Recently, actress Shay Mitchell announced the launch of RINÍ, a skincare line marketed to children as young as three. She described it as a gentle way for kids to join their parents’ self-care routines. But the backlash was immediate and telling. Children don’t need cleanser routines or barrier creams; this is evidence of a beauty marketplace targeting girlhood earlier. When products aimed at young children mirror the aesthetics pushed by social platforms, it becomes even clearer that childhood is being shaped by unregulated media and beauty ecosystems.
RINÍ isn’t happening in a vacuum — it reflects a beauty landscape shaped by the same digital environments that are already teaching children what to aspire to, what to fix, and what to buy.
Public health already teaches us that environments shape outcomes; food deserts, unsafe housing, and poor access to care are known social determinants of health. We want Black children to see themselves in the spaces they inhabit. But what about the digital ecosystems shaping them? In a time when youth and even adults are constantly online, consuming digital media, these spaces shape how we see our worth, how we treat our bodies, and how we define beauty.
On social media platforms such as TikTok and Instagram, young people are watching identity turn into industry. Beauty and lifestyle are curated and monetized, and self-worth becomes tied to online performance. Influencer culture blurs the line between self-expression and salesmanship, where wellness, beauty, and even confidence are packaged as products to buy rather than qualities to grow. And for Black girls and young women, the message is never just about looking “perfect”; it is about being seen as palatable, which erases our phenotype to appeal to Eurocentric standards. Platforms don’t just shape self-image; they sell it back to us.
When identity becomes a marketplace, childhood can’t unfold the way it used to. Before young people learn who they are, they learn what sells and what is socially acceptable. And for Black girls, whose beauty has historically been undervalued and hyper-policed, it’s developmental interference.
Social media platforms have become unregulated classrooms for identity formation. Studies link heavy social media exposure to increased body dissatisfaction, anxiety, and depression among young people. When these platforms amplify a narrow aesthetic, as being thin, whiter, and having Eurocentric features, they are teaching a dominant beauty script. For Black girls, the harm multiplies because when every algorithm favors an image opposite to theirs, what does that do to an adolescent’s developing sense of self?
We already understand that beauty-based discrimination has real consequences. The Crown Act was created because Black children and adults were being sent home, denied opportunities, or pressured to alter their natural hair to meet Eurocentric standards. That isn’t a cosmetic issue, it’s an educational and economic one, with direct health implications. The trauma of exclusion and bias has real psychological and physical consequences that affect development.
To be sure, the answer isn’t banning kids from the internet or pretending beauty expression is the enemy. Digital spaces can inspire, empower, and connect. But when those spaces function as unregulated environments that shape how young people see themselves, we have a responsibility to design them with care.
States already regulate food, classrooms, and playgrounds, and the digital world is no different. Policymakers can require transparency in beauty advertising aimed at minors, set standards for algorithmic accountability, and invest in media literacy that teaches young people how to navigate curated images and commercial pressure. Platforms that claim to care about safety must maintain age-appropriate filters and tailor protections with the same precision they tailor ads.
This is not about restricting creativity; it’s about expanding safety and ensuring young girls can log on without feeling they must shrink, smooth, straighten, or lighten to belong. The future of public health includes digital dignity, and Black girlhood deserves nothing less.