Estrogen. You heard the word when your high school sex-ed class reached the “female body” portion. You’ve seen it referenced in birth-control ads on the subway and during commercial breaks on TV. You know that it’s a hormone produced primarily in the ovaries. But in case you got distracted putting a condom on a banana, this is your reminder that estrogen levels play a role in so much more than just pregnancy and menopause — and their effects aren’t limited to the internal.

When you think of estrogen declining, it’s common for menopause to come to mind — and what we’ve understood happens during that stage, like hot flashes, mood swings, and low sex drives. But did you know that estrogen plays a role when it comes to your skin, too?

If you’re under the age of 40, you might think: “I don’t have to worry about this for a while.” Turns out that’s not exactly true. Perimenopause is the two to five years leading up to menopause, and even before that, estrogen typically starts to drop around 30 and takes another nosedive at 35. As board-certified OB/GYN Uzzi Reiss, MD, writes in her book The Good News About Estrogen, it was uncommon for women in previous generations to enter menopause before 55. Now, due to environmental and epigenetic stressors, women today can be as young as 38.

We spoke to industry experts to learn more about estrogen-deficient skin, and why we’re witnessing a spike in interest from both brands and consumers within the beauty industry. Read more about it, ahead.

The Relationship Between Estrogen & Skin

Estrogen levels decline over your lifetime and diminish steadily as you get older, and this isn’t just a matter of whether you can get pregnant: Estrogen is a key factor in your overall health. There are estrogen receptors everywhere, in just about every organ in the body, from your brain to your hair, uterus, bones, and skin. 

While people are familiar with the effects of aging on the skin, they don’t necessarily correlate it with estrogen deficiency. “As women approach perimenopause and then menopause, estrogen levels throughout the body naturally decline,” says dermatologist Joel L. Cohen, MD. “Women are typically aware of vaginal dryness, but they don’t necessarily realize that these specific changes are also affecting the skin.” Says scientist and SeeMe Beauty co-founder Christi Putman, “Women tell us all the time that these menopause-driven changes to their skin catch them by surprise.”

There’s a long list of ways that estrogen is known to contribute to the skin, including wound healing, responding to sun damage, maintaining hydration, and skin thickness, among other healthy skin characteristics. As women approach menopause, they produce less and less estrogen, meaning they lose those contributions to the skin. “Low estrogen levels may be associated with slow skin cell turnover, impaired skin barrier function and pH, and decreased collagen production,” says dermatologist Joshua Zeichner, MD. “This translates to dry, dull skin, fine lines, wrinkles, and lax skin.”

Rise In New Beauty Category

While aging and estrogen have rarely been spoken about together in terms of skin, we’re now seeing a spike of interest from both consumers and brands. Experts point to the fact that women are living longer (the average life expectancy of a woman in the U.S. is 81, according to the CDC) and, for that reason, are spending more time in menopause.

However, according to the pros, longer life expectancy is not the only reason for this rising interest. “Women are taking better care of their health and are more educated on the changes occurring in their own bodies,” says Dr. Zeichner. Rochelle Weitzner, founder and CEO of Pause Well-Aging, a line of products formulated specifically for hormone-deprived skin, credits the shift in what being 50 means today. “There has never before been any direct conversation about menopause. There is a fear of the unknown, but as a society, we are ready to embrace an older demographic,” she says. “Today, a woman in her 50s is Jennifer Lopez, Jennifer Aniston, and Michelle Obama.”

With this shift, more brands targeted toward an older demographic are launching than ever, and some are specifically speaking out about estrogen deficiency. The brand Emepelle worked with scientists to develop its patented and clinically-proven MEP Technology, which lives within the product line to effectively address the root cause of the accelerated collagen loss and skin aging associated with low estrogen levels. For Pause Well-Aging, Weitzner was inspired by her own hot flashes, telling Refinery29, “As a former C-suite beauty executive, I knew that the customer, like me, experiencing the three stages of menopause was not being catered to.” SeeMe Beauty was founded by three Procter & Gamble employees in their 50s who didn’t want to just create products for women like them, but also provide better representation in a market filled with negative branding when it comes to aging.

Treating Estrogen-Deficient Skin 

With all these product lines on the market, it should be noted that there are still medical options (like hormone replacement therapy) that are used to treat estrogen deficiency and other menopause symptoms. Above all, if you have any questions or concerns about estrogen or other hormonal fluctuations or deficiencies, it’s essential that you consult a licensed and trained doctor. Everyone is different, and medical advice should only be taken from medical doctors.

That said, if superficial symptoms are your primary concern, topical products can help to address them. Given the more fragile state of the skin, you’ll want to stick to hydrating cleansers that won’t disrupt it, while also adding collagen-stimulating ingredients like retinol, hydroxy acids, and/or peptides to your regimen. Dr. Zeichner recommends Clarins Double Serum for its anti-inflammatory and strengthening benefits. Remember that your skin’s natural defenses are low, so you’ll want to use rich moisturizers to provide a protective layer — and sunscreen is imperative. “Estrogen-deficient skin cannot protect itself as well as younger skin can, so daily UV protection is a must,” says Dr. Zeichner.

As for accurately assessing your estrogen levels: Aside from symptoms, levels can be determined with full-screen blood serum tests, though some professionals, like Rebecca F. Dunsmoor-Su, MD, MSCE, OB/GYN, and Chief Medical Officer of Gennev, an online clinic for women in menopause, prefer not to rely on them. “Doing blood levels is generally not helpful,” she says. “We monitor and treat based on symptoms, not levels, especially during perimenopause, when levels can be very irregular month to month and are not helpful or predictive.”

Ultimately, it’s never too early or too late to learn more about the effects of aging. It’s about time the beauty industry recognizes that skin changes as a result of hormonal shifts over our lifetimes are real and prevalent — and, most importantly, that there’s nothing anti about aging.

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The day has finally arrived: Selena Gomez‘s highly-anticipated Revelación is out now. As with any new music release, all eyes are on the supporting visuals, from the music videos to the promotional images — and, in the case of this beauty brand founder, the products used. Unsurprisingly, Gomez paid special attention to her makeup for this drop, not only as the face of Rare Beauty but also given the importance of this project as her first-ever Spanish-language EP in homage to her Mexican heritage. 

With the album out today, we got an exclusive look at the makeup used for the images, including the exact products worn by Gomez. The rich, rosy look, which was achieved by the singer’s go-to makeup artist, Hung Vanngo, gives a luminous monochrome feel with similar shades on the eyes, cheeks, and lips — all done with intention. “There was a new sense of power I felt singing in Spanish, so I really wanted my look to reflect that empowerment,” Gomez tells Refinery29 of the makeup, which also featured a sharp cat-eye and brushed-up brows. “The makeup is simple yet strong, with a bold brow, liner, and glossy lip.”

