History of Beauty

As GLP-1 medications – originally used to treat diabetes – went mainstream, runways thinned again, with under 1% of 2025 fashion shows featuring plus-size models. Rapid weight loss also produced a new beauty vocabulary: ‘Ozempic face’, which became shorthand for facial volume loss and skin laxity. GLP-1 use joined wider conversations about fillers, fat grafting and cosmetic surgery, creating new beauty paradox: medicine made dramatic weight loss increasingly achievable, while creating new aesthetic concerns. It also signalled a shift away from the body-positivity era, and towards thinness as a dominant beauty ideal. Research is still underway into what these drugs might do beyond weight loss.

In less than three years, more than 1.2 billion people had used AI tools – a pace of adoption faster than the internet, personal computer or smartphone. And as generative AI made ‘perfect’ faces easier to generate, the marks of real human creativity – individuality, imperfection, personal taste – began to feel more valuable, with a renewed appetite for the visibly human: handmade objects, analogue processes. At the same time, AI was reproducing the biases contained in its training data, raising new questions about whose version of beauty these systems were learning, and repeating.

Beauty never stood still. Now, it finally gets its own place in history, with the launch of the MECCA Archive: a platform built to preserve and question how beauty has been shaped by power, people and protest. With oral histories, community contributions, Blak and queer editorial commissions and user-submitted artefacts, it embraces beauty in all its multitudes. And, it asks: whose beauty stories have we missed? And what do we want remembered?

TikTok cemented its place as beauty’s most powerful and paradoxical engine with beauty micro-trends like ‘Mob Wife’, ‘Clean Girl’, ‘BBL Wave’, and ‘Cottage Core’, to name a few. These cycled through at lightning speed.

The Matildas’ historic 2023 World Cup run sparked a 30% surge in girls’ football registrations. More than a sporting triumph, it reshaped who gets to be seen as strong, confident and celebrated in their own skin. Girls saw themselves on the world stage – and believed, finally, that they belonged there.

At Paris Fashion Week in 2023, Pamela Anderson stepped out makeup-free – calling it “an adventure in Paris with fresh eyes.” Her quiet rebellion against beauty norms struck a chord: “There is beauty in self-acceptance, imperfection and love.” A soft but seismic shift in what red carpet beauty could be.

Preventative Botox. Baby Botox. Filler fatigue. Aesthetic procedures became a casual conversation on TikTok. Clinics posted before-and-afters like memes. Cosmetic tweaks once whispered about were now brand content, influencing across generations.

Sydney Mardi Gras foregrounded beauty led by Pasifika queens, First Nations collectives and plus-size femme performers. The First Nations ‘Blak Royalty’ float, designed by Wiradjuri Walbunja woman Jinny‑Jane Smith, centred Indigenous queer culture and visibility in the heart of WorldPride’s main parade.

‘Glazed donut skin’ became the gold standard: dewy, hyper-hydrated and filter-like. TikTok erupted with 12-step routines, layering mists, essences, barrier creams and oils. Slugging (sleeping in petroleum jelly) went mainstream.

Oriini Kaipara became the first Māori woman with moko kauae to anchor a prime-time news program on national television. This was after she made history in 2019, presenting a TV news program in NZ. Not a costume, not a trend. A shift.

Men’s grooming evolved beyond razors and cologne. Male influencers embraced tinted moisturiser, concealer and skincare, normalising makeup tutorials and self-care rituals. K-beauty trends helped shift masculine aesthetics in Western markets.

Samantha Harris returned to the cover of Vogue and later fronted Gritty Pretty’s September beauty issue. Mahalia Handley, a Māori-Australian model, appeared in national ads, bringing body inclusivity and Indigenous pride to the mainstream. And at Australian Fashion Week, First Nations designers and artists made history, with Blak models walking runways in looks that reflected style and sovereignty.

In early 2021, working from home reshaped habits. Lightweight coverage and dewy skin prevailed. By late 2021, lockdown fatigue gave way to bold, expressive looks influenced by Donni Davy for HBO’s Euphoria: rhinestones, neons and graphic eyes.

