Somewhere in a kitchen—not a lab—beauty was being made. I remember sitting on the floor as a little girl, watching my grandmother dip her fingers into jars of coconut oil, mix up sugar scrubs by hand, and brew teas not just to drink, but to dab on her skin. And even though she passed away before I reached my teens, I knew what she was making was magic. She came over to the U.S from Haiti and carried traditions with her. That was the original skincare line. No brand deal. No Sephora shelf. Just generations of passed-down wisdom rooted in the land, the ancestors, and the belief that the best ingredients came from nature, not chemicals.

Fast forward to 2025, and the mainstream beauty industry is playing catch-up. Major skincare brands are scrambling to rebrand and repackage what Black and Indigenous women have known for centuries: cultural ingredients work. Not just as trend pieces or “clean beauty” add-ons, but as the foundation of holistic, effective skincare. And now? We're reclaiming the credit.

Long before it became a body butter buzzword, shea butter was a sacred staple in West African homes. Extracted from the nuts of the shea tree, it was used to heal wounds, soothe sunburn, treat stretch marks, and moisturize skin and hair alike.

In Ghana, Nigeria, and beyond, women hand-process the butter—grinding, roasting, kneading—turning labor into love and nourishment. That same process has been industrialized and exported, yet somehow, Black women were excluded from the luxury marketing campaigns.

Today, Black-owned brands like Hanahana Beauty, and 54 Thrones are putting the spotlight back on ethically sourced, community-honoring formulations—and cutting through the noise of watered-down shea butter knockoffs.

Turmeric might’ve been trendy for wellness shots and oat milk lattes, but before Goop got a hold of it, your Caribbean auntie or South Asian neighbor was mixing it with honey and lemon as a face mask. Its natural anti-inflammatory and brightening properties made it a DIY go-to long before Sephora slapped it on a $60 serum.

Hibiscus is another powerhouse that’s finally getting its flowers. Used in African, Caribbean, and Latin American cultures, the vibrant plant isn’t just for tea. Its petals are packed with AHAs (alpha hydroxy acids) that gently exfoliate the skin, and its high vitamin C content boosts collagen production. Today, you’ll see hibiscus in toners, masks, and oils—but many of us remember it from homemade rinses and potions our grandmothers made in reused jelly jars.

Even ingredients like African black soap, moringa, rose water, and clay from Moroccan and Nigerian soils (rhassoul, bentonite) are now coveted by the clean beauty market—often without the cultural credit due to the communities that developed them.

When cultural ingredients become "trends," the risk is that their origin stories get erased. The packaging becomes sleek, the language becomes vague, and the prices soar—yet the farmers, grandmothers, and healers who pioneered these traditions are rarely spotlighted.

It’s not just about ingredients—it’s about context. For many Black and Indigenous communities, these skin and hair care rituals weren’t created for aesthetics alone. They were part of wellness systems tied to ritual, ceremony, and community.

Grandma didn’t just slap on shea butter to glow—she did it while telling stories, praying over her children, or preparing for celebration. These were acts of care, deeply rooted in tradition and survival, not just vanity.

In 2025, there’s a growing shift toward what some are calling “ancestral beauty”—a return to the ingredients and rituals that center healing and heritage over hype. Younger generations are documenting old recipes, blending them with new science, and launching skincare lines that pay homage and innovate.

Black-owned brands like:

• KLUR, founded by esthetician Lesley Thornton, which uses plant-based formulas grounded in heritage;
• Nola Skinsentials, which centers Black skin needs with accessible ingredients;
• Anima Mundi and Golde, which combine Afro-Indigenous healing with modern beauty formats—

are leading the charge with transparency, sustainability, and storytelling.

Even influencers and estheticians are now turning to elders for inspiration, not just dermatologists. Whether it’s putting castor oil on lashes, using neem for acne, or infusing oils with lavender and sage, the kitchen cabinet is now being treated like the apothecary it’s always been.

It’s not lost on many of us that the same remedies once called “folk” or “witchy” are now “clean beauty” and “organic skincare.” But for our grandmothers, there were no Ulta points or branding campaigns. There was coconut oil, a good scarf, and a whole lot of trial and error.

So as these cultural ingredients become mainstream, let’s not just follow the trend. Let’s honor the source.

Let’s remember the grandmothers who mixed oils on their knees. The aunties who made clay masks before brunch was a thing. The medicine women who understood the power of plants before a white lab coat said so.

Thank you for the Vaseline on our cheeks.
For the peppermint oil in our scalps.
For the “drink water and mind your business” mantra that still hits.
For understanding that beauty isn’t just what you put on—it’s what you carry, what you inherit, what you pass down.

In 2025 and beyond, as the beauty industry continues to evolve, let’s make sure that the wisdom of our elders doesn’t get lost in the algorithm. The glow-up started with them.