Each shade came courtesy of Rare Beauty’s 2021 spring collection, which features blended hues of neutral pinks and muted berries — a very fitting look for the arrival of spring in a few days. The hues also complement the floral headpiece and ribbons featured in the promotional images, produced by a mainly Latinx team with hairstylist Orlando Pita, photographer Camila Falquez, and set designer Gerard Santos.

For Gomez, makeup and music have both proven to serve as catalysts for healing — especially as she advocates for mental health. When launching Rare Beauty last year, the star shared how the company was born out of her personal desire for a brand that promotes self-acceptance and supports mental health. With that, she launched the Rare Impact Fund last summer to raise funds and help bring mental-health services to underserved communities. A focus on self-restoration also inspired Gomez to connect with the Spanish language for this musical project and, in doing so, tap into her Mexican roots. “Maybe embracing that part of me can be a source of healing for somebody else,” she recently told the Los Angeles Times ahead of the EP release. 

To see more behind-the-scenes of the beauty look of Revelación, be sure to check out the video below.

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You wouldn’t be wrong to assume that when a country celebrates it independence day, they’re celebrating the moment they won sovereignty, their freedom from a different country. For most Latin American countries, these observed days mark their declaration of independence from Spain (though it’s key to realize that this liberations didn’t apply to all: many enslaved people wouldn’t be liberated until much later). But the Dominican Republic’s independence day, celebrated on February 27, has nothing to do with Spanish colonizers, but rather the country’s autonomy from Haiti in 1844, a fact that’s set the groundwork for centuries of anti-Black animus.

The island of Hispaniola is home to two countries, with Haiti on the west and the Dominican Republic on the east. After 1844, the Dominican Republic was re-colonized by Spain between 1861 to 1865, and its freedom from the European colonizer arrived in 1865 when Black Dominican rebels, with the help of Haiti who feared that Spain would reestablish slavery, fought to overthrow Spanish rule in the Dominican Restoration War. 

Despite, anti-Haitian sentiments are ingrained in Dominican culture. It led to the genocide of thousands of Haitians and Dominicans of Haitian descent living on the island, organized by Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo in what’s known as the Parsley Massacre of 1937. In order to move away from anti-Haitianism, digital awareness movements (like the use of the hashtag #1865) allow Dominicans to critically think about why we celebrate on February 27, and not on July 15, when the country gained its freedom from Spain. 

To learn more about the history of anti-Haitian discourse, click here, and read more about the history of Dominican Independence Day in our social collaboration with the In Cultured Company, below. 

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Like many readers of Somos, I was born in the U.S. but have roots in the Caribbean: My parents were born in the Dominican Republic, and I grew up celebrating Dominican Independence Day. To commemorate the occasion this year, I wanted to do something different that was in the spirit of the work we all do at Somos: To interrogate our history, to practice real inclusivity, and to understand that we can’t celebrate the things that make us beautiful without working to heal the ugly parts of our identity, too.

I knew that speaking about how Dominican Independence Day and Dominican anti-Blackness are linked was a small but important thing to do. So, we published a social collaboration with community organization Incultured Co. on Somos’ Instagram page with an accompanying article. The post, which riffed on Frederick Douglass’ “What to the slave is 4th of July?” shared context on this day’s history, addressing how it has nothing to do with Spanish colonizers, and instead marks the country’s autonomy from Haiti in 1844. This context would be the footprint for the long, brutal history of anti-Haitian and anti-Black racism ingrained in Dominican culture — sentiments I was simultaneously disturbed to see play out within our comments and expected to see, too. 

“They are our neighbors, much to our disgrace.” 

“An angry Black narrative.” 

“HAITI ES UNA JUNGLA, siempre serán una Tribu de incivilizados que necesitan RD para brillar.” 

Many of the commenters were sent by actress Zoe Saldaña who is of Dominican and Puerto Rican descent, and took umbrage with our post. “You owe all Dominicans — regardless if their [sic] Black, white, or Taino — an apology. On our independence day, we do not need to be schooled by others on what we “should’ know about ourselves,” she wrote in one Instagram Story about myself, a Dominican, and our team of Latinx writers and editors whose work toward a more inclusive, more honest Latinidad means dismantling the anti-Blackness within our own communities. (Requests to Saldaña’s team for comment went unanswered.) “#CancelCultureIsStartingToSuckSometimes,” hashtagged Saldaña, whose herself experienced digital cancelling because of statements that many saw as anti-Black: She wore blackface in the widely panned Nina Simone biopic, which she’s later apologized for, but has since invoked retrograde ideas of “colorblindness” to explain how she’s grown.

Saldaña is a celebrity with over seven million followers. Her words have power. Because of her posts calling for my contrition, I’ve received death threats and ongoing harassment from her fans. We were forced to disable comments on our Instagram post in order to be mindful of the wellbeing of our followers, whose comments in support of our post opened them up to harassment as well. I’m reminded of the times in which writers have turned down Somos assignments about anti-Haitian discourse in the Dominican Republic, and cited the physical threats they received for past work on the subject. The same fear silences and endangers folks on the island. To see the same rhetoric being perpetuated by a celebrity with the kind of platform like Saldaña’s is dispiriting. “She’s promoting the kinds of things that cause Black people on the island to die every day,” says InCultured Co. founder France François in response to the reaction to the post.

To be clear: We did not cancel celebrating our independence. We did not say that we shouldn’t be proud of our culture. We did not call for the island of Hispaniola to become one island. We did not say that either country has a pristine past. We’re not ignoring Restoration Day that commemorates the start of the Dominican Restoration War in 1863, a war that would deliver the country’s freedom from Spain in 1865. We’re also not disregarding the violence that has occured and does occur between Dominicans and Haitians. We presented a true side of history that’s largely been erased from our curriculum — one that complicates the tidy story of independence that’s taught in schools, and mostly serves the white elite. The purpose of that post, like so much of our journalism, is to ask our Latinx audience to reflect on the injustices that are baked into our institutions.

On February 27, Matías Ramón Mella fired el trabucazo at the Puerta de la Misericordia in Santo Domingo to mark the beginning of the revolution, the day Francisco del Rosario Sanchez raised our flag for the first time. Some say that February 27 is the day we first won sovereignty, but how meaningful is it when the country would later become recolonized? How do we reckon with mass deportation or laws that took away birthright citizenship from Haitians born in DR without mentioning anti-Blackness? This isn’t even in our deep history; these things happened just six years ago. I believe that all celebrations, traditions, or historical accounts should be constantly reevaluated, especially when they’re from the perspective of European settlers or the white elite.

Dismantling anti-Blackness is not cancel culture. It’s also certainly not exclusive to the Dominican experience. At Somos, we’ve addressed anti-Blackness across Latinidad from Panama to El Salvador to Colombia. We’ve noted that many enslaved people wouldn’t be liberated until much later in all our social media acknowledgments of Latinx independence days. We’ve even asked our followers to reflect on July 4 and whether “justice and freedom for all” includes all Americans, even today. 

When you center Blackness in discussing history, people get angry. It happens when we talk about taking down Confederate flags and honoring Confederate statues. It’s happening here, too.

