I remember sitting in stunned silence as I watched the YouTube video You Look Disgusting by skin positivity trailblazer Em Ford. It was 2016, and she was documenting the vile comments she got when she began posting makeup-free images of her acne on social media.
As a former acne sufferer myself, it felt like I was picking at a scab. I'd heard the same insults as Em on the school bus – and I still felt their sting.
But as a young beauty editor, it also made me squirm uncomfortably in my seat. Digitally distorted media images – which Dove's Real Beauty Campaign had, at the time, started fighting against – weren't the only problem now. Society’s view of what was normal had seemingly become distorted, too.
This beautiful, broken woman in tears, calling out the trolls on social media made us – me, other editors, social media and society – reevaluate our relationship with real skin. And in the years since, there felt like there was so much to feel optimistic about.
The conversation around skin slowly changed. Revealing skin – the same textured skin you see in the mirror – with angry red patches, vitiligo, spots, stretch marks, and eczema started to become normalised in beauty campaigns.
Women's magazines began to forego airbrushing; beauty brands like The Inkey List shared images of models with acne, and #InstagramVsReality went viral. Harnaam Kaur, a bearded model with polycystic ovary syndrome, became a representative for #EffYourBeautyStandards and walked at London Fashion Week.
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And in 2019, MAC posted a picture of a woman applying lip pencil. Nothing new there, except the woman also had facial hair.
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It was like we'd entered a glorious era of hyper-realness, where nothing was off limits, and negative comments fell (mostly) on deaf ears. But I fear skin positivity currently faces the same fate as the body positivity movement. It's becoming harder to ignore how the message that everyone should feel empowered and good in their own skin is hanging on by a mere thread.
Women are overdosing on Ozempic and celebrities are peddling diet pills like it's 2001.
What happened to skin positivity?
Social media is partly to blame now that it's awash with trends like the ‘clean girl’ aesthetic – where overwhelmingly white, skinny TikTokers push blemish-free, dewy skin to the tune of over 775K posts. Annual searches for ‘glass skin’, characterised by doll-smooth – almost liquid – complexions, have hit the 1 million mark, with an additional 1.2 million Instagram posts dedicated to the topic.
In the face of that, “there has been a decline in skin positivity and an increased emphasis on achieving ‘perfect’ skin,” says Dr Anjali Mahto, consultant dermatologist and founder of Self London, who herself suffers from acne. “Many people now measure their self-worth by the appearance of their skin.”
She calls out filters and the relentless promotion of complex 10-step skincare routines as being behind the pressure to conform to unrealistic beauty standards. "This has led to a diminishing presence of genuine, unfiltered skin representation wherever we look," she adds.
Zeitgeisty skincare brands are also feeding this narrative. As much as I love Rhode products, there is still a notable shortage of anyone with traces of acne or sensitive skin on its Instagram grid. The same is true of Drunk Elephant.
What's more, only last week, the Trump administration reportedly banned Freckleface Strawberry, a children's book by Julianne Moore, in response to its recent diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) programme crackdown.
The book follows a young girl “who dislikes her freckles but eventually learns to live with them when she realises that she is different ‘just like everybody else,'” the actress said in an Instagram post, adding, “It is a book I wrote for my children and for other kids to remind them that we all struggle, but are united by our humanity and our community.” It's only been in the last decade that freckles haven't been photoshopped off of models, too.
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Ripples from the US's DEI changes will also likely impact the skin positivity movement globally, given many beauty brands have their headquarters across the Pond. Shamefully, with fewer Black and Brown women at the table, we run the risk of having fewer insightful conversations into the real needs of women of colour.
One beauty brand that has been vocal in remaining dedicated to driving inclusivity and positivity is e.l.f.. Sold in 15 countries, including the US and UK, its employee base comprises 74% women and 44% people of colour.
“Our diverse employee base largely mirrors our consumers and, therefore, is a key strength that allows us to connect on a deeper level,” CMO Kory Marchisotto told GLAMOUR. “Maintaining a variety of perspectives ensures we continue to create products that celebrate the diverse beauty needs of our global community.”
The psychological impact is real
It suddenly feels like any progress we made to dismantle outdated beauty tropes and promote real inclusivity is being reversed. Society is becoming less tolerant – and it's terrifying. Not least because being denied the tools to feel good about yourself at a young age can have serious implications for your mental health growing up. Especially for young women who lack self-confidence.
“I’m seeing more patients experiencing anxiety, low self-esteem and even obsessive behaviours around their skin,” Dr Mahto notes. “Many feel distressed over perfectly normal variations in skin texture, pigmentation or breakouts, which can have a significant impact on their mental wellbeing.”
Constanza Concha, one of GLAMOUR's 2021 Self-Love issue cover stars, has also seen a decline in skin positivity since the Pandemic. “I've seen a lot of the voices in the community just grow out of the movement,” the body positivity influencer says. Some of this was a natural evolution – “they either continued their studies or became mothers".
But she also points out that skin neutrality – a recognition that there is no such thing as ‘bad’ or ‘good’ skin – is a growing conversation that is replacing skin positivity. “Creators went from talking only about skin positivity and their skin issues, to showcasing more about their lives, sharing makeup tutorials, lifestyle content.”
And that's no bad thing – both movements, says Constanza, "suit different preferences. Some people may need affirmations at the end of the day to feel better and others just a small 'it's alright'”.
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Skin with no shame needs allies
The important thing is to keep the conversation around skin having no shame going. “Unrealistic beauty standards have a big impact on the minds and hearts of those who cannot achieve them,” Constanza notes. “Awareness creates empathy and people with rosacea, scars, acne, eczema deal with a lot of mental and physical pain daily.”
Maybe if I'd seen more girls like me with acne on social media when I was growing up I wouldn't have burnt my skin with acids. I wouldn't have spent hours crying over my spots. I would have been too busy having fun and being normal. Because that's the thing: spotty, dry, irritated, scarred, lined, Black, Brown and freckled skin is normal.
All of which begs the question: how long before we only see sanitised, airbrushed images of women's skin on social media, in TV ads and on billboards?
Some people probably think that banning a book on freckles is trivial. Compared to the big political issues playing out on the world stage, maybe it is. But to those young girls with freckles and acne who are bullied and othered at school? Or those Black and Brown women whose contribution to the skin conversation is being silenced? The death of skin positivity feels anything but trivial.
For more from Fiona Embleton, GLAMOUR's Associate Beauty Director, follow her on @fiembleton.
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