Beauty is Skin (Color) Deep: Part I
Growing up in a predominantly white/Asian neighborhood, I acutely felt the weight of not living up to the traditional beauty standards of having light skin. For as long as I can remember, my grandparents always cautioned me against walking in the sun, playing in the sun, and spending too long in the sun for fear of getting darker. Although I told them I liked the feel of sunlight on my skin, when summertime came around and people started commenting on how dark I had gotten, a small seed of self-consciousness was planted. That seed slowly grew as more and more comments watered and fed its growth.
Little Aubrey looking in the mirror
Colorism is defined as prejudice or discrimination against individuals with a darker skin tone, often within the same ethnic group. In the Philippines, it began with Spanish colonization that instituted a racial hierarchy favoring fairness over the darker, indigenous skin tones of the locals. Even today, that prejudice against darker skin continues to flourish socially and culturally. More than black and white, colorism is caught up in larger narratives of beauty, privilege, power and the continuing imprint of colonialism. In the Philippines, looking mestiza is one of the highest compliments. People will stop you on the street to take pictures with you because you look like an artista (actress). Looking white, half-white, or even Korean is complimentary. Conversely, being dark-skinned is considered less attractive, something to be looked down upon and avoided. The message about lighter skin superiority is so prevalent that whitening products - which literally make your skin lighter - earn large profits in the Philippines and all around Asia.
Although I was born and grew up a Southern California girl, I hated how I was the only one in my family with dark skin. When I went back to the Philippines in high school, I had a hard time feeling anything but awkward and ugly. Everywhere I went, I noticed all the advertisements for whitening products, telling me they’d make me more beautiful if only I was whiter. Everywhere I looked, the people on the posters, in the movies, and on TV didn't look like me. And while I had hoped to find makeup that would match my skin in the Philippines, I couldn't. Everything was made for people with paler skin.
Where I had expected to feel a sense of belonging, I felt out of place, ashamed and self-conscious because of my skin tone and guilty when I wanted to use the whitening products just to make myself a little bit whiter. While I made light of it to my family, I used papaya soap and whitening lotion with gusto, nursing secret hopes that it would work its magic on me.
"More than black and white, colorism is caught up in larger narratives of beauty, privilege, power and the continuing imprint of colonialism."
I know my family does their best to make sure I feel beautiful, safe, and loved. While I had been teased about my skin tone when I was younger, the comments are almost non-existent now. But years of conditioning and internalization isn’t something that goes away overnight.
Society taught me that the color of my skin somehow made me ‘less’ because darker skin was not considered beautiful. Centuries under colonial, semi-colonial and imperialist rule has trickled into social hierarchies that favor European and American beauty standards. At times, looking ‘so Filipino’ feels like an insult. I was taught that while it is good to be Filipino, looking like one is like walking on a knife’s edge: you want to look just Filipino enough that people can tell, but not enough that you scream it. Ideally, I would have fair skin, a narrower nose, Asian eyes, full lips, long black hair and almost perfect English.
Me at 7 years old
Thus the world I live in is divided into two: the fair-skinned, sophisticated Filipina who speaks English fluently and charms with a smile, and everyone else who doesn't fit the stereotype of the metropolitan: the people you see on the street who have darker skin, the indigenous communities who are marginalized and left on the sidelines, the people from the villages and cities all over the Philippines who, like me, don't tend to see ourselves reflected in pop culture and the media.
The truth is, colorism is a phenomenon in the Philippines and in America that extends far beyond self-consciousness; it is a pervasive problem that continually erases and marginalizes people with darker skin, who are considered less beautiful, less legitimate, and even just less.
