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“In the factory, we make cosmetics. In the drugstore, we sell hope,” Charles Revson, the founder of Revlon, once said. And for quite some time he was right. However, that hope in a jar has all but disappeared. Now, brands sell something far more sinister: Fear. It’s why “preventative Botox” and extreme forms of biohacking exist. It’s the reason tweens and teens are flocking to Sephora, purchasing treatments designed for mature skin types and doing their makeup like OnlyFans models. (read all about it here.)
But the fear-mongering goes far beyond the panic of aging and looking ugly. We are now brainwashed by the FOMO (fear of missing out). It’s a key component to the Sephora teen frenzy and uptick in beauty procedures in early twenty-somethings. After all, I’d wager an 11-year-old didn’t have a clue about wrinkle-reducing retinoids or collagen-stimulating peptides until an influencer shelled out products on TikTok.
And with the introduction of TikTok Shop, the online platform has become one massive marketplace with #sponconposts getting out of control. It’s so blatant that it’s both off-putting and cringe. Kind of like in The Truman Show when Meryl Burbank (played by Laura Linney) asks Truman (Jim Carrey) if he wants cocoa in the midst of an argument. “Why don’t you let me fix you some of this Mococoa drink?” she says robotically, with a forced smile. “All natural cocoa beans from the upper slopes of Mount Nicaragua. No artificial sweeteners.” I mean, how is this any different than a Nara Smith video? She might not be promoting a specific product, but she’s selling a fake ideal of marriage and motherhood. Like Meryl, she’s in on the schtick—she’s putting on a facade and being recorded for all to see. I’d even argue that we’re living in a heightened version of The Truman Show, where the subject doesn’t mind being surveilled or a sleazy salesman.
And these days, it’s harder to decipher the ads from authentic reviews. It’s no wonder TikTokers like Mikayla Nogueira, Meredith Duxbury, and Jaclyn Hill have been embroiled in controversy for their misleading reviews and first impressions. Even when an influencer or celebrity is honest about their beauty choices, it’s met with skepticism.
Take, for instance, Pamela Anderson’s makeup-free movement during Paris Fashion Week last September. She received an outpour of praise and called the bold decision a product of self-acceptance. “This is the chapter of my life I’m trying to embrace now,” she told i-D magazine. “I feel relief—a weight off my shoulders.” Then, four months later, she announced a skincare endeavor with Sonsie (which she acquired and became co-founder of). Fans felt duped. “I don't think you should give me the credit of it being a stunt,” she told Allure, “because that's not how I think. But the timing and the stars aligned.” Pamela may have denied the “stunt,” but the damage was done: Her partnership tainted her courageous act.
The beauty space has become oversaturated with marketing gimmicks and salesy content that we are numb to the truth. Hell, I don’t even fully trust myself sometimes when testing products for work because of how the industry operates. If I don’t like a new foundation, for example, then I risk ruining a relationship I built with a publicist. I’ve been blacklisted before. Once, I critiqued a liquid eyeliner from a makeup artist-owned brand because it took forever to dry down and then it disappeared within a few hours. The reps didn’t like that detail, so they took me off the PR list. It’s a double-edged sword: You must always be honest to gain readers’ trust, but not too honest that you damage your PR connections. (The next time you read an editor’s review, pay close attention to the “negatives” and the clever rhetoric.)
Sadly, this is the name of the game. There is a pressure to promote—rather than report. Before, influencers, celebs, and editors alike could call out the defects of a product, while balancing it out by mentioning some perks. The eyeliner I criticized had several pros, like its flexible brush tip and lightweight packaging. Yet, the publicist didn’t care that I included a couple of positives. They wanted the entire review to be a fluff piece. Instead of disclosing the restrictions from the get-go or offering to do an advertorial, they assumed I’d be overjoyed to test the new line that I wouldn’t say anything critical. And what seemed like an outrageous expectation at the time has now turned into the norm.
My friend Stixx (who runs the Substack: Boy Beat) recently summed up this new system and my overall sentiment, sharing a conversation he had with another industry vet. “I was chatting with a friend + fellow beauty writer and she remarked, ‘Beauty is starting to feel like a sales job and I’m not a sales lady,’” he wrote on LinkedIn. “The way brands are pushing out product day-to-day…PR is chasing editors to add in prices, sales and GWP’s within the copy, and influencers aren’t being authentic about how efficacious a product really is—it’s all about numbers + cents but it’s not making sense.” Cha-ching.
Beauty used to be fun. I could get lost in a YouTube rabbit hole, watching countless makeup videos that provided both education and entertainment. I could learn to create a cut crease while finding out a YouTuber was on the brink of a breakup. Or a YouTuber would test a new foundation and record their jam-packed day, giving us check-ins every few hours on how the product held up while cleaning their entire house or while out on a Target run, or after a workout session. At least they put in effort to sell us something. Online, I’d get lost in Refinery29’s hot takes (Shady was a great docuseries) and unique beauty angles. Allure, Byrdie, Bustle and other female-centric sites took risks and shared content that was more than skin deep. Nowadays, everything feels like a replica of each other.
And although PR, combined with marketing, has created a vicious cycle of endless shilling from people we’re supposed to trust (journalists) and “relate to” (influencers), they aren’t entirely to blame. Consumerism is the root of the problem—and the catalyst for FOMO. We constantly buy things we don’t need and, quite frankly, don’t want.
Author Toni Tone recently shared this poignant tweet: “Just saw a TikTok where a woman said, ‘Do you actually want it or do you want other people to see that you have it?’... I feel like more ppl need to ask themselves this, because what they THINK they want isn’t what they actually want. What they really desire is acceptance.” Now this is a concept I’m sold on.
P.S.: Thank you for reading my newsletter! I’d be quite the hypocrite for commenting on sales-y people when I’m pushing out content. So, without getting too sappy, know that I appreciate your support—whether through subscribing, DM’ing me, or following me online.