What Nia Long Taught Me About Beauty When Afro-Latinas Weren’t Seen in the Mainstream

There’s been a noticeable return to ’90s aesthetics that’s hard to ignore these days—from dark brown lip liner paired with a juicy gloss to the revival of minimal glam. Much of it feels tied to the broader wave of nostalgia we’ve been seeing since Hulu’s Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette was released. But as someone who grew up in the ’90s and early 2000s, I wasn’t looking to women like Carolyn Bessette or supermodels like Cindy Crawford for beauty and style inspiration. And if I’m being really honest, I wasn’t even looking to the Latina celebrities who were rising at the time, like Salma Hayek or Jennifer Lopez—though there were definitely elements of J.Lo’s beauty I embraced. None of these women looked like the beautiful Afro-Dominican women in my family. None of them looked like me.

Instead, it was Black stars like Nia Long, Halle Berry, Tracee Ellis Ross, Gabrielle Union, Janet Jackson, Sanaa Lathan, Nicole Ari Parker, Vanessa Williams, Angela Bassett, Aaliyah, Alicia Keys, the women of TLC, and later Beyoncé and Destiny’s Child who became my beauty blueprint.

And for many Black women—especially dark-skinned Black women—these weren’t just beauty references, they were some of the few reflections of themselves in an industry that rarely made space for them.

When it comes to ’90s beauty and style, Nia Long has served as a living reference point for that era. In fact, I’d argue that she’s one of the actresses from that decade who helped shape the kind of minimal, skin-forward beauty we now see repackaged as the “clean girl” aesthetic—one that resurfaced a few years ago and is likely contributing to today’s renewed obsession with all things ’90s.

Over the past year, she’s stepped back into the spotlight, including being cast as Katherine Jackson in the upcoming Michael Jackson biopic. Last October, she appeared on the cover of The Cut, where she reflected on her legacy as an actress who cemented her place in Black cinema with roles like Brandi in John Singleton’s Boyz n the Hood, Nina Mosley in Love Jones, Zora in Made in America, Bird in Soul Food, and Lisa in The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

As a legacy icon and one of the defining faces of ’90s Black beauty and film, Nia Long continues to cement her impact—recently becoming Estée Lauder’s first North American brand ambassador. She also graced Essence’s April digital cover and sat down for an interview in Playboy’s Spring 2026 issue.

We talk so much about how Latina stars like Jennifer Lopez, Sofia Vergara, and Salma Hayek have aged like fine wine—and while they absolutely have, and I admire so much about them, they weren’t exactly the celebrities I looked to for beauty inspiration as a brown-skinned, curly-haired Afro-Dominican kid growing up. For girls like me, it was stars like Nia Long who taught me that a brown-based lipstick—back when “nude” shades were mostly beige—was the right neutral for my skin tone, no matter the occasion. It was women like Long (and my mom) who showed me that less is more, which is why the so-called “clean girl” aesthetic—often credited today to people like Hailey Bieber—has always been my default.

It was also women like Long who taught me that the best way to wear a glossy lip was with a dark brown liner—something I still do to this day. And that a red lip looks best on us with a clean face. She taught me to work with what I’ve got. My makeup was never about a full beat—it was always about enhancing my natural complexion. What foundation, bronzer, or highlighter could I use to make my skin glow? She showed me that gold hoop earrings are a classic—not a trend. That as long as your brows are groomed, your skin is even and healthy, and your teeth are white, you can go most days without makeup. That’s been my philosophy since my 20s, and it’s carried me through to today. And on the rare days I do wear eyeshadow, she taught me that warm, bronzy tones complement a brown complexion best.

These were looks Black women were already mastering long before they became mainstream, and they shaped the way many of us—especially Afro-Latinas and Latinas growing up alongside Black communities—understood our own beauty. If you didn’t grow up in New York City, you might not realize how often Black and Latine communities lived alongside one another, constantly influencing each other’s style and culture. And for those of us who exist at that intersection, the looks we saw on Black women in Hollywood and Black music artists weren’t just aspirational—they actually worked for us.

I’ve always felt that when it comes to beauty and style, Black women don’t get nearly enough credit—not just for setting trends, but for teaching women of color in America how to embrace their beauty loudly and proudly in a country shaped by white beauty standards. Black women have been redefining beauty on their own terms from the very beginning, even when they weren’t given the space or permission to do so.

When the ’90s supermodel era took over beauty standards, and I didn’t feel seen—and there still weren’t enough Latinas who looked like me, with the exception of Christina Milian and Zoe Saldaña—it was stars like Nia Long who became my beauty reference and style guide. Let’s be real: Hollywood and the music industry were not designed with Black women in mind—but they made it their own anyway.

Now that she’s 55, what Nia Long is teaching me—at a time when the world has become so obsessed with youth and constantly being sold facelifts and anti-aging fixes—is that none of that needs to apply to me. My brown skin isn’t something I feel pressured to “fix.” I’m good. She’s proof of that, and also that beauty, relevance, and desirability don’t simply expire. She’s literally the embodiment of looking fine as hell in your 50s while still pursuing your dreams, and I will always be grateful to her for being the inspiration I needed at a time when non-diverse girl beauty was all I was seeing on the covers of my favorite magazines.