I still remember my first bottle of foundation. I was 16. I bought it from the makeup store near my house. It was a tiny plastic tube, three shades too light, but everyone said that it was “nice”  or “close enough”. The bottle promised “flawless coverage,” but it never covered the one thing that mattered most: the feeling that maybe my skin was wrong for the beauty aisle.

For so many Black women, makeup has always been more than powder and pigment. It’s been proof that we exist. For decades, the shelves told a different story, shades named “Nude” that matched only one type of nude, rows of beige and ivory and nothing for deep gold or ebony. We had to mix, match, blend, pray. Or we just gave up.

Some of our mothers wore face powder that left them looking grey in wedding photos. Some of us sat in salon chairs while a makeup artist fumbled through mismatched concealers and called it done. For years, we were told to “make it work.” And we did, we learned the tricks. We found that one dark powder behind the counter. We shared tips in dorms, backrooms, YouTube tutorials whispered like secrets. We made it work because we always do.

But it shouldn’t have been our burden to fix what the industry ignored.

When brands finally started showing up with 20, 30, 40 shades, not as a luxury, but as normal, it felt like a door opening. Not because we needed their permission to be beautiful. But because we deserved to see our skin belong on shelves, in ads, in the world. Seeing deeper shades sell out overnight wasn’t just hype, it was proof of what we always knew: we’re here. We buy. We matter.

Now when a young Black girl stands in front of that shelf, maybe she won’t settle for “close enough.” Maybe she’ll find her shade on the first try. Maybe she won’t think her skin needs to be lighter to be right. Maybe she’ll just put it on, smile at herself, and go live her life.

It’s funny,  the bottle is small, but the message is big: you deserve to be seen exactly as you are.