In 2020, when the United States was in the midst of an overwhelming moment in history, white and corporate America moved swiftly to lay hold on the Buy Black movement. Outraged by the damning evidence of George Floyd’s murder at the hands of police officers – and put on notice how the pandemic disproportionately annihilated Black businesses – the racial reckoning was palpable.
I’m certain we can all remember how the pressure ignited that surge of virtue signaling, donations, buzzy hashtags and regretful diversity commitments.
That year, jobs in diversity and inclusion rose by 123%, according to an Edelman report. But as with many fads, that short-lived trend of “societal responsibility” turned out to be more of a branding strategy than an actual commitment, having proved more effective at addressing white guilt than honestly supporting Black commerce.
Last year, amid rising inflation and a deteriorating economy, diversity, equity and inclusion progress stalled. Despite experts’ advice on how the most diverse companies perform better than their less-diverse peers – by a whopping 36% to be exact, according to a revealing report by McKinsey – many companies have and continue to pull back DEI commitments, resulting in massive layoffs and chief diversity officers resigning their positions at alarming rates.
McKinsey also points out how racism continues to manifest in the beauty industry as well insidiously. Its research on Black representation in beauty discloses how Black consumers remain largely excluded in spite of their purchasing power. Black women spend 80% more on cosmetics and skin care products than any other ethnic group, but holding title and leadership positions remain low, whereas African Americans own only 1.5% of brands and hold only 4% of executive appointments. Furthermore, the industry remains fraught with appropriation and acquisition, especially in the booming Black hair care sector, where brands are gradually sold off and formulas of go-to products for textured hair are “tweaked” in favor of capturing “new users.” In 1986, when asked about competition from Black-owned firms in the Black hair care industry, Irving Bottner, then CEO of Revlon, said: “In the next couple of years, the Black-owned businesses will disappear. They’ll all be sold to white companies.”
One can argue his prediction is mostly true – some of the most quintessential Black hair care brands, such as Dark & Lovely, Carol’s daughter and Mizani are owned by French giant L’Oréal.
In spite of it all, our history documents how the concept of true, transformational change is something the Black community knows well. The idea of a Black business ecosystem was actually launched two centuries ago when between the end of the civil war and the ascent of Jim Crow, Blacks gave rise to far more justice and power on their own. This original Buy Black movement consisted of everything from intellectual property, real estate, banks, law firms and medical systems to hotels, schools, barbershops and agricultural land – all created, cultivated and fueled by the Black people of America. From 1865 until 1968, hundreds of millions of dollars were generated and recycled, making Black Wall Streets across the country self-sustaining and prosperous.
At the beginning of the 20th century, the Greenwood district of Tulsa, Oklahoma – harvested and grown by Black landowners – was one of the most robust regions in the country, boasting scores of Black millionaires and families. Greenwood symbolized the vertex of Black affluence, power and self-worth – a “Black utopia,” as it were. But then, in only two days in 1921, white supremacist terrorists mobilized to loot and destroy it, nearly burning it all to the ground, as hundreds of businesses, churches and schools across the country suffered the same fate.
In the immediate aftermath of the massacre, approximately 6,000 Black Tulsans were detained in internment camps and forced to work for free as virtual slaves for the city of Tulsa, but in the midst of all the carnage, many Black businesses survived and thrived. Moreover, Black America wasn’t wanting for role models, including iconic entrepreneurs like “the mother of Black hair care,” Madam CJ Walker, who helped to sustain the community by supporting the NAACP, historically Black colleges and universities and the National Conference on Lynching.
Today, in looking back at the latest installment of the Buy Black movement from 2020 to 2022 – albeit brief – it mostly worked. It held other companies accountable, created opportunities to build relationships with Black-owned businesses and uplifted entire communities.
And as the size and momentum of the Black beauty consumer continue to grow despite the industry’s inability to cater to them properly – a report from NielsenIQ expects its buying power to reach $1.8 trillion in 2024 – we can do it again.
But this time, it’s with some “tweaking” of our own.