“When Dominicans like Zoe Saldaña try to deny the history of Black struggle in the Dominican Republic, what they do is try to uphold white supremacy and silence the struggle of Blackness that has been continuous within Latinidad,” François tells R29. That argument is common among Dominicans — that there is no “race” in our country, in the same way that Saldaña has characterized the home she grew up in as “color-blind.” Dominican nationalists argued in the comments that anti-Haitian sentiments are non-existent, ignoring all the research that says otherwise.

Saldaña called on us to apologize, but we will not apologize for working to dismantle the anti-Blackness that exists within Latinidad. Part of that is making it clear that we’re also not here to cancel Saldaña either in part because she’s shown a capacity to learn and grow. I have so much love and pride for my culture and my family’s country, and part of that is having enough love to want things to change for the better. Somos holds all of Latinidad to the same standard. Our work facilitates dialogue that sparks action and conversation, challenges the status quo, and fosters our readers’ abilities to learn about and inhabit different perspectives within and without Latinidad. I hope that those like Saldaña take a beat here to understand how hollow it is to celebrate something if you all refuse to see it for all it is. “The sun will always continue to shine on la bella quisqueya,” she wrote on Instagram Stories. But practicing real love means looking in the shadows, too.

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“Hi, guys! Ok. Welcome to my channel,” Yasmin Maya, known as BeautyyBird to her 1.1 million Instagram followers, began her first-ever YouTube video in November 2012. The vlogger’s bubbly persona projected through the screen as she explained what to expect from her new channel. What viewers didn’t know was the pain behind it all — a pain that involved separation from her family and an unforeseeable future at home. 

Maya spent most of her life in Los Angeles, California, but at age 18, she found herself back in her birthplace of Mexico as she tried to work out the legality of her U.S. citizenship. After witnessing her parents get deported while she was in high school, Maya feared a similar reality would meet her as an undocumented immigrant — as is the case for more than 200,000 individuals each year. With that anxiety in mind, as well as the fact that she couldn’t apply to colleges or receive financial aid, the teenager made her way to the border town of Tijuana. As her parents traveled back to California after resolving their own legal status, Maya found herself leaving behind her family, her husband, and the place she called home for a significant part of her life. “It was the hardest decision ever,” she tells Refinery29 during a video interview. “But if I was going to have at least a chance of fixing my papers, then I wanted to take it, drop my entire life here, and move out there by myself.”

During her three years in Mexico — with her U.S. residency filed — Maya experienced loneliness living on her own with only occasional visits from her husband, which ultimately affected her mental health. That’s when her mom encouraged her to follow in the footsteps of her favorite YouTubers, which included Dulce Candy and Nicole Guerriero, and start a beauty channel. She recalls her mom sending her a small red camera and a few makeup products, and in 2012, BeautyyBird was born. “It was an outlet to keep me from crying on my couch,” Maya says. “It was this way of looking forward to something in my day, even if nobody was going to follow.”

What Maya didn’t expect was for her page to take off the way it did. “It’s just a miracle knowing that it grew into what it is now,” she says. With over 1 million subscribers on YouTube and videos in both English and Spanish, Maya grew a community over the last eight years on a platform that was once only a means of escape — and eventually made her way back to Los Angeles as a citizen. Now, she’s finding power in making her dreams come true with the launch of her brand, Birdy Lashes, inspired by her love for her desert-island beauty pick: false lashes.

The brand, which launches today, features two faux-mink lash styles (Gemini and Dream) and two eyeliner-glue hybrids in black and clear — all priced at $12. Birdy Lashes aims to simplify wearing falsies with easy application, and provide luxury at an affordable price. What’s more, you’ll find cultural nods — like those seen in the promo video, which was filmed in Mexico — and images with Latinx faces, along with Maya wearing a charro suit (the traditional style of dress originating in Mexico). “Latinx people are not just this moment or trend. We always need to be included,” she says. “I want to show that. I want to have my people know that we are going to be represented.” 

This cultural pride is a full-circle moment for the beauty influencer, who admits to once being ashamed of not only her family’s legal status, but also her roots when first starting a YouTube channel. It wasn’t until she accidentally left Mexican music playing in the background in one of her videos, to the delight of viewers, that she realized her origin story was nothing to be embarrassed by. “For the longest time, I felt ashamed,” Maya admits. “Then, eventually I felt like, ‘Why should I hide it?'”

Now, her story, her dreams, and her culture are at the forefront. As she looks to the future of her brand — which she teases has plenty more to come — Maya is ready to inspire undocumented immigrants and children of immigrants who might not believe in their own future as she once didn’t. She hopes to show everyone that your vision should never be limited, no matter what comes your way or where your legal status lies. “I didn’t know if I was ever going to have that hope of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, but knowing I can be someone’s light and in a way let them know: ‘There’s hope. You can have a life after this,'” she says. “We’re still trying to fight how we are seen, but our legal status shouldn’t define us. If I had something to tell them, it’s to continue fighting and know that I am fighting for them.”

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While many spent most of 2020 counting down the days until the end of the so-called “dumpster fire” year, Brown Girl Jane founders Malaika Jones Kebede, Tai Beauchamp, and Nia Jones worked overtime to find their power in the flames. As millions took to the streets and social media to protest police brutality and systemic racism, and the world grappled with the coronavirus pandemic, they were using their platform as a CBD-based beauty and wellness brand to promote change and create a community that went beyond products on a shelf.

This past June, the three founders — all graduates of Spelman College — launched an initiative to create lasting change in the communities disproportionately affected by the pandemic and racial injustice. The pledge, called the #BrownGirlSwap, asked Instagram users to replace five of their go-to products with brands owned by Black women. The hashtag eventually became a directory for people to discover new Black-owned businesses through social media. As it continued to gain momentum, what started as an online pledge to help drive the conversation around wealth distribution and racial disparities in America became a powerful movement.

In August, Brown Girl Jane partnered with Shea Moisture, a Black-founded brand now owned by personal-care conglomerate Unilever, to offer entrepreneurial mentorship to Black-owned brands from industry veterans and award funding with an investment of a $250,000 grant. Halle Berry joined the free virtual Black Beauty and Wellness Summit in September as the event’s headliner, where she offered insights based on her own entrepreneurial projects. “We are supporting the next generation of beauty and wellness leaders, and they are Black women,” Berry stated in the press release. Shortly after, Brown Girl Jane teamed up with Birchbox to bring the #BrownGirlSwap to their curated subscription boxes filled with products from Black-owned, women-led beauty brands.

When asked if they were surprised at all with the traction they’d gained with the swap, Jones Kebede and Beauchamp shared the same answer: no. “In everything we do, we always expect that it has the capacity to reverberate, affect culture, and change the industry,” says Jones Kebede. “So while an initiative may start in a smaller way, we don’t ever place a cap on ourselves.”

