In case you missed it, there’s a twisted concept happening in the beauty industry right now. As detailed in a recent TikTok by creator Jackie Asamoah, it seems that some makeup brands are sending products to Black content creators that do not work for their complexion – with the expectation that the influencer will publicly call them out so that they can swoop in, ask for their expertise, and later, create a product that offers the brand redemption and proves they are one of the good guys.
The issue with this scheme is that leaning on Black content creators to help fix products – instead of doing that work from the outset – simultaneously erases and exploits Black culture. “We’ve just come way too far for beauty brands to still be acting like they don’t know how to include dark skin people in their products,” a frustrated Asamoah says in her TikTok. “We’ve already earned our spot in beauty; why does it seem like the industry reset and started all over again?”
“It’s literally the white savior complex of beauty, and I’m sick of it.”
Of course, this complete dismissal of our seat at the table is not new. Unfortunately, beauty brands have long ignored dark skin tones, often releasing new collections that don’t have shades darker than “tan.” And even when our undertones are somewhat taken into consideration, the naming conventions are bleak at best. (Just think of the horrendous “Yikes” and “Typo” shade names produced by a huge cosmetics brand years back.) The fact is, there are valid critiques of every aspect of the beauty industry when it comes to representation of Black people. But in 2025, why is this still an issue? Why are brands still engaging in performative inclusion?
These tired, antiquated methods to obtain clout – the idea that any press, even if it’s bad, is good press – is played out. It feels lazy, but, more than that, it shows that systems weren’t created with us in mind. Sticking to this afterthought mentality only furthers that painful narrative.
Could this tactic be a way of manipulating our emotions and psyche to receive positive recognition and profit from our pain? “Let’s create a problem, let them point it out, and then we’ll fix it and we’ll be the good guys,” Asamoah shares. “It’s literally the white savior complex of beauty, and I’m sick of it.”
Engaging in this performative act is not only hindering a brand’s image but is hugely insulting to the Black community, especially creatives. “You’re teaching a whole generation of people that they are still an afterthought, no matter how much work we put in earning our space in beauty,” Asamoah tells her followers. “We’re still going to have to earn, beg, yearn, and make noise, just to be seen.”
Having to call out brands for offenses to our culture, identity, and complexions is mentally and emotionally draining. But we do it anyway in hopes that the awareness will prevent it from happening again. For Black people, our unwavering resilience is the byproduct of this constant adversity. Although I too take pride in this character trait, I’m eager for the day where showing up as a consumer in the beauty industry doesn’t force us to show our resilience.
And I’m not saying I don’t want brands to seek assistance from Black people – I do – but I want those people to be valued members of the team that were hired based on their talent and strengths. Brands can’t just lean on Black influencers to point out and fix the problem. At the end of the day, we are just people, looking to see ourselves in your products.
Natasha Marsh is a freelance writer who writes about fashion, beauty, and lifestyle. Prior to freelancing, she held styling staff positions at The Wall Street Journal, Burberry, Cosmopolitan, British GQ, and Harper’s Bazaar.
