The morena is having her moment
Every week, PhilSTAR L!fe explores issues and topics from the perspectives of different age groups, encouraging healthy but meaningful conversations on why they matter. This is Generations by our Gen Z columnist Angel Martinez.
It’s long overdue, but morenas have finally stepped into the spotlight, where they’ve always belonged.
Advertising campaigns now feature diverse models at the center. Progressive makeup lines carry shades for a variety of skin tones. Our pop culture landscape portrays women like Kathryn Bernardo and Nadine Lustre as stars rather than sidekicks. Everyone wants to look a tad more tanned, a bit more bronze. It’s hard to believe that our natural color was once a source of shame, something to be scrubbed away with the right soap.
Honestly, I can’t even claim that I knew better. I grew up with a fair complexion that I guarded with my life. I never stayed out in the sun willingly; if I absolutely had to, I’d insist on sporting a cap and spraying on some sunscreen. You’ve probably done something similar, too—once upon a time, we all adhered to the oppressive societal standards we critique today.
At the risk of excusing our complicity, I must say that it would have been hard to resist. We spent around 400 years of our collective history colonized: we were subservient to fair-skinned individuals, who served as our basis for power, authority, and social desirability. Proximity to their appearance was the key to improving our standing in society.
“In contrast, farmers in the Philippines back then were dark due to sun exposure, and their status was not commonly desired,” Monica Policarpio, a researcher and professor at De La Salle University’s department of psychology, explains to PhilSTAR L!fe.
Mainstream media not only proliferated but also perpetuated these norms. Whitening supplements are staples in local supermarkets, promoted through offensive commercials. TV shows and films painted the dark character as poor and worthy of our pity, whose problems could be solved with a much-needed makeover. Brands manufactured and capitalized on these insecurities to great success.
But somewhere along the way, things took a turn. I know “the woke generation” comes with its own set of faults, but we really stuck the landing with this one. On social media, we learned about self-love and diversity. We expanded our definitions of beauty to embrace the “unconventional” and “undesirable.”
“One force that’s helped with morena empowerment are community-led projects,” psychologist Lucille Foja tells L!fe. Names like Morena Movement or Moreno Morena, and the hashtag #MagandangMorenx might be familiar as popular attempts to “normalize admiration for morenas and give it a language and image, especially among the youth and diaspora.”
Another interesting change I’ve noticed is the shift not only towards inclusivity, but idealization. Bianca Bravo, one of my mutuals on TikTok, pointed this out in a recent video. She said that the morena is eclipsing the mestiza as the aspirational image. Being two tones darker than usual means a woman is probably into running a marathon or playing badminton, or is either seen at the beach or up in the mountains. These are activities that come with a hefty price tag, from membership fees to specialized equipment. It’s no wonder that our favorite Wasian nepo babies are also donning the same look.
Policarpio backed up this theory, saying that “this signaling of status is actually a popular perception among Westerners”—the kind we’d find all over our Pinterest boards, living it up in Ibiza or Ithica with an Aperol Spritz in tow. “Since we often adopt their mindsets, this may be a reason why we think that way. However, the new question is: How do we make sense of [our appreciation for morenas], as to value it on its own?”
Foja suggests latching on to our Filipino values to cultivate pride in our color. “I believe we can reframe ‘hiya’, for example, from shame to dignity and self-respect,” she says. “This way, people set boundaries against colorist jokes.” She touches on the potential of pakikipagkapwa or shared identity to “inspire allyship and solidarity when morena individuals are stereotyped.”
On an institutional level, Foja envisions schools integrating lessons on colorism or colonial mentality; companies routinely tapping morena creators for opportunities; and barangays implementing workshops that invite older generations into the discussion. Most of what we’ve ingrained about our physical appearance is passed down by our elders, anyway.
Most importantly, Policarpio calls for us to “continuously question our perceptions and discuss them often to wider audiences.” Though we’ve made noticeable progress, we still struggle with morena representation in the local pageant circuit. Whitening products still have a market, having taken on new forms beyond the usual soaps and serums. Members of Gen Z aren’t exactly free from Eurocentric beauty standards either, with many of them getting rid of their Filipino noses with plastic surgery.
True progress is when we understand what shapes our preferences and unlearn biases that persistently creep into our psyches. It’s how we ensure that morena empowerment doesn’t stay a mere marketing strategy, but turns into a sustainable movement.
Generations by Angel Martinez appears weekly at PhilSTAR L!fe.