With masks covering faces, perfume became a private ritual, worn for oneself. Fragrances like Glossier Glossier You and Escentric Molecules Molecule 01 dominated the digital beauty discourse.

In a year dominated by online life, hijabi beauty creators gained global visibility on Instagram and TikTok. Their tutorials balanced faith, fashion and glam, challenging assumptions about modesty and modernity.

The Black Lives Matter protests sparked a reckoning in the beauty industry. Brands rushed to pledge support, diversify leadership and expand shade ranges, as consumers demanded accountability.

With salons closed and the world on pause, skincare became a national obsession. Not for perfection, but for control, comfort and care. ‘Maskne’ and stress breakouts drove demand for serums, barrier creams and DIY facials.

Maya Newell’s documentary In My Blood It Runs offered a rare, intimate portrayal of Blak childhood and family life in Mparntwe (Alice Springs). From hair braiding to Country connection, it centred strength, care and cultural pride revealing how beauty lives in everyday life.

As the #MeToo movement swept the globe in 2017, the industry, long powered by the male gaze, was forced to confront its complicity. Gone were the glossy campaigns promising desirability to men. In their place emerged bolder, real imagery: stretch marks, body hair, grey roots.

A backlash to hyper-curated beauty took hold mid-year. Alicia Keys famously swore off makeup, sparking the #NoMakeup movement. Her choice started a broader conversation about authenticity, pressure and self-presentation.

A new beauty standard dominated social media. ‘Instagram Face’ was defined by high cheekbones, a small nose, plump lips, flawless skin and cat-like eyes. Sculpted by filters, copied by makeup and injectables, the look promised perfection but promoted sameness.

Kylie Jenner’s lip transformation went viral – fuelled by before-and-after speculation and the now-infamous ‘Kylie Lip Challenge’. Later that year, Kylie Cosmetics launched, selling out in minutes and ushering in the age of influencer-owned beauty brands. Enter: the new beauty economy, where virality and aesthetics were tightly intertwined.

Andreja Pejić, a Serbian-Australian model, became the first openly transgender woman to front a global beauty campaign. That same year, Australia hosted the Miss Gay and Miss Transsexual pageant.

Selfie was named Oxford’s Word of the Year, recognising the explosion of self-portraits in digital life. What began as playful became political: selfies allowed women, queer people and people of colour to control how they were seen.

Lillian Ahenkan (aka Flex Mami) emerged as a bold, feminist force, blending humour, identity and visual style. She redefined what Australian beauty could look and sound like online.

Julia Gillard endured years of sexist scrutiny; comments on her clothes, hair, voice and legitimacy. In 2012, Australia’s first female Prime Minister fought back. Her now-iconic misogyny speech went global, exposing the sexism female leaders still face and paving the way for a new generation of women in power.

YouTube stars like Jaclyn Hill and NikkieTutorials turned high-impact contouring into viral content and profitable personal brands. With Instagram’s launch, the selfie era made ‘camera-ready skin’ a global obsession.

YouTube became a powerful platform for queer and trans beauty creators. Vloggers like Gigi Gorgeous shared tips offering tools for visibility, validation and identity-building, long before mainstream brands acknowledged gender diversity.

In 2007, Michelle Phan began uploading makeup tutorials to YouTube, marking the rise of beauty gurus. Australian creators started sharing their tutorials from bedrooms and bathrooms, giving rise to self-made beauty stars.

Kim Kardashian’s hyper-curated look – glossed lips, contoured cheeks and hourglass curves – became the blueprint. It signalled a shift away from early-2000s thinness and towards a surgically enhanced, ultra-feminine ideal.

A digital moodboard for teens navigating identity, aesthetics and emotion. Emo and scene beauty exploded across both Tumblr and Myspace, defined by raccoon eyeliner, side-swept fringes, neon streaks and lip piercings. DIY was everything.

Dove launched its campaign for Real Beauty featuring women of different sizes, ages and backgrounds, photographed without digital retouching. It challenged the industry’s narrow beauty standards and promised to promote self-esteem through visibility.

At just 13 years old, Samantha Harris, a proud Dunghutti woman from northern New South Wales, won the Girlfriend Model Search. Harris’s debut disrupted the narrow whiteness of early-2000s fashion and planted the seed for change.

