The Secret Beauty Issue Asian-Americans Deal With

Every Summer
by 
SU-JIT LIN
UPDATED ON FEB 12, 2021

As early as I can remember, the last thing my mother would say to me as I skipped
outdoors in the summertime wasn’t, “Be home by curfew.” The warning she’d
most often call out on those hot, sunny days was, “Stay out of the sun!”

It didn’t matter if I were going to the park, on a boat, or to the beach. The
admonition was the same. I didn’t question it when I was younger. Growing up in
a Chinese-American household with images of glamorous Asian film stars and
singers with their smooth, milky complexions, I thought it made sense. I was
surrounded by aunts, uncles, and cousins who made a point of protecting their
skin from summer rays with hats and high SPFs—for my family, it was the norm,
and I accepted it without comment

But as I grew older in a primarily Caucasian community, as I became more

exposed to the world outside of my family, I started noticing
differences between them and us. Little differences. Like how much admiration
people received in school for their vacation tans. How in the summer, girls were
going to the beach explicitly to achieve a richer tone, complaining that it wasn’t
happening fast enough. How headlines in magazines extolled the virtues of
makeup that would make you look more bronzed, sun-kissed, and other pretty
words chosen carefully to make you feel beautiful, wild, and free.

I wanted acceptance from both worlds but was caught between two cultures and
opposing schools of thought. How, then, could I define my beauty goals? I didn’t
want to be lectured by my mom and grandma and clucked over disapprovingly.
But I also wanted to fit in, to assimilate into the world where I spent the majority
of my time. The conundrum, it soon became clear to me, was white versus gold,
and I would spend the next decade trying to figure out which was the more
precious commodity.
The Asian Beauty Standard

Whiteface: It’s not spoken of much here in the Western Hemisphere, but in the
East, it’s a concept that’s had a long history in the world of beauty—even
predating colonialism. Picture a geisha, that Japanese symbol of feminine allure.
Or a Beijing opera actress, porcelain-skinned with a rosebud mouth. Caricatures,
exaggerations, and performance artists as they are, they have long been
considered the apex of beauty.

In China, Korea, Japan, India, and Thailand, countries that have set a great deal of
stock in siloing their people by class, skin color created firm lines of division
between the wealthy and the poor. The paler you were, the more obvious it was
that you spent your life coddled inside, away from the harsh sun and hard labor in
the fields under it. Paleness was a mark of prestige, a signifier that you were
“kept.”

Granted, these are generalizations that are centuries old and should be outdated.
But according to cosmetics trade reporter Andrew McDougall, the desire for
white skin has simply evolved. Because “the first sign of aging on Asian skin is
pigmentation, not wrinkles,” he says, “skin whiteners are not products to make
people look Caucasian [but rather to hide aging].” So lighter pigmentation is still
the ideal. Its projected $31.2 billion global market worth by 2024 is a solid
testament to that.

Consider the current obsession over Korean skincare regimens, now massive even
stateside. Today, we have access to more BB creams than we could ever try in a
lifetime. But did you know that the reason for its popularity in Asia was not
primarily for its skincare benefits but rather for its skin-whitening properties?

Even men aren’t immune to the desire to be as light and ageless as possible. In

a 2016 study, about 50% of men in the Philippines were estimated to be
purchasing skin-whitening and anti-aging ingestibles. In Thailand, per a 2015
study, that number is a whopping 69.5% among cis-male university students.1

With the flourishing international trade of these products and the centuries-old
standards established in the East to support this way of thinking, should I, a fully
Asian woman, aspire to be snow-white? I had to wonder: Is white skin the key to
seemingly immortal youth and beauty?
The American Beauty Standard

Growing up in the ’90s, the Wakefield twins of the Sweet Valley High series were
the gold standard of all-American beauty. In every book, they were described
within the first few pages as naturally blonde, with heart-shaped faces and
luxuriantly, effortlessly tawny skin.

Once I first noticed it, I started seeing it everywhere. Magazine covers with tips on
how to achieve the perfect tan. On every single person on Baywatch. Fitness and
bikini models. Hell, any models at all.

At this age, girls at school started talking about tan lines and wearing body sprays
that smelled like coconuts and sunshine. Bringing sunscreen to the beach was an
uncool “mom” move; it was tanning oil with little (to no) SPF all the way. The
darker you were, the more fun it meant you had. Richer hues gave you status. In
other words, the opposite of my family’s Asian standards.

In 2008, prior to the Great Recession and the Affordable Care Act’s tanning tax,
18,200 tanning salons were doing a booming business in the U.S. However, as
Americans became more aware of the damage hours in the sun can cause and its
effects on aging, these businesses have been on the decline. Despite this, coppery
skin is still considered slimming, youthful, and healthy. Typically described as
“glowing” and “sun-kissed,” the connotations remain hugely positive, and you’ll
still see hundreds suntanning at the beach, hungrily absorbing every ray.

Tanning bed alternatives have also come to the forefront. Spray tans became a
thing when Paris Hilton was rumored to have invested in her own machine, and
the long list of celebrities that swear by these services grows with every year.
Advancements in this space mean no more Cheeto-orange; artists can even create
“sculpted tans,” airbrushing faux muscle definition right onto the skin.

Richer hues gave you status. In other words, the opposite of my family’s
Asian standards.

And who hasn’t heard of bronzer? It changed the game in the early 2010s and still
has momentum with the advent of contouring kits. Together, sunless options
alone were a projected $763.4 million industry in 2015.
And to revisit BB cream, in order to market it to the States, Estée Lauder—among
other brands—removed their formula’s skin-lightening properties, because they
knew Americans want their skin gloriously gold. Asians, on the other hand,
already struggle with being seen as “yellow.” A quintessential “Twinkie” or
“banana,” in slang terms, I’m ancestrally Asian but culturally American. Socially, I
more strongly identify with the latter, so I should be striving to end every
summer burnished to smoked caramel, right?

Which Standard Is Most "Beautiful?"

As an Asian-American, the waters are murky. I had my mother warning me

ominously about sunspots and freckles, and bemoaning how easily my skin drank
up the rays. I had friends who griped about their winter skin and
sympathized with having to buy foundation labeled “fair” instead of “honey.” No
matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t fit into either circle completely.

But as I'd soon learn, it doesn’t have to be that way.

It happened in college. There, I started learning to paint, and as I discovered the

gorgeous subtleties and hidden colors in women’s faces, I began to appreciate
more and more that it was this lack of uniformity that drew me to painting
portraits. Also in college, I was exposed to greater diversity and the beauty
standards of other cultures outside of my own personal experience. I began to
receive praise for the quality of my complexion, and in time, my priorities shifted
from worrying about the color of my skin to how best to care for it, no matter
what shade it happened to be.

In addition, by surrounding myself with women who embraced intellect over

aesthetics, I became more comfortable in my own skin. Finally, it clicked: For
years, I’d been exposed to just two colors—white and gold—but in reality, the
world and its people come in so many stunning colors, why should I have to
choose just one as ideal? Why did I have to prefer one hue over another?

My prioriti es shift ed from worrying about the color of my skin to how

best to care for it, no matt er what shade it happened to be.

Since then, I haven’t.

Here’s what I know now: All skin is beautiful if it’s hydrated and taken care of. All
skin glows when health comes first—when you eat right and sleep well and
consider internal happiness the most important thing.

So this summer, I won’t decide. I won’t let my appearance be prescribed by

others or dictated by tradition. I won’t be one of those Asian women walking
around under a big hat and sunbrella. Nor will I be one of those sunbathers
slathering myself with tanning oil, either. Rather, I’ll put on my SPF 45 and see
where the summer takes me.