WHO OWNS BLACK BEAUTY: UNRAVELING THE DIVIDE BETWEEN CULTURE POWER AND CAPITAL CONTROL
Walk into any beauty aisle in America and you will see Black women's influence everywhere, in product lines and beauty trends. Yet behind the scenes, in ownership and decision-making, Black women are still largely excluded from the industry's power and profits.
The global beauty industry is valued at $450 billion, yet a contradiction exists at its core: Black consumers account for about 11% of all beauty spending, but Black-owned brands comprise less than 3% of the industry’s revenue, according to McKinsey & Company’s 2022 Black Representation in the Beauty Industry report. This imbalance sits at the heart of the market, an ecosystem built on identity, but rarely led by those who define it.
This apparent gap affects all levels of the industry, from manufacturing and retail to capital access, brand positioning, and the real experiences of founders, stylists, creators, and consumers.
A Legacy of Innovation and Exclusion
When mass manufacturing expanded in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, beauty products became more widely available in the United States. However, Black communities were excluded due to systematic racism and discrimination. Products for textured hair, deeper skin tones, or protective styling were rarely found in mainstream stores.
In response, Black women forged their own paths through entrepreneurship, becoming central to the beauty industry long before it grew into a billion-dollar market. Pioneers like Annie Turnbo Malone and Madam C.J. Walker built businesses from scratch by developing formulas, selling door-to-door, training sales agents, and reinvesting wealth into Black communities. Their work established a blueprint for beauty entrepreneurship well before the industry recognized textured hair as a market.
Despite these accomplishments, the broader market restricted access to capital, manufacturing, and shelf space. These barriers still shape the industry today. Kadidja Dosso, founder of Dosso Beauty, notes the disconnect is visible at every level of the supply chain.
“I noticed that there was a gap in the market,” she said. “These people who are selling the products to us do not look like us. They do not have the same hair texture as us, and they, quite frankly, do not care.
Dosso grew up in West Philadelphia, where she began to notice how ownership determined access. “There were only two beauty supply stores, and neither one of them were Black owned,” she said. During her early years as a stylist, she repeatedly questioned store owners about customers whose hair was breaking off after using certain products. “They couldn’t give me any answers, even when they were able to answer, they refused to.
For decades, beauty supply stores central to Black beauty practices have been run primarily by Korean and white owners. Much of this stems from exclusive distributor relationships and import networks formed in the 1970s and 1990s, when Korean-owned companies consolidated control over manufacturing and supply chains for wigs, weaves, synthetic hair, and textured products. Black entrepreneurs attempting to enter the market were excluded from these systems.
“There have been trade agreements put into place for centuries, decades, that are unbreakable at this point. They created the operating system, so it is really hard to penetrate something that has been in existence for decades.” Dosso said.
The barriers Dosso described are not limited to brand founders. They also shape the retail landscape, especially for Black-owned beauty supply stores. Melissa, owner of Dream Beauty Supply, has experienced these systems firsthand.
“You'll see a lot of black owned beauty supplies around the country now, but I would say it's kind of hard for us to grow, because you have these other foreigners coming in, and they're bringing in multiple millions of dollars to start their business. And what they're doing is reselling their product for wholesale prices, sometimes cheaper than I can even purchase it from a distributor.”
For Melissa, the deeper challenge is access to distributors. When she opened her store, competing beauty supply owners contacted distributors, telling them not to sell to her.
“Even when I first opened up some of the jewelry companies that I purchased from, there were several beauty supplies down Mercury Boulevard, calling the company, screaming at them to not sell me the jewelry.”
Although more Black founders are entering the sector, structural barriers hinder long-term ownership. Many eventually sell their companies to larger corporations with greater resources. After acquisition, changes to formulas, packaging, and missions often dilute the original vision.
Melissa said this shift is common. “A lot of black people can create their own hair care company,” she said. “But then, eventually, once they are making a certain amount of money, instead of continuing to grow that company, it is easier just to sell it off to somebody else. But sometimes I wish that they would stay with it, because when they sell, these parent companies change the ingredients or the quality.”
She added that many well-known textured hair brands are not Black-owned at all.
“Black ethnic products that are sold in beauty supplies, what people do not know is that they are often owned by Caucasian people,” she said. “Cantu was created by a white man. ORS and others are owned by parent companies. They can cut costs in manufacturing because they literally own their own factories.”
Melissa’s experience illustrates that ownership means more than launching a product; it requires access to supply chains, distributors, and networks that have historically kept Black entrepreneurs out.
Inside the Real Meaning of Ownership
For Dosso, real industry ownership starts with understanding product development.
