The Politics of Moisturizing: A Love Letter to the Ritual
#moisturizing ritual #Black beauty standards #self-care politics #cultural identity #beauty commercialization #intergenerational wisdom #skin care as resistance
📌 Key Takeaways
- Moisturizing was a non-negotiable requirement in the author's household
- The practice represents pride and self-care in Black communities
- What was once dismissed as 'too heavy' is now commercialized as luxury
- Moisturizing is a political act of insisting on softness in a demanding world
- The ritual connects the author to their past while grounding them in the present
📖 Full Retelling
In his February 24, 2026 essay published in NewBeauty, Larry Stansbury explores how moisturizing evolved from a childhood requirement enforced by his mother to a profound cultural and political statement within Black communities, revealing how this daily ritual represents self-care, identity, and resistance in a society that has historically marginalized Black beauty standards. Growing up, Stansbury recalls how his mother made moisturizing non-negotiable—after every shower, before school, after gym class, or even just stepping outside the house, ensuring he was 'moisturized from head to toe' with products like Palmer's Cocoa Butter or Vaseline. This wasn't merely about preventing ashy skin but represented a deeper cultural code where 'If you're moisturized, you're cared for. If you're ashy, you're slipping.' The author reflects on how this simple act of applying lotion was actually a language of love, saying 'I see you, I love you and I'm protecting you' through the rhythmic, grounding motion of care. As Stansbury matured into a beauty editor surrounded by luxury serums and body creams, he recognized the political dimension of moisturizing—what was once dismissed as 'too heavy' or 'too greasy' in Black communities is now repackaged and sold at premium prices, highlighting how the beauty industry profits from rituals once ignored by mainstream standards. The ritual takes on even deeper significance as an act of self-assertion, particularly for Black individuals who are often encouraged to be 'hard' in a demanding world; to moisturize becomes 'to insist on softness' and 'a refusal to let yourself crack under pressure.' Ultimately, Stansbury frames moisturizing as both a connection to ancestral wisdom and a form of present-moment self-honoring, where each application becomes 'a reclaiming of self' that transcends mere skincare to become a powerful statement of identity and belonging.
🏷️ Themes
Cultural Identity, Self-Care, Beauty Politics, Intergenerational Wisdom
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Original Source
The Politics of Moisturizing: A Love Letter to the Ritual Never leave the house without applying lotion. By Larry Stansbury Published: Feb 24, 2026 We may earn commission from links on this page. Each product featured has been vetted and chosen by our editors. ILLUSTRATION BY: SAMANTHA HAHN This article first appeared in the Winter 2026 issue of NewBeauty. Click here to subscribe In my house, lotion was never optional. It was, and still is, a requirement. After every shower, before school, after gym class, or even stepping out of the house, my mother made sure I was moisturized from head to toe . There was always a bottle of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter or Vaseline within reach. If I even thought about leaving the house with ashy elbows, she’d stop me at the door. “You’re not about to go outside looking ashy,” she’d say, half-loving, half-serious. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. But looking back, I realize moisturizing was never just about appearance—it was about pride. Growing up Black, moisturizing wasn’t a suggestion, it was a standard. It was how we showed up for ourselves. Our mothers, grandmothers and ancestors made it an unspoken rule: If you’re moisturized, you’re cared for. If you’re ashy, you’re slipping. My mother didn’t have a 10-step routine or fancy ingredients. She had what worked: cocoa butter, shea butter and good ol’ petroleum jelly . She’d warm the lotion in her hands before rubbing it into my arms, making sure every inch gleamed before I left the house. There was something grounding about it: the soft, rhythmic motion of care. Moisturizing wasn’t a chore; it was a language. It said, I see you, I love you and I’m protecting you. Now, years later, as a beauty editor surrounded by shelves of serums , oils and luxury body creams, I realize how deeply that lesson shaped me. The act of moisturizing still feels sacred, but it’s also political, especially when the world once ignored our needs and now profits off our rituals. What was once dismissed as “...
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