This is a stunning, truly gorgeous book that examines the ethics of the beauty industry. It is well researched, with a broad scope, yet it also feels deeply personal. The essays vary in style. A few stand out for being quite different, such as the opening piece written in a “choose your own adventure” format that explores source materials, labor, consumers, and products. The essay on Chanel No. 5 is so expansive and rich that it could have been a book in itself. Many of the other essays begin as thoughtful treatises on topics like hair, nails, or body hacking, and then evolve into beautiful, moving, and personal manifestos.

This book also made me reflect on my own history with beauty. When I was around thirteen, I became obsessed with it. This was in the late '90s, and I spent time on old-school forums (similar to subreddits today) and on a site called MakeupAlley. As the author notes, beauty products were affordable luxuries, and for me they were a way to experiment with identity. I bought a lot of products, though I rarely used them. At that time, many of the brands that are now part of Estee Lauder and other conglomerates were still independent and cool. As I grew older, my beauty routine settled into something fairly standard, but I remained drawn to beautiful packaging and clever advertising. Later, I would also read beauty features on news blogs, which would pull me in again.

More recently, I began reading Jessica DeFino’s work, which helped me step back and rethink my relationship with beauty. This book goes even further. It pushes me away from the idea that consuming beauty products is either a necessity or a solution to my problems.

As I have aged, I have developed melasma, a hormone-related hyperpigmentation above my lip. It is subtle but can look like a mustache, and at times it has made me self-conscious. For my skin type, treatments are just as likely to worsen it as they are to lighten it. Reading this book gave me perspective. It reminded me that there is no need to treat the melasma. I will never love it, but it is part of being human.

Ultimately, this book does not shame beauty consumers like myself; it’s an invitation to rethink how we engage with it, and to find dignity outside of consumption.

Thanks to W.W. Norton Co. and NetGalley for access to this ARC.

This book was interesting but it was filled with things I already knew about the beauty industry. I didn't enjoy the Oregon Trail-esqe chapter in the beginning where I picked and chose what happened to me. It kind of trivialized what happens in the mica minds. Also the tone of the book was a little off putting I would say, especially to readers who may genuinely not know the horrors of the beauty industry.

incredibly difficult to read at times but so necessary. the first chapter is a gut punch and it never really lets up, forcing us to confront so much of the awfulness, past and present, involved in the industry and how our consumption fuels it. I hesitate to criticize the last chapter given the deeply personal and vulnerable nature of it, but it did feel less formed and finished than the rest (a fact which is kind of acknowledged, but still doesn't change the reality of it). I really think this should be considered required reading for anyone who has consumed more than 100 hours of beauty content or spent any amount of money on makeup and skincare.

I have been following Arabelle Sicardi for their work on beauty, cultural critique, and other matters of taste in some form or another since my high school tumblr days. Have been looking forward to this book for several years so getting claws on it was a real treat.

Sicardi is most grabbing as a quasi-scientist/philosopher, their writing is smart bordering on meticulous, and often polemical. In this book "about beauty" Sicardi does not do a clean differentiation between Beauty (the industry with all it's exploitative trappings) and beauty (our heartbeat as humans)— and of course they are not cleanly differentiated, which is convincingly demonstrated. So off the bat it's clear that this is not a "here is the path forward" type of work. Neither does it have a razor edge of timeliness (COVID writing just feels slightly anachronistic at this moment) so it took me a minute to get into the flow of this ARC, appreciate it for what it is.

I most enjoyed the Hair chapter. Korean-owned beauty supply stores (which obviously cannot be separated from the ownership-disenfranchised Black communities in which they are largely located) are a topic of heated discussion but this is the first I encountered the history of them as related to the Cold War/America's jackbooted anti-communism efforts, the social movements of the 70s following the crushing disappointments of the late 60s. That, and the Coco Chanel chapter which was very emotionally vivid. Though the territory has been tread on that topic, Sicardi offers their own take.

Reading this book reminded me of Airplane Mode by Shahnaz Habib, a 2024 half-memoir half-history book which absolutely exploded my brain at first read. I would have eaten up more memoir portions from Sicardi, which were all incisively vulnerable, but we've established I'm a fan. When they started talking about pirates, for example, I jumped a bit in my seat.

The sections on tech and beauty were left fairly open-ended (Sicardi fairly presents it as a frontier even while presenting their trademark historical perspective), definitely a niche the author could go longform on in the future.

Arabelle Sicardi's debut book offers a critical examination of the beauty industry, highlighting the complex and often troubling intersections of neocolonialism, capitalism, white supremacy, and the climate crisis. Through personal anecdotes, Sicardi explores their long-standing connection to beauty and reflects on the inherent cruelty associated with its commodification.

The book delves into well-known issues, such as Chanel’s historical ties to Nazi espionage, child labor in mica extraction, and the environmental destruction linked to palm oil production. However, Sicardi enriches the discussion by providing deeper insights and fresh perspectives on these topics. Each chapter skillfully navigates seemingly disparate themes and ultimately ties them together under a common thread, emphasizing the challenges of simplifying such complex issues.

Sicardi not only critiques the beauty industry's systemic problems but also acknowledges the limitations of trying to resolve these issues with straightforward conclusions. Despite this, the book conveys an overarching message that avoids despair, instead inviting readers to rethink their understanding of beauty.

Titled "The House of Beauty," this work challenges preconceived notions about beauty standards, industry beneficiaries, and the hidden costs associated with beauty practices. Sicardi's writing combines lyrical expression with clarity, drawing on feminist theory, personal experiences, and informed perspectives from within the industry. This book engages with the exploitation embedded in everyday beauty routines and examines how these practices perpetuate existing power structures. Importantly, while it offers pointed critiques, it also advocates for a reimagined notion of beauty that emphasizes community, politics, and compassion. Rather than providing simplistic answers, "The House of Beauty" encourages readers to grapple with essential questions about the nature and implications of beauty in our society.

I’ve followed Arabelle Sicardi parasocially for over a decade so it’s been incredible getting to read an advanced copy of the book they’ve been working on for so long. This is a book about how the beauty industry has blood on its hands via neocolonialism, capitalism, white supremacy, and the climate emergency. There are personal anecdotes throughout that outline the author’s connection to beauty over the years as they struggle to make sense of the cruelty inherent to its commodification.

I had a familiarity with some of these topics going into it, Chanel as a nazi spy, mica extraction via child labor, palm oil deforestation, but Sicardi manages to add an additional depth and show things in a new light. Their journalism is incredibly in depth and I loved the way each chapter jumped between seemingly unconnected threads and wove them together under a single uniting topic. By the end, Sicardi is aware of the futility of trying to tie everything up into a tidy bow or simple platitude yet the overarching message isn’t as hopeless as you’d expect.

Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for the eARC.

4.5 stars

The House of Beauty is a brilliant and blistering debut that demands we rethink everything we’ve been sold about beauty— who sets the standards, who reaps the benefits, and who bears the cost. Arabelle Sicardi brings a rare blend of lyricism and clarity to this cultural reckoning, drawing on feminist theory, personal narrative, and deep industry insight. From the exploitation baked into our daily rituals to the way beauty regimes uphold systems of power, Sicardi names what so often goes unspoken. Yet, amid the critique, there is care—a radical reimagining of beauty as something communal, political, and tender. This is not a book of easy answers, but one of necessary questions.

Many thanks to NetGalley and W. W. Norton & Company for providing an eARC of The House of Beauty prior to its publication.