Where the founders are concerned, there’s never been a limit to what they can dream up, especially since the brand zeroed in on a commonly misrepresented space: Black women in hemp. In communities where over-criminalization is rampant, Brown Girl Jane wants to use its outward messaging and CBD-based products to promote a world where everyone has the opportunity to benefit from using the cannabis plant equally. “We knew it was our responsibility to help rectify these systemic issues that traumatize too many people of color,” Jones previously told Refinery29.

But that’s not all when it comes to the brand’s mission. In Black and Brown communities, where taking on as much as you can is seen as a badge of honor, the Brown Girl Jane team wants to inspire people to prioritize their wellness. “For women of color, it is a constant struggle. We have been taught so many times, in so many ways, to be the backbone within our families, communities, and jobs while continuing to reach and thrive,” says Jones Kebede. “But who has your back? And what are you doing to make sure that you are supported?”

That’s where Brown Girl Jane’s community-first ethos comes into play: The brand wants to provide customers with a supportive and realistic approach to everything they do, from the products they choose to finding ways to make it easier to buy Black, like the swap. “Often, the people behind wellness brands want to present this facade that they are always calm and always at ease,” says Jones Kebede. “We approach it from the perspective that there is no concept of perfection, and that’s where sisterhood and community kick in.”

As they look towards the future, Brown Girl Jane’s founders hope to be a part of every woman’s lifestyle, from those already committed to their Pilates classes to the busy woman looking for easy ways to fit wellness into her schedule. But it’s not just about providing products — they want to shift mindsets in the long run. “This is for her to feel like she’s not alone in moving towards her higher and greater self and that she has some of the tools to support her on that wellness journey,” says Beauchamp. “We’re trying to build a community for every woman and wherever they are on that path towards wholeness which is not a destination, but a lifestyle,” adds Jones Kebede.

In a society that relies heavily on Black women to get the job done, especially when it comes to education and progression — something we saw in the 2020 presidential election with Black women like Stacey Abrams, who devoted two years to advocating for voter equality and registered 800 thousand Georgia residents to vote after losing the 2018 Georgia gubernatorial race amid mass suppression of Black voters. Brown Girl Jane is looking towards long-term solutions.

“It should not all fall on Black women, and there are opportunities in very inventive and creative ways to innovate what it means to change an industry,” says Jones Kebede. That’s where their innovative work and intention comes in. By taking a seat at the table, working closely with industry partners, and building their brand with purpose, they’re calling on those who can help the movement. But let it be known that no matter who is pulled in, Black women will always deliver because, as Beauchamp puts it: “When Black women show up, we change the world.”

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Brown Girl Jane, a CBD-based beauty and wellness brand, set out to do something radical: Create space for Black women in cannabis, and stake their rightful claim in an industry that has long over-criminalized its use in Black and brown communities. But for co-founders Malaika Jones Kebede, Nia Jones, and Tai Beauchamp, that was just the start.

As the world faced a reckoning with systemic racism this year under the Black Lives Matter movement, the brand announced the “Brown Girl Swap,” an initiative that asked consumers to commit to replacing at least five of their go-to products with brands owned by Black women. Shortly after, Brown Girl Jane partnered with Shea Moisture to expand their initiative and work together to host a free virtual summit that will serve as a business boot camp and networking space for aspiring entrepreneurs. And this week, a major superstar signed on to speak at the much-anticipated event.

Halle Berry — yes, the Halle Berry — is joining Brown Girl Jane’s first-ever #BrownGirlSwap Black Beauty and Wellness Summit as the event’s headliner. “We are supporting the next generation of beauty and wellness leaders and they are Black women,” Berry announced in the press release.

The award-winning actress, director, and brand founder will be speaking alongside an impressive group of women, including singer-songwriter Jill Scott, The Lip Bar founder Melissa Butler, and Unilever COO Esi Eggleston Bracey. The two-day virtual event will be open to anyone online and is taking place on September 25 and 26. As if it wasn’t already intriguing enough, attendance is free, and all registrants will receive a post-event 20% discount code for their next Brown Girl Jane purchase.

Brown Girl Jane’s co-founders hope the event provides resources and education to Black female entrepreneurs, who currently receive less than 1% of venture capital funding. “Access to expertise and community have long been out of reach for most Black-owned businesses,” Kebede wrote in a press statement. “We created a new type of conference, targeting areas that have traditionally impaired Black businesses, removing roadblocks to enable countless female entrepreneurs for generations to come.” Jones adds, “Black Americans spent over $1 Trillion in 2019, and we will no longer be bystanders. This summit is the support these entrepreneurs need and is leading this massive industry shift.”

As for Berry’s participation in the summit, the actress and Re-Spin co-founder will be offering insights based on her own entrepreneurial projects — and discussing the roadblocks and naysayers even she faced in developing her own brand. “I’ve always dared to think for myself, march to the beat of my own drum,” Berry says in an exclusive clip of the conversation, which the brand shared with Refinery29. “Over the years, people have always said, ‘Oh, she’s going the wrong way.’ But I’ve always known that I’m just going my own way. Many times, I’ve been paving a way that hadn’t been paved for me before. That’s what a pioneer is.”

To hear more from Berry and all the other panelists at BROWN GIRL Jane’s #BrownGirlSwap Black Beauty & Wellness Summit, powered by SheaMoisture with sponsorship from BET, register here.

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Deja Smith was in New York City on a ballet scholarship when she first learned the techniques of stage makeup. Smith, who was male-presenting at the time, helped with the female dancers’ makeup before performances put on by the school, never expecting her passion to go beyond the stage.

That was until her best friend in college — the late Antoine Ashley, better known by the name Sahara Davenport from RuPaul’s Drag Race — introduced her to the party scene, and makeup took on an entirely new purpose. “[My friend] started putting me in drag, and then it started a whole avalanche of the desire to do my own makeup,” Smith tells me over the phone.

Smith’s newfound passion inspired her to leave her dance career, where she witnessed a glaring lack of inclusivity, and get a job at a MAC Cosmetics counter instead. “Gender expression today is a whole new thing,” Smith says, adding that she didn’t see a reality where she could transition and maintain a career as a dancer back then. Smith soon found herself working as a freelance makeup artist, recalling her first job for a bride. “I did a terrible job on that makeup, but she was so happy,” Smith says. “That experience of being able to help somebody see their beauty became my passion.”

As Smith began booking more freelance jobs, she soon knew that it was time to leave retail for good and decided to launch Double D Productions (DDPRO), a concierge hair, makeup, and image consulting company, with her hairstylist friend Dee TrannyBear in 2013. The pair held a party to celebrate their new endeavor and invited friends like Laverne Cox and Janet Mock, who were two rising stars in Hollywood at the time. During the party, Cox casually asked Smith to work with her on an upcoming project. Little did Smith know that it was for the premiere of Orange Is The New Black, Netflix’s third-ever original series that lasted seven seasons. “That was my big entry into the wonderful world of makeup,” says Smith, who went on to become Cox’s go-to makeup artist.

