One of my least favourite TikTok trends is the ‘Monthly Beauty Maintenance’ vlog, where Black women reveal the staggering costs of staying ‘put together.’ Watching these videos feels like peering into a past life, one where I too spent hundreds of pounds every two to six weeks maintaining an image that, I later realised, wasn’t truly mine. Living in London, where the cost of living is notoriously high, this level of upkeep wasn’t just a financial burden – it was exhausting. For many Black women, services like wigs, acrylic nails, lash extensions, eyebrow threading, tinting or lamination, waxes or laser, and salon visits (to maintain the natural hair under the wig) aren’t mere luxuries – they’re part of an identity that align with our societal expectations of ourselves and one another. I spent years adhering to this standard, pouring thousands of pounds into these routines to maintain an image that wasn’t authentically mine.
It wasn’t until I lost my job in 2022 that I finally confronted my beauty spending habits. At first, the change felt devastating; I had become so emotionally attached to these services that I genuinely believed I’d be unattractive without them. But with no stable income and the decision to pursue my dream of becoming a writer instead of returning to corporate work, spending £120-£600 on a wig, £80-£120 on acrylic nails, £75-£100 on lash extensions, and so forth was no longer an option. This abrupt shift didn’t just expose how unsustainable these habits were, it forced me to question why I had placed so much of my self-worth in these services. Why did I equate them with my attractiveness? And why did I let the inability to afford them make me feel lesser?
I want to dispel the narrative that self tan isn’t for Black skin.
As I grappled with my new financial reality, I began to question not just the costs – but the emotional weight I had placed on these services. One of the hardest adjustments was giving up my regular acrylic nail appointments. While I was never particularly fond of false nails, as a Black woman living in London, acrylics felt inseparable from a beauty standard I wasn’t yet confident enough to reject. When I stopped getting my nails done every three to four weeks — a routine I’d upheld religiously — I felt embarrassed, worrying what people might think of my bare nails and pre-emptively justifying my decision (particularly to the men I dated) even before they noticed.
The most difficult change, however, was giving up lash extensions. I’d worn them so consistently that I couldn’t even recognise my own face without them. My natural lashes, worn down by constant glue and removal, were left short and sparse, further feeding my insecurity. I felt exposed and two-dimensional without the dramatic effect of extensions. It took what felt like an eternity to accept my face without them, and even longer to see mascara as an alternative when I wore makeup. These adjustments, as superficial as they may seem, came with immense anxiety and shame. Not just over the loss of these services, or what people might think of me, but over what it meant to confront my natural features and 'untamed' body.
Looking back, I realise that my fear wasn’t really about nails or lashes. It was about desirability. I worried that without these enhancements, I’d lose my place in the spaces I occupied or become less worthy to the people I interacted with. Detaching myself from these services wasn’t just about saving money, it unintentionally became about redefining my beauty standards.
Whether I liked it or not, there was no longer a budget for beauty maintenance. And while I wish I could say something admirable like, “I learned how to do everything myself,” the truth is, I lacked both the dexterity and patience for at-home DIY upkeep. Instead, I explored other options. One thing about the monthly beauty maintenance for Black women is that it often leans into a specific aesthetic – the 'Baddie' — flawless wigs, bold lashes, long acrylic nails and a full glam look. For years, I had worked hard to replicate this look, but deep down, I always felt like it betrayed the essence of who I was. Beneath the wigs, acrylic nails, individual lashes, and many other beauty services, I struggled to reconcile the image I presented with the person I felt I truly was.
So, while I was admittedly anxious and fearful of judgment, I found a quiet joy in discovering a standard of beauty that felt comfortably my own. When wigs and their upkeep became unaffordable, I went through a phase of experimenting with different braid styles, an option I hadn’t considered in years. Braids were not only affordable and low maintenance but allowed me to come to terms with the natural size of my forehead after years of only liking the feature with a lace frontal pasted on my hairline. What began as a money-saving exercise became a much deeper exploration of self. The process revealed just how deeply my attachment to beauty services was tied to insecurity and even mild dysmorphia. Realising this was the most valuable takeaway of all.
As my finances picked up and my freelance portfolio grew, I found myself in a position where I could once again afford the luxury services I had been forced to give up. But by then, something fundamental had shifted. Reflecting on the years I had spent maintaining an image I felt compelled to adopt helped me see beauty routines in a new light. I had spent so much time and money on beauty ideals that weren’t truly mine, and after discovering an image of myself that I genuinely liked, I was adamant not to fall back into old habits just because I could now afford them. After all, the version of me that emerged was quirky, chic, and unafraid of my natural features. I wasn’t entirely resistant to indulging in the odd lash extension for special occasions, but I knew that if I engaged in any beauty treatments going forward, it would be a deliberate choice.
Funnily enough, entirely new trends had emerged during the time I couldn’t afford luxury services. Aesthetic treatments, microlink hair extensions, microblading and countless other luxury enhancements have become the latest benchmarks of beauty. But I want to be mindful not to subscribe to anything just because it was trendy or socially expected. Now, I’m in a place where I really like my image. My natural lashes, once brittle and sparse, have grown back strong, and I’ve become confident in applying a touch of mascara to elevate my makeup looks. I’ve also returned to sew-in weaves, which are more affordable, offer longevity, and allow me to feel effortlessly ‘put together’. Most importantly, I’ve reached a point where I feel beautiful whether I engage in beauty services or not. Bare nails and all.
