Beauty Behind Bars: Doing Makeup at Prison, Reclaiming Authenticity, Changing Policy

Welcome to the first episode Blah Blah Law, the podcast where we take the blah out of law by demystifying the latest legal concepts and news. I’m your host, Lea, and today we are diving into a topic that does not get nearly enough attention: beauty behind bars.

Now, I know what you might be thinking: What does beauty have to do with incarceration? The answer is: A lot. Today, we are exploring how access to self-care and hygiene products is about so much more than looks. It’s about self-esteem, mental health, and restoring dignity in one of the toughest environments imaginable: United States correctional facilities.

Transcript

Welcome to the first episode Blah Blah Law, the podcast where we take the blah out of law. Demystifying the latest legal concepts and news. I’m your host, Lea, and today we are diving into a topic that does not get nearly enough attention: beauty behind bars.

Now, I know what you might be thinking: What does beauty have to do with incarceration? The answer is: A lot. Today, we are exploring how access to self-care and hygiene products is about so much more than looks. It is about self-esteem, mental health, and restoring dignity in one of the toughest environments imaginable.

OPENING STATEMENT

Let’s start with some context. In prisons and jails across the United States, the reality for many incarcerated individuals is inhumane. 

Imagine having limited to no access to basic hygiene products like soap, toothpaste, or shampoo isn’t just uncomfortable. That is the everyday life for millions of people incarcerated in the United States.

Just listen to some quotes by incarcerated people themselves explaining why hygiene matters behind bars:

• Jessica Kent, a formerly incarcerated content creator said “We liked makeup for the same reason that we showered. We wanted to feel human.” 
  • The second part “we wanted to feel human” demonstrates the extent of inhumanity omnipresent throughout correctional facilities. Self-expression is key to identity. When your mode of self expression, in this case, makeup, is stripped away, your identity is fundamentally challenged.
• Joyce Pequeno, a 28 year-old incarcerated person in Wilsonville, Oregon said “It makes me feel good, like a real human being - not just a number” 

My philosophy is: when you look good, you feel good. When you feel good, you do good. If we want correctional facilities to be spaces for rehabilitation, we need to advocate for dignified living conditions. 

Moreover, imagine being someone with textured or curly hair and not having access to products that meet your needs. Culturally competent hair care is rare behind bars. These are everyday struggles for incarcerated people of color, and they’re often compounded by strict budgets, lack of empathy, and institutional neglect.

So why should we care? The criminal justice system, whether directly impacted or not, affects you. How? Recidivism.

The National Institute of Justice defines recidivism as “a person's relapse into criminal behavior, often after the person receives sanctions or undergoes intervention for a previous crime.”

Studies show that investing in basic care for incarcerated people can lead to better mental and physical health outcomes, both during their sentence and after their release.

Whether it’s applying for a job, or reuniting with family, rehabilitating amidst dignified living conditions enables one to re-enter society with a sense of self-worth and confidence they would not have otherwise. 

EXHIBIT A: the proof 

This, however, is nearly impossible with the current state of the criminal justice system. I recently came across in article by Cut Magazine that best explains the issue I’m talking about today. It’s titled “Fighting for Beauty Behind Prison Walls For incarcerated women, access to makeup can mean access to their authentic selves. So why is it often denied?” by Abigal Glasglow. 

Glasgow aptly illustrates the distinct beauty and hygiene challenges faced by incarcerated women: “Items like mineral-powder foundation or eyeshadow from brands like CoverGirl and L’Oréal can be found in certain women’s prisons for prices averaging anywhere from $1.50 to $16, but for incarcerated women, many of whom are their families’ primary caretakers and work for exploitative wages inside, there isn’t much money left over after making costly phone calls or purchasing commissary food to replace inadequate nutrition options. And then there are the facility-wide makeup bans, which are increasing as of late — within the Department of Corrections’ rules and regulations, even the most routine commodities can be construed as a threat. Alongside shoulder-length hair mandates, limited menstrual-hygiene products, and uniforms exclusively offered in men’s sizes, restricting access to makeup is a means of control, one that also emphasizes how prisons are historically designed for men.”

Glasgow’s article serves as a testament to makeup’s transformative role of makeup, especially on incarcerated women. So much so, that many incarcerated women opt for do-it-yourself versions of their favorite products. 

In the article, Maryam Henderson-Uloho explains how she can still recall how she would do her makeup during her 12.5 years incarcerated. Applying deodorant or Vaseline to brightly colored magazine clips, she would create lip gloss, eye shadow, blush, and even perfume from samples directly off the page. “When Vogue slid under the cell door, it was a lifeline,” Henderson-Uloho says. 

Glasgow goes on to say that “Many of the women I’ve spoken with say that makeup plays an integral role in building self-worth, fostering community, and seeing themselves as equals with their non-incarcerated peers.”

I’m going to read-aloud additional quotes from incarcerated women that really struck me from this article.

