Beauty Isn’t Just Skin Deep—It’s History, Too

The eyeshadow palette on my dresser might seem like a fleeting trend, but it’s got more layers than the shimmer on my eyelids. That deep berry red? It’s got echoes of Cleopatra’s crushed beetles and 1920s flappers dusting on rouge in secret. My slicked-back bun? It carries threads of my grandmother’s wedding day photo.

Beauty is never just about right now. It carries memory. It carries rebellion. It carries culture. And every time we brush on pigment or style our hair, whether we realize it or not—we're participating in a story that's far older than we are.

Inherited Glamour (and Ghosts)

My first lipstick came from my mother’s drawer. A warm brown she wore in the ’90s, when shoulder pads were bold and confidence was, too. When I smeared it across my lips as a teenager—uneven, too much—I felt like I was borrowing her armor. But I was also absorbing her beauty beliefs, passed down without words.

Like how she always told me not to leave the house looking “undone.” Or how she sighed when looking at herself in photos, never satisfied. Those things get passed down, too—just as much as cheekbone structure or hair texture.

We inherit glamour, but also its shadows.

The Politics of Powder and Paint

It’s easy to think of beauty routines as shallow, but history begs to differ. In ancient Egypt, eyeliner wasn’t just about allure—it protected eyes from the sun and symbolized divine protection. In the 1700s, powdered wigs and painted cheeks signaled status and wealth (and, at times, defiance of the natural body).

Even nail polish has stories—it was used in ancient China to denote class. Red lips? Once scandalous. Then patriotic during WWII. Then punk in the ’80s.

Beauty has always been tied to power. Identity. Control. Whether used to conform or rebel, to hide or highlight—it says something about who we are, and what the world expects of us.

Cultural Codes in Every Curl and Color

If you’ve ever been told your natural hair is “unprofessional,” or your features “exotic,” you’ve felt it: the politics of beauty run deep, especially for people of color, LGBTQ+ folks, and anyone outside the narrow standard.

Traditional adornments—henna, bindis, braids, gold tooth caps, ceremonial face paint—are often celebrated when filtered through a fashion lens, yet dismissed or ridiculed in their original cultural context.

So when someone shows up in their full, unfiltered beauty—rooted in their own history, not someone else’s trend—they're doing something powerful. They're reclaiming space. They’re making the past visible in the present.

The Mirror as a Time Machine

There are days when I get ready quickly, without thought. But other times—when I smooth oil into my skin or line my lips with extra care—it feels like something more ritualistic. Like I’m reaching for all the versions of me that came before. The girls I was. The women I watched. The ancestors I never met but somehow echo in the shape of my eyes.

Beauty, in those moments, becomes time travel. Not about vanity, but connection. To legacy. To place. To the idea that who we are and how we present ourselves isn’t isolated—it’s part of a lineage.