“I don’t put on makeup for men — I do it for the fellow girlies!” A TikTok influencer smiles widely into the camera, blinking to show off the glitter dotting her eyelids. My hands are in mid-air following her tutorial, but I suddenly pause. She’s already moved on to the next step in the makeup tutorial, but I can’t help but think, “You know it’s because you’re conventionally attractive and already have male validation, right?”
In my time exploring the world of makeup and cosmetics, I’ve discovered a curious trend where beauty influencers are constantly reassuring their viewers that they are huge feminists — so feminist, in fact, that all the work they put into their physical appearances isn’t influenced by a larger sexist society at all. This fierce faux-feminism contrasts paradoxically with the very nature of their occupation as influencers: to use their beauty … to sell more beauty products. But this strange contradiction brings me to my larger inquiry: why are people so insistent that makeup is feminist?
In examining the history of makeup, we can see that makeup first became part of the feminist movement in the 1990s, when there was a reclamation of traditionally feminine customs — the beginning of the “girl power” movement. Pink was back in fashion; lipstick and makeup could suddenly represent both femininity and strength. Lipstick feminism saw the beginning of using makeup as a feminine form of expression, using makeup for the user’s happiness rather than the audience. Yet, this “girl boss,” self-sufficient narrative is hard to believe. Makeup is, at its essence, a temporary cosmetic change — a product based on altering one’s physical appearance. The very nature of it is quite literally surface level; it cannot claim to be a pure expression of self without the influence of an outside male gaze. The beauty influencers with their emphasis on beauty as a feminist expression baffled me. From conventionally beautiful makeup to “anti-man” makeup (defined as bleached eyebrows, slightly edgy eyeliner, or if you’re feeling rebellious, some bright eyeshadow), these makeup trends only functioned within the confines of what men did or did not like anyway.
But is it correct to swing to the opposite side of the pendulum and call makeup inherently sexist? I’m not sure that’s the correct term either. Makeup embodies a cultural space and is considered almost a rite of passage, the difference between a gangly teenager and a well-groomed adult. Yes, it’s impossible to ignore how girls experience high body-related anxieties in comparison to boys, but to reduce makeup to internalized sexism is overly simplistic. Sexism implies that the only problem is the disparity in makeup usage between men and women, but as more and more men have started using makeup, studies have found that men also experienced an increase in social and body-related anxieties. This gendered disparity is closing, but having an overall more insecure and anxious population isn’t equality — it only exacerbates the central issue! Makeup shouldn’t be considered inherently feminist or sexist; instead, it should be considered exactly what it is: a capitalist industry based on the alteration of physical appearance. Makeup appeared because there was a demand for it. People wanted to look better, for social, cultural or personal reasons, so suppliers obliged.
As we watch children of Gen Z and Generation Alpha accessing social media at unprecedentedly young ages, “Sephora Teens” using retinol before they even reach puberty, and the yearly 120 billion units of trash generated from endless makeup waste, it becomes clear that overconsumption has twisted this simple exchange. In the endless horde of TikTok influencers and advertisements, makeup has become a flourishing industry directly profiting off of the insecurities of human bodies. Either painting it as sexist or feminist only hides the true problem: letting the makeup industry manipulate you into obsessing over every minor issue, forcing you to buy 14 products that you “need,” but really won’t do anything different.