Seven years later and Smith is now a two-time Emmy-nominated makeup artist who has worked on award-winning shows like Pose and an extensive roster of celebrities, including Cox, Angelica Ross, MJ Rodriguez, and Jill Scott. Soon, Smith found that her work took on a much greater purpose than the way her clients looked on the outside. In collaborating with stars like Cox, she felt called to create a safe, positive backstage experience for members of the transgender community. “Ultimately, what everyone on set for projects featuring Trans people wants is the same expectation of excellence that is required on any creative project,” says Smith, who considers herself a “buffer” between the talent and other departments. “My unique position is to ameliorate triggering circumstances so that featured Trans talent can perform at their highest level.”

Simultaneously, Smith’s clients gave her the community she needed in Hollywood, where she was having a difficult time booking jobs following her transition. “I realized that my entire existence changed in people’s perception,” she says. “People are looking for a level of comfort when they’re hiring beauty professionals. Trans people are assumed to be deceptive.” Smith struggled to find resources and consistently faced insulting fees and substandard on-set practices. “As my career kept growing, I realized that so much of [my success] came from my community,” she says. “I felt like I had no choice but to give back.”

Now, Smith invests the majority of her time off-set supporting the transgender community. She’s been involved in campaigns like #EveryoneWelcome to speak out against anti-transgender laws. She also serves as an advisory council member for the Gender and Family Project at the Ackerman Institute for the Family, which provides gender affirmative services, training, and research. 

As delighted as Smith is to see all the transgender representation in media at the moment, she stresses that there is still a lot of work to be done. “I find that there’s so much superficial change-making happening,” she says. “People are just taking advantage of the conversation around diversity to elevate themselves, but not doing the work to elevate the communities that need help.” 

On that note, Smith urges those in power to reevaluate their definition of ‘opportunity’ and put their money where their mouth is. “It’s encouraging to know that there are spaces available, but it’s also tricky to figure out who’s a gatekeeper on the side of right and who’s the gatekeeper on the status quo,” she says. “People use this word ‘opportunity’ like a weapon. When it comes specifically to Black and brown folks, and especially when it comes down to queer Black and brown folks, an opportunity is not an opportunity if it is not helping the person to advance their social-economic status.”

Smith says the media and networks hold a responsibility to accurately reflect this community in projects and storylines. “It’s so important for us to insert more positive images of Black and brown Trans people,” she stresses. “We don’t get to be nuanced. We don’t get to have levels. When it comes to the Trans community, we’re still just getting prostitute roles.”

With a second Emmy nomination under her belt for Pose (Outstanding Makeup For A Single-Camera Series in 2019 and Outstanding Period And/Or Character Makeup in 2020), Smith hopes that younger transgender people can look to her and feel inspired by her story. “For young kids finding out that I’m a two-time Emmy-award nominated makeup artist who’s had to do any and everything just to survive — if I can be a light for them, that would be my greatest achievement.” 

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Growing up, Angel Merino, also known as Mac_Daddyy to his 1.4 million Instagram followers, never expected to see his own beauty products at cosmetic counters. But after facing his fears, defying Latinx cultural norms, and finding his calling, he discovered a brighter future than he imagined for himself and paved the way for more “beauty boys” in the process. The following interview was told to Thatiana Diaz and edited for length and clarity.

I grew up in an all-women household with my mom, aunt, and cousin in Riverside, California. Being Latinas, they were all about beauty with the hair and makeup. I remember going with my mom to the hair salon and being there for eight hours as she did her hair. I would also go shopping with my mom at department stores at a young age. She’d always go to the Lancôme counter and pick up her staple skin-care products. With my family, beauty has always been a thing.

That familiarity with beauty became helpful when I turned 16 and got a job coaching a competition dance team. I’d see all the other teams with amazing hair, makeup, and costumes, and our studio owner would order these generic makeup kits for the parents to do their children’s makeup before competitions. Everyone showed up looking different, and I thought, This is the one thing that we’re missing as a team. I’m super competitive, so I took it upon myself to start doing everyone’s makeup before events. I had no clue what I was doing; I didn’t even know how to hold a brush, but it was more about uniformity than the details. However, this opened the door into the world of makeup for me. 

I had another part-time job working at a kiosk in the middle of the mall selling flatirons. I was that annoying guy when you’re walking through the mall, saying, “Let me show you how this works.” There was this guy that also worked there, who was one of the first gay people that I ever met, and he was all about the glam. I didn’t have anybody to relate to in high school, and I wasn’t out yet. He and I would go over to the Nordstrom beauty department during our lunch break, and we’d eventually make our way to the MAC counter. My coworker introduced me to putting makeup on myself rather than just trying to do makeup on the dancers at my other job. He showed me the ropes, and that’s when I bought my first MAC Studio Fix Powder and moisturizer. I took everything home and hid it all from my mom because I wasn’t out at home either.

I kept the makeup in my bag, and I would go to the bathroom when I got to school to put makeup on before my third-period class. It was minimal with powder and bronzer — eventually mascara and brows. There was one gay senior that I knew about, and I would see the way he was treated, and I didn’t want to deal with that, so I never admitted what everyone knew. I started secretly practicing makeup more and more on myself.

Once I graduated high school, I tried to figure out what I wanted to do — not thinking that beauty was even an option. I went to Riverside Community College, and while I was physically there, I wasn’t mentally there. It was primarily to make my mom happy because she migrated to this country for better opportunities, and some Hispanic parents are all about going to college and getting a degree. But I felt like I was doing a disservice to myself being there. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I knew that school was not my path. 

I had other friends who worked at the MAC counter at the time, and I was always so drawn to it. The most intriguing part to me was the fact that every single person was so authentically themselves. That’s when I knew I wanted to pursue a career in makeup, so I dropped out of college a little shy of two years. I had a conversation with my mom, and she was so upset that she didn’t talk to me for a couple of months. I know it came from a good place. She grew up in El Salvador and worked in the fields. When she migrated here at a young age, she worked at a sweatshop factory selling clothes. Our parents were instilled with the idea that there is only one way out. There’s only one way to make something of yourself, and that’s to go to school, get a degree, and become something traditional like a doctor or a lawyer. Nontraditional careers are things that they didn’t have access to or that they even knew existed. 

Still, with my eyes set on the MAC counter, I interviewed there a few times, and they turned me down for my lack of experience. But I knew a couple of the girls that worked at Nordstrom, and they got me an interview with the cosmetics team. That’s when I got my first real job and left the dance team and kiosk. My job was to fill in at any counter that had employees on vacation, maternity leave, or was short-staffed, so eventually I worked at every single counter in the store.

A few years later, I got the job at the MAC counter as a permanent artist. I was finally in an environment where being unique and different was celebrated rather than frowned upon. I was showing up to work with eye looks and makeup, and I felt so empowered every single day. That’s when “Mac Daddy” came alive. One evening, I remember closing the counter, and we were listening to a song that said “mac daddy,” and I thought it was cute. I work at MAC, and I liked the word “daddy” as being the “daddy of makeup.” I ran with it, and it took off.

