I Felt Amazing in My Skin—Until This Happened
All I wanted was good ol’ toothpaste. Instead, I got an unsolicited gift.
I have brown skin, and I grew up in India. But my earliest memory of my color being pointed out as inferior is from five years ago, when I was 21 and living in the United States.
A fortysomething relative of mine gloatingly told me that she had once been as “fit-looking” as me when she was my age—but fairer. She meant that being lighter-skinned was a bonus to her looks in addition to having a “nice body.”
I couldn’t say anything back to her because I was in shock that someone from my own community could say something like that. And although the bitterness of her words still stings, it opened me up to careful observation.
After this incident, I began to notice hints of colorism around me. A friend who claimed to be a feminist and proponent of inner beauty owned an assortment of skin-lightening creams. The aforementioned relative, at a different time, told me that I looked darker when I wore the color white. I overheard another brown friend talk about how a Bollywood actor did not succeed because she was dusky. You get the point.
I felt upset and betrayed by these people and others. But thanks to a solid upbringing and a somewhat sturdy sense of self, I didn’t let these incidents get to me. I didn’t let these regressive notions seep under my skin and trick me into believing that my skin tone was not beautiful.
These instances and their potential to cause massive emotional damage also cemented some of my decisions as a consumer, such as never buying anything that endorses skin lightening or promises fair skin. I never have, and I was proud of that.
Until a few weeks ago.
I went to buy toothpaste. I got my regular Colgate, but when I came home and unboxed it, I found an unsolicited gift: a flimsy, lemon-colored, 10-rupee (about 13 U.S. cents) sachet of Fairness Serum Cream “free” with my toothpaste purchase.
I scoffed and was about to throw it out when something dawned on me. Is this okay? I thought. This was forced selling.
Last year, the Indian government proposed heavy fines and a jail term for any brand promoting fair skin. A few months later, Hindustan Unilever Limited’s Fair & Lovely — a pungent-smelling, sticky, white concoction popular in India since the 1970s — changed its name to Glow & Lovely.
I began to think, “Well, if you can’t sell fairness through national television, you might as well shove it in my items of everyday use?”
On the front, the fairness cream sachet featured a famous Indian celebrity. I wondered if she’d ever questioned her skin shade. The real shock came when I flipped over the packet.
It featured a scale of “measurable performance” from 1 to 16, with 1 being the lightest and 16 being the brownest. I was hurt to learn that going from brown to white counted as “performance.” Also, there were no colors beyond brown.
I was fuming because my fundamentals were in question. Something I had sworn to never buy was sitting on my bathroom sink and, even worse, creeping into my psyche. This event was enough to remind me of the multiple incidents of colorism I either saw or faced during my time in the United States.
All of this because of a product I didn’t even want. Years of feeling comfortable in my skin, pep talks to myself, and building self-love were now feeling shaky thanks to a cheap bag of fairness cream packaged with tone-deafness and a resolve to crush spirits.
I instantly began to think about what would happen if young, teenage girls were to receive this free sample with their toothpaste, shampoo, or face wash. I wanted to take action.
I took a picture of the packet and tweeted it, tagging the brand and the Bollywood actor. Nothing happened. I was tempted to take it a step further and write about it on LinkedIn, where multiple brands that still sell fairness creams are popularly present.
When I went onto the page of the parent company, L’Oréal Paris, I saw that they were running a campaign to fight harassment in public spaces. Their brand with the fairness products — Garnier — had partnered with the Out Foundation to facilitate the LGBTQ+ community’s access to fitness, health, and wellness resources.
And what hit me most was remembering that L’Oréal’s slogan is
“You’re worth it.”
This is not a potshot at one company for selling fairness in the garb of skin care. But I want to ask these skin and body care giants this:
How can you present yourself as an inclusive, empowering brand in one or more parts of the world and continue to endorse lighter skin elsewhere? Are you a colorist and racist, or are you an advocate of women’s and LGBTQ+ rights? Which one is it? This hypocrisy heavily endangers your integrity as a brand. Because you can’t support minorities in one place and trample on young girls’ and women’s self-confidence somewhere else.
Further, marketing or selling tactics cannot come at the expense of valuable mental and emotional health. A little freebie in my toothpaste pack is beyond cheap advertising. For me, it was a reminder of my handful of disturbing experiences with colorism. For someone else, it might be another reason to hate their skin. Or an attempt to fit into society’s idea of beauty. Or an unnecessary speed bump in someone’s journey of self-love and positive body image.
I can only hope that big brands that have a household presence take note of this and align their marketing strategies and products with what they truly want to propagate. My fairness cream sachet was tossed into the trash because I do know that I’m worth it. Help girls and women solidify this belief —not cripple it.