“If we are not in the room to be product developers for the products we are creating for ourselves, that is where the harm starts,” she said. “If you do not understand the chemicals, the reactions, and the long-term effects, you cannot build something safe.”
A 2025 Consumer Reports study found that many popular synthetic braiding hair products contained carcinogens, heavy metals such as lead, and volatile organic compounds. Despite such risks, synthetic hair remains unregulated in the United States, and companies can label products “non-toxic” without clinical evidence.
“Just because it says non-toxic does not mean it is clinically tested non-toxic. There is literally no regulation beyond synthetic hair extensions within the US. Anybody can give them a Canva, pre-package and put it out there and say it is non-toxic without clinical trials.” Dosso Said.
She urges consumers and stylists to request Safety Data Sheets, widely used in manufacturing, which list ingredients and potential reactions. Research and ingredient literacy are not widely taught in beauty supply aisles, salons, or retail settings. Many consumers trust labels, but labeling standards are minimal.
Future cosmetic chemist Rheagan Crenshaw said many consumers do not understand how formulation affects product safety.
“I definitely do not think that a lot of consumers understand what they are getting,” she said. “Brands use gotcha words knowing that if someone sees clean beauty, they think it is organic, and you can really slap clean beauty on anything.”
Crenshaw said that ownership matters because an acquisition often changes formulation quality without transparency. She has watched the consequences of non-Black ownership up close.
“As far as the dangers, when you are selling it to someone who is not a Black woman, they just do not care,” she said. “They do not care about the reason the brand was started or the people it was started for.”
The Architecture of Visibility
Even when Black founders make products that resonate with consumers, retail visibility remains one of the largest obstacles.
In 2020, the Fifteen Percent Pledge called on retailers to dedicate at least 15 percent of shelf space to Black-owned brands, reflecting the population.
“Black people are around 14 percent of our population,” said Gavin Runzel, senior account director at the Pledge. “Let us round that up and make sure shelf space looks like that.”
However, Runzel emphasizes that shelf space is just the first step.
“It takes a lot of work to do business with a major retailer,” she said. “Scaling is difficult. Not everyone’s business is at a place where it is beneficial.”
To address these gaps, the Pledge created the Business Equity Community, which offers mentorship, office hours, educational programming, and resources for thousands of Black-owned businesses.
For many founders, challenges start before they even reach retail shelves. Robert Burns, senior director of development and growth at the Pledge, said entrepreneurs often view shelf placement as the finish line.
“Getting on a shelf is not an end goal,” Burns said. “You are opening up an entirely new distribution channel. It is a major business decision that comes with a lot of risk.”
Retailers are expected to reflect population share in shelf space, yet proportional visibility alone does not ensure true equity for Black-owned brands. Access to capital is the barrier that determines who can withstand that risk.
“For people of color, access to capital is quite limited,” Burns said. “Investors are looking for a return. They are not going to waste money on an opportunity if they do not see the chance to make it back tenfold.”
He said grants remain one of the most effective tools for early-stage founders because they do not require loans or equity loss. “It is a check,” he said. “You can use it for whatever you need to support your business.”
Meanwhile, visibility inside major retailers does not guarantee accessibility. Even in stores that carry Black-owned brands, categories like textured hair care remain underdeveloped.
Beauty creator and Sephora Squad member Alycea Adams sees the gap firsthand.
“I do wish that Sephora, specifically for hair care, could improve the textured hair care category,” she said. “I know the products that work for me will be found at Tyson’s Beauty.”
The disconnect is not simply about shelf space, but about who companies imagine their primary consumer to be.
Viral Influence, Structural Inequity
Creators have become one of the most powerful forces in beauty, shaping buying habits, driving trends, and controlling the speed at which a product succeeds. Yet Black creators, despite setting much of the cultural tone online, continue to face unequal pay, limited access to long-term partnerships, and fewer pathways to build lasting equity in the industry. Their influence is visible, but their compensation rarely matches it.
Adams entered content creation as a college student, navigating identity and representation while learning the economics of the creator market.
“From a creator standpoint, the intersectionality of different identities allows access to different opportunities,” she said.“You can have someone that has the same amount of followers, the same demographic of followers, but someone may be a different color, or they may align with different values. And brands are very intentional about who they partner with.”
Her experience reflects broader data in the creator economy. Studies by influencer marketing agencies show that Black creators are often paid less for the same deliverables, and many are excluded from yearlong brand deals that provide stability and long-term income. The disparities mirror the systemic gaps Black founders face behind the scenes.
Representation online has shifted consumer expectations. “Hair is always a topic of conversation because it is a way we express ourselves,” Adams said. “Creators are showing that to their audiences.”