Now, when I’m in my “Mac Daddy” mode, that’s super glam, extra, over the top, flashy, and confident. It’s become a persona for me. I describe it as a superhero. They’re a regular person, but then when they put on their cape and mask, they have a certain role and responsibility that they take on. For me, that’s how the “Mac Daddy” persona works. I know how to turn it on whenever I need to, and it’s a dimension of me, but it’s definitely not all of me.

My superhero strength was tested when I faced my biggest fear, which was coming out to my mom and the possibility of her not being OK with it. I had this fabricated idea of her shipping me away to my dad to live in El Salvador, where my dad moved back when my parents got divorced. I always say that my mom pulled me out of the closet when I was around 16 years old. On my way to a friend’s birthday dinner, my mom spotted a small tear in my Guess olive green crossbody pouch — which had all my makeup in it – and she insisted on sewing it. She grabbed the bag against my wishes and found all my makeup. I was crying and finally told her that I was gay. She took it way differently than I thought and was supportive.

For my entire life up until that moment, I felt like I couldn’t be myself, and not being yourself in a home environment is horrible. I finally felt relieved, but I also knew that it was something very new for my mom. It was a process. It took a lot of open communication; we’ve built such a strong, open dialogue ever since that day. Then my family found out, and at the beginning, it was different. I don’t think people knew how to digest it, especially worrying about my safety given how society looked at the LGBTQ+ community back then. Once they started to see me develop as a person and knew what I wanted out of life, I think that gave everyone — especially my mom — a sense of security and reassurance that I would be OK.

Then, my mom ended up getting very sick. She had a stroke, and she was then in a deep depression. Going back to the days of watching her feel good after doing her hair and makeup — and how that gave her confidence and made her feel beautiful — I started doing those things for her whenever she was feeling down or wasn’t feeling her best. Once I saw how transformative it was for her and how much it helped her and my relationship with her, it validated my career even more.

Beauty is so transformative and empowering, and it just makes people feel good internally — for myself, too. When I was going into high school, I was getting made fun of and picked on all the time for being different. I dealt with many fat jokes and people saying, “You’re fat and gay.” I turned to applying my Studio Fix in the bathroom before going to class to make myself feel better. That’s when I knew: This is something that I want to pursue as an actual career — and that’s what I did. 

While I was working at MAC, one of my friends told me about an app called Instagram. I started posting photos of my clients’ before-and-afters, and they were getting lots of attention. At this point, my skills had improved a lot. We would also receive new product launches at work, and I’d go into the stock room to take photos and do swatches. My Instagram account took off, and I built an audience.

I was at the counter one day, and this girl walked in and recognized me and freaked out. I was so confused, but it made me realize, Wow, I think this will become greater than it is now. And it did. I was getting hired via direct messages on Instagram, and my career as a makeup artist went to the next level as I began freelancing. I got so busy that I left my day job at MAC; I knew that I needed to take a chance on myself. 

While freelancing, I would find myself having to mix four or five different highlighters to get the impact or look that I wanted. This struggle inspired me to create my own brand. I felt like there were so many things lacking in my makeup kit, and I knew I needed to fill that void. I remember sitting in front of my computer and googling, How do you create makeup? How do you start a brand? That’s when I found labs in California, and I was just cold-calling them, trying to get information and schedule meetings. Once I figured out the amount of money that I needed, I started saving. I was even crashing on my friend’s couch in Los Angeles to save on rent.

Then, I came up with the concept of a makeup class tour because I had this growing audience on social media. At the time, I had around 300,000 followers from all over the country. We called it the Flawless Faces Makeup Tour, and I toured 12 different cities around the country. We would rent out a Westin hotel ballroom with just two small light umbrellas, a couple of pop-up banners, and the brands that I started to work with on social media, who would also sponsor it. Surprisingly, we were selling out of 50 to 75 seats at every tour stop. I took all of the money that I made on that tour, and invested it into creating my brand: Artist Couture. I took all the product photos myself and bought a generic website template. For the launch in 2014, I completely sold out on my pre-sale and eventually landed in a major retailer.

In looking to my culture and how that’s impacted me, I’m inspired by how hardworking my community is. My mom’s upbringing and her parents working in fields and her migrating here and working in a sweatshop — the work ethic and drive are instilled in me. Not only do we work hard, day in and day out, but we’re always lending a helping hand to a family member or friend.

Now, as a brand founder and content creator, I would definitely say investing in yourself and believing in yourself — while staying true to your roots — is the best thing that you can do. So many people wait for the “right time” to take that leap of faith. There’s never going to be the right time. You have to push yourself over the edge to achieve your dreams. I want to continue trailblazing, advocating, and putting myself out there so that it’s a lot easier for the younger generation to find themselves and to feel like they belong — because we all do. 

Latinidad is ever-evolving. It cannot be defined by a blanket term or monolithic idea. That’s why it’s important to look at its future with respect to its past and present — and that’s our mission. In a series of essays, reported articles, and stories for Refinery29 Somos and Latinx Heritage Month, we’ll explore the unique conversations and challenges that affect these communities.

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With every election season, there are new focal points that center various demographics. Yet, we often hear the same rhetoric regarding Latinx communities on every campaign trail: “Latinos will become the largest minority voting bloc!” “You can’t win The White House without the Latino vote.”

Political contributor Paola Ramos grew tired of hearing the Latinx population be unequivocally referred to as just a headcount — as well as a monolithic, and often stereotyped, identity. “Unless people stop viewing us as statistics and talking points, and until we recognize the multifaceted identities that make up this community, we will not be able to truly step into our collective power,” she tells Refinery29.

That’s why she has decided to shift the narrative and reshape how we speak of these communities in her upcoming book: FINDING LATINX: In Search of the Voices Redefining Latino Identity. The non-fiction title, that’s set to release on October 20, will document Latinx communities all across the country and dive deeper into the Latino electorate’s power — but not just from a numerical standpoint.

The following exclusive excerpt is from the introduction of FINDING LATINX, where Ramos shares her story of figuring out her place under the umbrella of Latinidad and what the controversial “x” in Latinx has personally signified for her. In the enlightening passages, Ramos dives deeper into the the necessary evolution of language in regards to the term and its historical context. She also explores the diverse realities of this community and how critical it is as a country to look through their lens.

Published with permission from Penguin Random House.

I never really came out. 

Until recently. 

Even after my loving parents sat me down a couple of times in high school, with open minds yet suspicions of my sexual orientation, I refused to use the word “gay” to describe the way my heart chose to love. Then, when I moved to Washington, D.C., to work in politics, I caught myself cringing  when I entered “Hispanic Group Meetings” for networking and idea exchange—not because they weren’t welcoming but because I often felt that I didn’t quite fit in. From afar, when I watched my father’s newscast on Univision, staring at a screen full of women who appeared to have just finished a Latin American beauty pageant, I questioned my own identity as a “Latina.” And even when I gave speeches throughout grad school, my Mexican Cuban heritage was overshadowed by an aggressive Spanish accent I unintentionally picked up during my childhood in Spain. Growing up between Madrid’s progressive environment and Miami’s conservative Cuban community muddled my own political views at a young age. Where, exactly, did I fit in? 