The first is by April Harris, a writer, paralegal, and a researcher for the UC Sentencing Project.

“When I was 13, I didn’t care for makeup. I was one of those little homebodies, plain Janes. It wasn’t until I was incarcerated that I got into makeup, inspired by the thousands of women who relied on creativity to make their own. Especially at first, I didn’t have the money to buy makeup. I’ve been in here for 28 years, so I’ve tried it all: using the string of a tampon to pluck, thread, and arch my eyebrows because I couldn’t afford tweezers; using immersion heaters to melt down black checkers from the game board, let it dry, and make mascara (until the correctional officers threatened to recall games); getting body soap a little wet to make hair gel for my edges, which dries white eventually; shaving down water color paints and colored chalk from art class to make eyeshadow; using that same paint as nail polish.” 

My reaction is both awe and concern. While in awe of Harris’ DIY products, its concerning that she has to make them in the first place using products that might be toxic like colored chalk from art class. 

The next quote I’m sharing is from Mithrellas Curtis, a writer, trained Peer Recovery Specialist, and peer mentor for the reentry program at Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women.

Curtis says “I wear makeup because it makes me feel good to do it. I do it in the morning, now around 6 a.m., but when I worked in the kitchen, I’d usually have to do my makeup in the dark in my cell before going to work around 3 a.m. The lipstick I love is vibrant, like I am. It’s noticeable. Instead of being something to hide behind, it draws attention, and that’s doubly important to me because my mother wore makeup as a mask. I don’t want to be invisible and, with lipstick, you can’t look past me.” 

Behind makeup, there’s a story. Curtis’ testimony reminds us that makeup is a form of storytelling, one integral to our shared humanity

The last quote for today is by Bobbi, who has been a jailhouse lawyer since 2006.

“We’re not allowed hair dyes, though some women use red Kool-Aid and bleach to color their hair. I’ve now been gray for ten years and people talk to me a certain way because of it. Maybe that’s not how I would present myself normally in the real world, but I’ve lost that privilege. And it’s clear to me that it’s a way for the correction officers, and the superintendent, and everybody along the way to remind me that I’m just an “inmate.” New York is a very progressive state in that the New York Assembly changed our names from “inmate” to “incarcerated individuals.” But then we’re not allowed to express ourselves as individuals, like with hair dye or with makeup, so it just feels like hollow rhetoric. If you treat me like an inmate, like a prisoner, then call it like it is.” 

Wow. Bobbi’s testimony is a powerful reminder that progressive isn’t always progressive enough. Even though New York is known as a progressive state, it’s facilities evidently are not.

CLOSING STATEMENT, gavel sound

Now, let me tell you about some of the incredible work happening in this space—like what we do with Beauty Beyond Bars — the organization producing the “Blah Blah Law” podcast.

At its core, our mission is simple: to empower incarcerated people with beauty and hygiene by fundamentally transforming living conditions behind bars.

We have partnered with brands like Dr. Bronner’s, Botanical Cabana, and Moon Pads to donate everything from curl creams and lotions to menstural. And these donations aren’t just about physical cleanliness; they’re about mental and emotional well-being.

How do we know? 

One of the most moving moments we’ve seen is hearing from the people receiving these products. In their words, it’s about “feeling human again,” even in a place where humanity is often forgotten. It’s proof that these small acts of care have a ripple effect.

This summer, I taught incarcerated girls the fundamentals of policy-making, and navigating government processes at the local, state, and federal levels. The draft proposals they created then, are real-life bills now. 

For example, California bill AB-1875, the Culturally Competent Hair Care Act. 

In 2024, we identified the lack of culturally competent hair care products like curl creams and gels behind bars. Thus, we did something about it. 

We drafted, pitched, and ultimately passed the Culturally Competent Hair Care Act, marking a groundbreaking first step towards humanizing the living conditions of incarcerated people through ensuring equal access to suitable hygiene products

But there are smaller, tangible steps anyone can take to make a difference:

Donate: Organizations like Beauty Beyond Bars rely on donations to provide quality products to people in need. Whether it’s a few dollars or an unused bottle of conditioner, it all adds up.

Advocate: Talk to your friends, family, and local representatives about the importance of dignity for incarcerated people. Don’t let this conversation end here.

Learn: Educate yourself about the laws and policies that affect incarcerated people, and consider how you can be part of the movement for change. Visit our website 

OUTRO:

[Background music begins to fade in.]

HOST:That’s it for today’s episode of Blah Blah Law. Thank you for taking the time to explore why beauty matters behind bars and why it’s more than skin deep. If today’s episode resonated with you, share it with someone who needs to hear this message.

Be sure to follow us on social media @BlahBlahLaw and @ BeautyBeyondBars tag us with your thoughts or questions. And if you have a few minutes, drop a review to help more people find conversations like this one.

Until next time. This is Blah Blah Law.