Soft Glam, Strong Voice: What It’s Like Being Black in the Beauty Industry

There’s a quiet courage in showing up fully and proudly when the world doesn’t always make room for you. As a Black woman in this industry, I’ve had to carve space. Not just for myself, but for the clients who look like me. For the ones who scroll through Pinterest and don’t see their skin tone. For the ones who’ve been told “you’re hard to match.” For the ones who wonder if their desired artist carries their shade.

I’ve been in this industry for years. I’ve blended shades, calmed nerves, and zipped dresses, but I’ve also translated the unspoken. The subtle side glances when I walk into luxury venues. Sometimes it’s not even subtle. I’ve had venue owners, producers, backstage managers assume I was an assistant or the one to grab their coffee, not the lead artist running a full team or the lead artist. I’ve been stared down like I wandered into the wrong space. I’ve had to explain why I don’t work weddings held at former plantations, as if the history tied to that land is a footnote, not a full history.

Once, someone told me that boundary was “too much.” That I should just be grateful my “little business” was even being considered. That I shouldn’t turn down work, because “businesses like mine” don’t make it far.

But here’s what they didn’t understand: This isn’t just a business. It’s a voice. It’s a commitment to doing things with integrity, even when it costs me. It’s knowing that I don’t have to shrink myself to survive here. I’m not interested in just making it. I’m interested in changing it.

But for every moment like that, all the stares, the dismissals, the condescension….there are plenty of clients who see me clearly.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard:“I booked you because I have a diverse group of friends, and I felt safe with you.”

That kind of feedback? It means everything. Because it tells me my work isn’t just pretty, it’s purposeful. It means my portfolio didn’t just showcase my signature looks… it showed belonging. That every shade was honored. That no one had to wonder, “Will she know how to do my makeup?”

It reminds me why I lead the way I do. Why I build teams that reflect the real world. Why I show up in my fullness, even when the room wasn’t designed for me. Because safety, representation, and luxury should never be mutually exclusive.

The assumptions that my artistry only fits one kind of client, the surprise when people realize I’m the lead, not the assistant.

But what they don’t always see? Is that I’m not here to just fit in. I’m here to transcend, not just faces, but expectations.

Being Black in bridal beauty means you learn to be a translator, a protector, and an innovator. You learn to carry the weight of representation while still holding room for joy. And above all, you learn to show up, beautifully, consistently, and boldly.

And I won’t shrink.

Not when a bride tears up because it’s the first time she’s seen herself on a mood board.

Not when I create soft glam that actually enhances brown skin instead of masking it.

Not when I mentor newer artists and remind them that they deserve to be in every room.

Soft glam is my artistry, but my voice? That’s my legacy.