Yes, I am queer; I am Latina; I am Cuban, Mexican, and first-generation American. These are words I was not ashamed of saying out loud—but there’s a difference between  passive recognition and really owning one’s identity. I openly had girlfriends, checked the “Hispanic” box on school applications, carried three passports, and admired the way my parents’ immigrant journey was central to our being. Yet the truth is that for years I had either blindly danced around these identities or felt I had to choose one over the others. Almost as though I had to wear different hats depending on the rooms I entered or the prejudices I encountered. Safe here, but not so much there. Of course, tiptoeing around these spaces was nothing but a reflection of the immense privilege my citizenship status and light skin granted me in life. Had I been undocumented, or simply a shade darker, I’d carry a target on my back. 

Looking back, I realize now that I never really “came out” as my whole self—as fully me. All of this changed the moment the word “Latinx” started rolling off my tongue. 

Even though this mysterious term had been tossed around the Web since the early 2000s, I started using it shortly after Donald Trump won the 2016 presidential election. At the time, I didn’t fully understand exactly where that word came from or what it meant—all I knew was that it felt right. It  felt more like me. It was a word I couldn’t recognize but one that seemed to know exactly who I was. That addendum, the  “x,” set free the parts of myself that had deviated from the norms and traditions of the Latino culture I grew up in in a way that, interestingly, made me closer to, not further from, my own community. A word that wasn’t familiar but one that seemed to tout the uniqueness and diversity that had defined the sixty million Latinos living in the United States. One that felt it aimed to awaken not just a few of us, or half of us, or 90 percent of us—but every single one of us. Even those who had never been seen as “Latino” to begin with.  And I wasn’t alone in feeling this. 

With Trump’s unforeseen win came a desire for belonging. His victory mobilized millions of people—women, youth, students, black communities, Latinos, immigrants,  Dreamers, victims of sexual assault—to take to the streets and fill a void with their voices. People marched with furor,  organized their communities, and spoke up in boardrooms  and town halls, louder than they had before. Fear induced courage, and the undercurrent of racism that was now fully exposed pushed many of us to embrace inclusion. It  was sometime amid this resurged movement that I noticed the word “Latinx” had started to become part of the daily vocabulary of the resistance. Latinx quickly became normalized in my circles, appearing everywhere—protest signs, conference calls, press releases, Twitter feeds, chants, and  headlines. “What does Latinx even mean?” some colleagues  and I would often ask one another. “Where did it even come from?” We didn’t know, but we kept using it. 

There are different answers to that question. But language inevitably evolves with time. A changing vocabulary reflects  how a community’s demographics transform the struggles  a community faces during different periods in history. Language tells stories, and stories change. 

Harvard University fellow Dr. Nicole Guidotti-Hernández points out that the use of the “x” is actually not a new phenomenon. As she writes in one of her articles: “Earliest uses of the ‘x’ come on the front end of Nahuatl-inspired writing of the word Chicano/Chicana as Xicano or Xicana.” In the 1960s and 1970s, the “x” was inserted to “indigenize”  Mexican Americans. It was used as a tool to counter Latin America’s colonial history and ensure that indigenous peoples were not erased. Dr. Guidotti-Hernández also provides several historical examples of other ways in which the Latino  community pushed back against linguistics in efforts to correct for misrepresentations, gender inequities, or exclusions  of nationalities. That’s why, as she underscores, baby boomers fought so hard to institutionalize “ethnic studies” like Cuban American studies and Chicano studies programs on college campuses across America. The boomer generation prioritized nationalities over generalizations. That was the  story then: in being able to say “Mexican” or “Guatemalan”  over “Latino.” At some point, the word “Latino” was also controversial. Even though it is technically meant to include two genders, the word itself is still masculine. That’s why in the 1990s, people saw feminists rallying to demasculinize the gendered Spanish language, inserting symbols like @ or the neutralized o/a into their daily vocabulary. That was the story then: achieving gender equality and being able to explicitly say, “I am Latina.” Like human beings, language is meant to adapt, not to remain stagnant. 

There’s been a long debate centered around the appropriate way to address our community: Do we say “Hispanics”  or “Latinos”? Which one do we use? Which one should others use? For decades, the term “Hispanic” was mainstreamed. It was a term coined by a Mexican American staffer in the  Richard Nixon administration, Grace Flores-Hughes. As has been reported, one of the reasons Grace advocated for the term “Hispanic” was that it explicitly stemmed from  “Hispania,” the Spanish Empire. The word was able to more closely associate the community with its white European colonial past than with its Latin American roots. By embracing the term “Hispanic,” the community’s historic ties to indigenous people, enslaved Africans, and mestizos (the offspring of colonizers and indigenous and/or enslaved Africans) were erased from the picture, washed away as conquistadores swept over the Americas in the fifteenth century. That was the story then: to whiten the community as much as possible. Eventually, however, using the term “Latino/ Latina” became more popular over time, as it more deliberately embraced our Latin American ancestors. (By the way, Grace Flores-Hughes ended up becoming a member of the National Hispanic Advisory Council for Trump.) 

Around 2004, coinciding with the Internet’s explosion, Latinx started popping up in online communities of queer Latinos. They were inserting the “x” as a way to express their breaks with gender binaries and welcome gender nonconforming folks into the conversation. There, the initial story was about giving voice to the silenced and often discriminated-against LGBTQ Latinos, a point that was later strengthened by the 2016 Pulse massacre of forty-nine people, most of whom were queer Latinos. By 2018, as Latinx became more colloquial, Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, Eleventh Edition, officially added it to its pages, defining Latinx as “of, relating to, or marked by Latin American heritage—a gender-neutral alternative to Latino or Latina.”  And if you go into Google Trends, you’ll notice a steady rise  in searches for the term. 

Yet a few years later, people are still wondering what the hell Latinx really means. If Latinx were used just to be more inclusive of queer folks, then perhaps the term wouldn’t cause such controversy and confusion. If the word were used simply to check the “queer” box, then perhaps people  would be more okay with it, less afraid of it, more at peace with it. But Latinx is transcending all imaginable borders. All the borders that separated us by race, age, gender, issue, nationality, sexual orientation, and identity. All the ones that divided “us” from “them,” liberals and conservatives. Latinx is not constrained by the explanation given to us on paper by dictionaries, pollsters, and scholars. And that’s why, over the  years, people from all different backgrounds kept resurfacing the term, signaling the beginning of the change we were all aching for. 

