Since I’m already on the subject of skincare, having just come across Naomi Osaka’s brand (see my post on Substack), I found myself reflecting on a recurring discussion I’ve had when sharing content about mainstream skincare products. When I posted a clip featuring Aveeno, a wave of responses flooded in, insisting that as someone with melanated skin, I should be using thicker, butter-based moisturizers instead.
Now, I’m no stranger to brands like Nubian Heritage or Shea Moisture, having used their soaps and lotions in the past. But here’s the thing—I’ve never been a fan of slick, overly shiny formulations that take a while to fully absorb. That’s not to say those products don’t work, nor am I dismissing the fact that some people prefer the look of a richer, more occlusive moisturizer. But for me, I’d rather stick with CeraVe, a brand I consider a workhorse—one that delivers effective hydration without leaving a lingering residue that makes me hesitate before getting dressed. That said, I’ll give credit where it’s due—the fragrances from Nubian Heritage and Shea Moisture were phenomenal. Shea Moisture/Nubian Heritage (same company?) African Black Soap lotion smells really good.
Beyond the moisturizer debate, I’ve also noticed a divide on sunscreen, where two opposing perspectives seem to dominate: one camp insists that it inhibits Vitamin D absorption, while the other argues that melanated skin doesn’t need it at all. Are we immune from sun damage despite the fact that we say the ozone layer is damaged due to pollution? I don’t know. What strikes me as particularly interesting is that black and brown dermatologists—actual experts in the field—are never cited in these conversations. Instead, we’re bombarded with opinions from influencers, self-proclaimed wellness gurus, and random voices on social media, while trained medical professionals are largely ignored.
(And yes, of course, I do realize that this OP falls within the confines of that which comes from a random voice.)
And it makes me wonder—is this just another manifestation of the broader disregard for Black medical professionals—not just by the wider public, but by Black people themselves? The same way some refuse to take prescriptions or follow treatment plans recommended by Black doctors, opting instead to trust celebrated bushmen (or women) with no clinical expertise, are we doing the same thing in skincare? Is it possible that some of these widely shared takes are simply wrong? Or have we reached a point where we are more willing to trust rhetoric over research, tradition over training—even when the professionals we dismiss look like us?
Allow me to open up another disclaimer: I do not speak as someone embedded within any institutional establishment. I am certainly not a member of the august research communities, those elite circles teeming with highly aggressive experts who are quick to remind you that you do not belong to their club. They guard their intellectual domains with a ferocity that borders on ritualistic gatekeeping, ready to pounce the moment you dare trespass into their sacred linguistic territory.
Like, how dare you use those words? Did you attend this or that institution? Have you been properly initiated into the discourse? The implicit demand is clear—credentials first, perspective second. But I am not from there. And I would like to believe that if I were, I would carry myself differently—that I would not be so possessive over knowledge, as though insight and analysis must always be credentialed commodities rather than tools for broader understanding and engagement.
While making this very significant point, I must emphasize that I have never encountered such elitism from those within the dermatology field. In fact, dermatologists, at least in my experience, appear to be far more invested in disseminating knowledge than in hoarding it, prioritizing public education over intellectual gatekeeping. Rather than demanding proof of credentials before engaging, they seem genuinely committed to ensuring that accurate information reaches the widest audience possible, often applauding those who contribute meaningfully to the conversation, regardless of background. I shared the disclaimer to cover my bases.
Furthermore, I hold in high regard—and have consistently applauded—specialists who make themselves accessible to the public. For those familiar with my interview blog series, this is hardly a new sentiment. The willingness of professionals to bridge the gap between expertise and everyday discourse is something I find commendable, particularly in a time when so much misinformation is driven by performative contrarianism rather than genuine inquiry.
But I digress. And now I find myself wondering—how did a quick thought spiral into this long-winded reflection?
Returning to where I left off before the disclaimer, I want to underscore what I consider a balanced position—one that acknowledges the limits of scientific inquiry while remaining firmly rooted in established, well-researched knowledge. This means recognizing that science is always evolving, that there are gaps yet to be filled, and that some truths may not yet be fully understood or articulated. But it also means standing ten toes down on what is already well-substantiated, resisting the impulse to dismiss rigorous research simply because it does not align with personal intuition, cultural tradition, or the latest internet-fueled skepticism.
I see this as a reasonable approach, one that neither blindly deifies science nor casually disregards it, but instead remains open to both its current findings and its future advancements.
How does this actually apply to the current discussion? How does it play on the ground? Well, for one, you can still get sun exposure while wearing sunscreen and reap the Vitamin D benefits without subjecting yourself to unnecessary risk. The two are not mutually exclusive. Or, alternatively, you can set out to disprove the science altogether—throw caution to the wind and engage in excessive, unprotected sun exposure, determined to demonstrate that melanated skin is impervious to UV damage.
After all, you’re an adult. Your choices are yours to make. But let’s not pretend that dismissing well-researched dermatological findings is some kind of revolutionary defiance rather than what it actually is—a gamble with long-term consequences. You may be right. But if you’re wrong . . .
Here seems like a good place to pause. I’ve laid out the considerations, framed the choices, and at this point, the conversation speaks for itself. Whether one chooses to engage with established knowledge, challenge it responsibly, or dismiss it entirely, the reality remains unchanged.
That said, I’ll leave this here. Until the next thought spirals into something much longer than intended.