Black creators have played a significant role in teaching consumers how to read ingredient labels, distinguish between genuine “clean beauty” and marketing buzzwords, and identify products that suit specific textures and needs.
Adams believes that creators have helped reshape how Black consumers evaluate products.
“Knowledge is power,” she said. “We have that digital literacy.”
Their advocacy extends beyond tutorials. Creators routinely pressure brands to expand shade ranges, fix product inconsistencies, and be transparent about testing and formulation. Their critiques have pushed companies into action, often forcing improvements that internal teams did not prioritize.
But as brands adopt trends rooted in Black culture, creators often see their contributions turned into corporate profits that rarely flow back to their communities.
“So specifically with Black creators, I think we are re-owning and redefining what culture means for us,” Adams said. “A lot of brands try to capitalize off Black culture. Now creators are taking that power back.”
The Cost of Capital and Growth
Black founders receive less than 1 percent of venture capital nationwide, a number that exposes the depth of systemic barriers across industries. This is especially true in beauty, where Black consumers hold enormous cultural influence but founders hold very little capital control.
At the Fearless Fund, founded by entrepreneur and investor Arian Simone, this imbalance is impossible to ignore.
“In 2001, I owned my own business as a college student and struggled with raising capital,” Simone said. “None of the investors looked like me.”
Her fund was formalized in 2017 after years of rejection, skepticism, and closed doors. “We probably had about 300 meetings before we closed on fund one,” she said. “People did not believe there was enough of a market for women of color.”
Simone argues that the issue is not pipeline or performance. It is a part of the structure.
“Racism and sexism are at the height of the structural barriers,” she said. “92% of VC investors are white men, and 80% of white people have all white networks. So even if you were to take racism and sexism out of the equation, just due to proximity, women of color are cut out.”
For Black women specifically, the absence of proximity means many never even enter the rooms where checks are written.
Beauty magnifies these inequities. Black consumers shape trends and drive billions in purchasing power, yet ownership within the sector remains severely limited. Even when Black beauty founders successfully launch products, the next stages, such as manufacturing, scaling inventory, and expanding distribution, require substantial capital.
This creates a cycle in which Black-founded brands often plateau in the early growth stages despite strong consumer demand.
In 2023, these challenges intensified when the Fearless Fund became the center of a national lawsuit led by conservative activist nonprofit American Alliance for Equal Rights (AAER), led by Edward Blum, who claimed the fund’s grant program for Black women violated civil rights law. The case marked one of the most visible attempts to dismantle race-conscious initiatives in private philanthropy and venture investment.
The lawsuit sent shockwaves through the industry. For many founders, the Fearless Fund represented one of the few avenues where their identities were seen as assets, not obstacles. Its legal battle raised concerns that other equity-centered programs, including grants, accelerators, and pitch competitions, could face similar attacks.
“This is dangerous work,” Simone said, recalling a conversation with racial equity advocates. “People who believe in white supremacy view people who work in the area of Black economic development as terrorists.”
The lawsuit also revealed a larger truth: without policy protections, private-sector initiatives remain vulnerable.
“This is not something we should be fighting in the private sector,” she said. “We need policies that protect the right to fund marginalized communities. These policies should put us in a position to not just have the Fearless Fund, but to have Fearless Funds.”
She believes demographic equity must be codified into policy.
“When you have policies that reflect demographic equity, then there is fair funding by default,” she said. “There are opportunities for different audiences.”
Despite the legal pressures, the Fearless Fund continues its mission. The organization still issues grants, operates its loan program, and invests in women of color founders.
“We never stopped this work,” Simone said. “We do not plan to stop.”
For beauty founders navigating an industry where influence outpaces ownership, the fight for capital remains one of the most decisive battles. Efforts like the Fearless Fund represent not only financial support but a challenge to the structures that have long dictated who gets to build, lead, and profit in the beauty industry.
The Future of Ownership and Beauty
The beauty industry is entering a new phase. Diversity campaigns have changed the imagery consumers see, but not the systems that determine who remains in power or who benefits financially.
Real progress will require structural change. That includes equitable investment, diverse buyer teams, transparent supply chains, and policies that protect funding models for underrepresented founders. Without these shifts, Black-owned brands are still expected to grow within systems that were never built for them.
Black consumers are also asking for more than representation. They want ownership in the companies shaping their routines. They want fair compensation for the creators who drive trends. And they want the economic power of Black beauty reflected in leadership, not just in marketing.
As the industry evolves, the question becomes not just who influences beauty, but who gets to benefit from it.
“It’s less about trying to own every part of the system,” Dosso said. “It’s about asking how we work together to build something better for our community.”