The reality is that for decades that ache for change was inside many of us. It was an ache that craved more unity,  acceptance, and inclusion—an ache that simply wanted us to be seen. This ache wasn’t felt just inside the bubbles of activism, D.C. politics, and media—it was a sentiment that lay mostly in the fringes of those very elite spaces: inside homes and out of the public eye. It was in these places that I started recognizing that a lot more people than I thought were not only coming out as Latinx but giving life to that word in a way no dictionary could. 

Queer and gender-nonconforming Latinos who had faced discrimination in their own households could relate to that ache. So could Afro-Latinos who had once been told they didn’t “look Latino enough.” And transgender Latinas who were continuously reminded they weren’t “really Latinas,” Asian Latinos who had never been asked about their background, Cuban Americans who wanted to part ways with their family’s long history of conservatism, young Latino men who never found a voice in the criminal justice system, mamis and abuelas who wanted to pave a different path for  themselves, Gen Zers who had once been ridiculed for “not speaking Spanish,” midwestern Latinos who felt completely “neglected,” Latinos in the Deep South who said they were “forgotten” by all of us, indigenous migrants whose history had been erased, and millennials in border towns and rural communities who wanted a greater platform than those typically given to those residing in the far edges of the country. 

For almost a year, as I prepared to write this book, I hit the road in search of these Latinx voices. I did this before the COVID-19 pandemic swept through the nation and the  murders of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor,  and Tony McDade, among others, erupted a massive social  movement for justice from coast to coast. But what both of these crises have exposed is exactly what I witnessed on the road months before our nation felt like it was burning: our American system, as it currently stands, is not built for us. And the only way to change it, so that it actually counts for  Black and brown people, is by first recognizing who we are. 

I crisscrossed the country from west to east, driving through small towns, big cities, urban and rural areas. As I did this, my intention was to rediscover the places I thought I knew, to hear the voices that are often neglected in the back of the room, and to see the hidden faces that lay before our eyes all this time. I met people along the way who identified with many different labels. Some wanted to be called Latinos, others Hispanics. Some wanted to be seen as indigenous peoples, others as white. Some wanted their nationalities to define them, while others wanted their  skin color to be the first thing people thought of when they  introduced themselves, and many had no idea how to refer to themselves at all. I met people who wanted to be labeled  through the eyes of Allah and others through the legacy of  the ancient Mayans. And through it all, I understood for the  first time that all these seemingly unrelated people—divided  by gender, racial, religious, regional, political, and sexual  orientation—had more in common than I had ever imagined. While the purpose of this book is to capture a more holistic picture of who we are as a community, one person and a mere 325 pages cannot do justice to our entirety and  our richness. My hope, however, is that this book marks the beginning of that portrait. 

Unfortunately, if you fast-forward to where we are now, many of the people I interviewed for this book ended up becoming COVID-19’s victims. From undocumented folks to transgender asylum seekers, Afro-Latinos, and essential workers, Latinos are testing positive for COVID-19 at disproportionate rates in almost every state, and in cities like New  York, they are dying at higher rates than any other demographic. As I type these words, Latinos are redefining what it means to survive in this country. But this unprecedented pandemic offers the perfect example of why it’s so crucial to look at our community through a Latinx lens. Through it, you comprehend how interconnected our lives and issues are. This crisis is not the wrongdoing of the virus, but the culmination of an intersection of preexisting conditions and fractures, many of which are explored in this book, that have led us to this point. 

Introduction: Coming Out as Latinx is excerpted from FINDING LATINX: In Search of the Voices Redefining Latino Identity © 2020 by Paola Ramos. Photography © 2020 by Adam Perez. Published by arrangement with Vintage Books, an imprint of The Knopf Doubleday Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

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As if you needed another reminder that the end of summer is basically here, stores have been throwing it in our faces with back-to-school promos and fall decor before we’ve even thought about packing away our favorite swimsuits or parting ways with watermelon White Claws. But Bath & Body Works‘ latest promotion is reminding us just how much we love the season with a massive candle sale on their coziest scents.

This end-of-the-summer sale features more than 70 discounted 3-wick candles, which you can shop online or in any of the safely reopened brick-and-mortar locations across the country. The candles are marked down by more than 50%, making them now $11.95 (originally $24.50). Customers can snag a discount on new fall scents like Caramel Pumpkin Swirl or Vanilla Birch and OG favorites like Japanese Cherry Blossom or Mahogany Teakwood. That’s not all: If you’re in the shopping spirit or looking to share the love this season, single-wick candles, which include new fall scents, are also on sale for 2 for $20.

To score the deals, don’t forget to add the promo code ‘COZY’ at checkout. You’ll want to move fast as supplies are limited, and the sale ends on Sunday, July 16. In case you needed some help adding to cart, we’ve rounded up some of our favorites from the sale, below.

At Refinery29, we’re here to help you navigate this overwhelming world of stuff. All of our market picks are independently selected and curated by the editorial team. If you buy something we link to on our site, Refinery29 may earn commission.

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When a celebrity launches their own brand, there are typically a few teasers that come before the official drop: cryptic Instagram posts, trademark fillings, or straight-up “coming soon” announcements. Lauren Conrad decided to do things a little differently today when she not only revealed the news of her eponymous beauty brand, but had an entire collection go live simultaneously with the announcement.

This morning, the reality star-turned-entrepreneur took to Instagram to introduce fans to her latest venture. “I’m very excited to announce @laurenconradbeauty! This collection has been years in the making, and now I can FINALLY share it with everyone,” Conrad wrote. “@laurenconradbeauty products are clean, environmentally friendly, ethically sourced, cruelty-free, and vegan—and the first collection is available today at LaurenConradBeauty.com.” 

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A post shared by Lauren Conrad (@laurenconrad) on Aug 12, 2020 at 8:20am PDT

The first launches, which are available now, include five under-$30 products, including lipstick in four shades, black liquid eyeliner, three shades of lip gloss, a lip and cheek tint, and a liquid highlighter. Longtime fans of Conrad will surely have their eyes on the liquid eyeliner, as the winged look has been a signature for the founder since her reign on The Hills. (Those iconic mascara tears? She says they were actually eyeliner tears.)

A standout element of the brand is the eco-friendly approach, which shows in the tree-free packaging constructed entirely of sugarcane remnants, and the single-component, fully recyclable lipstick tube that doesn’t require disassembly to be recycled.

Lauren Conrad Beauty is far from the star’s first rodeo into entrepreneurship: In addition to a decade of LC Lauren Conrad at Kohl’s, she founded The Little Market, a non-profit fair-trade shop, and Little Co. by Lauren Conrad, a collection of baby and toddler clothing. With her business experience, this new endeavor doesn’t come as much of a surprise — especially with so many celebrities claiming their stake in the beauty industry. As for what else is coming down the pipeline for this brand, well, the rest is still unwritten…

At Refinery29, we’re here to help you navigate this overwhelming world of stuff. All of our market picks are independently selected and curated by the editorial team. If you buy something we link to on our site, Refinery29 may earn commission.

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