views in just three weeks: Beyoncé being weighed and measured like a piece of meat, Beyoncé popping handfuls of dubious looking pills, Beyoncé being aggressively spray tanned. But by far the most disturbing is the scene where Beyoncé – one of the world’s most fetishized women – steps out of a toilet cubicle having just stuck her fingers down her throat to make herself throw up.

Alongside the video, Beyoncé launched #Whatispretty – asking fans to upload what is pretty to them. The results are then posted on whatispretty.com. It’s full of cute, uplifting images and videos about how it’s what’s inside that counts. The hashtag and the original video has sparked a debate about whether Beyoncé – who recently graced Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People coverin what looked a lot like bra and pants – is in any position to complain about impossible beauty ideals.

But while feminists and fans debate the ethics of Beyoncé, including the ‘eat the cake, Anna Mae’ line in Drunk In Love (seriously, why ruin an amazing song by glorifying Ike Turner’s beating up of his ex-wife Tina Turner?), and are majorly miffed by the whole ‘Mrs Carter’ business, when it comes to how damaging this constant diet of ‘the lighter, the thinner, the better’ actually is, Beyoncé totally nails it.

I was still in primary school when I first realised that my black skin, kinky Afro and curvy frame were, by Planet Fashion’s standards, simply not good enough. I’d stand in front of a mirror with a towel on my head and practise swishing my imaginary long blonde hair from side to side. I’d put talc on my legs to try to make them look lighter and begged my dad to let me put harsh chemicals on my hair to straighten it.

Decades later, as a style writer, I am still shocked by how badly the industry treats women of colour. Many major beauty brands still don’t cater properly for black skin or, at best, have one or two badly put-together shades – for which we are supposed to be grateful. They refuse to advertise in leading black magazines and hardly ever use black models in major campaigns. What is this if not thinly veiled contempt for black women?

Just last week at a shoot, the black models showed up with their own foundation and ready to do their own make-up because they are so used to make-up artists not having a clue about black skin. I’ve lost count of how many black models and actresses have told me they are too scared to take off their weaves or stop chemically relaxing their hair because designers and casting agents freak out if they show up with their hair curly. ‘It’s hard enough getting work as a black model or actress; it’s even harder if your hair is natural,’ they tell me.

I still regularly find myself struggling to find a decent foundation, powder or tinted moisturiser that works for my skin tone – especially in the summer when I get a tan. When BB and CC creams came out, it was as if black women just didn’t exist. Brands such as Bobbi Brown, Mac and Illamasqua do a great job, but if you don’t live in London or you just want to pop into your local shop for a shampoo for your Afro or an emergency concealer, you’re in trouble.

Just last week, I scoured the high street and online for a ‘nude’ bra that would work with my skin tone – I mean seriously, hundreds of neon pink and zebra-print bras but not even a single shade in brown?

Yes, there have been some significant breakthroughs. Last month, Lupita Nyong'o was announced as a Lancôme Ambassador. But you only have to look at how Lupita is fetishized – with words such as ‘unique’ and 'exotic' – to see that some commentators can barely contain their shock that a woman of her hue can be so stunning.

And why is there only room for one dark-skinned black woman to be considered beautiful at a time?

The sad thing is that the fashion industry is just a glossier, shinier, high-heeled version of the rest of popular culture. Those who are the gatekeepers of beauty are the same people who decide whether a black women is relatable enough to play a leading lady, talented enough to win an Oscar, or ‘accessible’ enough to stand for election.

Being told constantly that our hair, our skin and our body shapes are not beautiful eats away at our collective psyche. To quote Bey: ‘Ain’t got no doctor or pill that can take the pain away.’ Everyone deserves to see themselves positively represented – black or white.

Follow Hannah on Twitter @hannahpool

This article originally appeared on The Debrief.