A new kind of beauty icon hit the screens. Not actors or models, but ‘real’ people made famous by reality TV. From Australian Idol to Big Brother, these shows delivered a new message: beauty was influential – reflecting a new aesthetic of the time, with fake tan, perfect teeth and glossy hair front and centre.

When The O.C. hit Australian screens, it sparked more than just a teen drama obsession. Marissa Cooper and Summer Roberts, with their sunkissed skin, tousled waves, shimmery lids and nude gloss, defined a softer and omnipresent Y2K aesthetic.

In Australia, where sun exposure is high and skin cancer rates are among the world’s worst, SPF became more than seasonal – it became essential. By 2003, sunscreen was being rebranded. Beauty and skincare products now blended sun protection with hydration and coverage, transforming SPF from obligation to everyday self-care.

The launch of Myspace (2003) and Facebook (2004) reshaped beauty into something algorithmic. Self-image became public property, and beauty became something to be performed, liked, shared and compared.

The 2000s marked a shift: skincare became clinical – and personal. Brands like Dr. Dennis Gross brought actives into the mainstream. In Australia, Mecca Cosmetica met demand with trained team and guides. Skincare was no longer surface-level – it was studied, personalised and empowered a new kind of self-care.

The Sydney 2000 Olympic Games marked Australia’s largest-ever televised event. It was the ceremony’s performers who shaped the visual legacy: Cathy Freeman lit the flame in a sleek metallic bodysuit, embodying power and grace, while Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander dancers performed barefoot and body-painted, centring Indigenous culture on a world stage.

High-shine, high-effort and unmistakable. The early 2000s saw an explosion of the pop princess with hyper-feminine trends. Beauty was packaged for music stars but copied at school lockers and Westfield salons across Australia.

Teen magazines dominated beauty norms, shaping a generation with makeover pages, acne cures, gloss ratings. Rarely diverse, rarely plus-size, rarely attainable.

When NARS launched Orgasm blush in 1999, it changed everything. The peachy-pink shimmer flattered everyone – but it was the name that sparked conversation. It became a bestseller, a punchline and a cultural icon. Orgasm didn’t just sell – it shifted how beauty could speak, feel and land on every face.

Sex and the City introduced Australians to a new blend of fashion, beauty and lifestyle. Beyond glossy lips, it framed beauty as independence, aspiration and friendship – from getting ready together to turning social rituals glamorous.

In a market dominated by male-led luxury brands, department store beauty counters and top-down ideals, MECCA launched in Melbourne with a new ambition: to give beauty back to the consumer. Women-led, shaped by knowledge and open to all.

Affordable, skilled and fast, Vietnamese migrant women and their salons democratised beauty access and redefined luxury as acrylics, nail art and walk-in convenience. Yet, racism and underpayment persisted behind the polish.

By the mid-90s, Kate Moss was everywhere. Her face, her frame, her Calvin Klein campaigns. The pared-back, waifish look went global, and with it came a new standard: thin, pale, hollowed-out.

Jennifer Aniston’s layered shag haircut, dubbed ‘The Rachel’, became a global phenomenon after its debut on Friends. Australian salons reported a surge in requests for the style.

By the early ’90s, Lip Smackers were everywhere. Clipped to pencil cases, tucked into pockets or traded between friends. These products became a mainstay of Australian teen beauty and marked the rise of beauty-as-accessory.

Stephan Elliott’s cult film took drag out of the margins and into the outback. Makeup, costume, glitter, with a side of trauma. Priscilla glamourised survival and gave rise to pride.

Elaine George was the first Aboriginal model to appear on the cover of Vogue Australia, a milestone that challenged the whiteness of Australian fashion media, signalling a long-overdue shift in representation.

Mardi Gras had gone national, broadcast on SBS and drew international headlines. Drag queens were style icons, glitter lashes showed up in department stores and nightclubs doubled as makeup labs.

Thin models were the new beauty norm, and it was male photographers, editors and designers who framed the look of fragile, vacant and ultra-thin. ‘Heroin chic’ was lauded in fashion magazines, sold in perfume advertising and echoed in teenage bodies.