You Should Be Wearing Sunscreen All Year

Go put some on right now.

You really should.

During every season.

And it doesn’t matter if it’s raining or snowing. Or if you’re inside or outside.

Until 2018, I was not wearing sunscreen. Honestly, I found the entire process of sunscreen to be tedious. I didn’t believe that it would provide any benefit to me. Then, there was the effort of finding a sunscreen that didn’t have a weird smell, cause skin irritation, or make me look like a ghost. Any meaningful differences between mineral and chemical sunscreens were boiled down to cosmetic elegance for the sake of persuading people like me to wear them. 

Rarely was anyone offering straightforward, evidence-based explanations for why Black people should protect their skin from the sun. But, as I got deeper into my skincare edit—the fun name I’ve given my journey toward clearing my post-inflammatory hyperpigmentation—I realized that I should invest my time in figuring out the benefits of this convoluted product.

Primarily, sunscreen is marketed as a cancer preventative and to delay photoaging—two maxims supported by decades of public health messaging, which has long upheld sunscreen as an equal opportunity cancer preventative. But a 2021 study authored by Dr. Ade Adamson and several others found no scientific proof that skin cancer, specifically melanoma, results from sun exposure in people of color. (I found another study from 2005 that backs this up. And I came across several that don’t reach any conclusion aside from “more research is needed,” which indicates the lack of data on how the sun affects our skin.) 

“Many dermatology and skin-cancer-focused organizations (a few of which I’m a member) promote the public health message of sunscreen use to reduce melanoma risk among Black patients,” wrote Adamson for The Washington Post in 2019. “But this message is not supported by evidence. There exists no study that demonstrates sunscreen reduces skin cancer risk in Black people. Period.”

Acral lentiginous melanoma, which is not caused by the sun, is most commonly seen in people who are a four to six on the Fitzpatrick scale, the standard used to describe complexion in dermatology. It tends to appear in areas where you don’t wear sunscreen, like the soles of your feet or the palms of your hands. When Black people are diagnosed with ALM, it’s usually later, and it’s harder to treat by then.

The lower survival rates are more likely a result of delayed diagnosis, limited access to healthcare, and racism—like the belief that Black people have “sun immunity.”

Even though sun exposure doesn’t cause ALM, we need to be vigilant. The rates speak to a need for heightened skin cancer surveillance and understanding that we can develop skin cancers. But blaming Black folks for not wearing sunscreen, or defaulting to less sunscreen use as a cause, gives the medical establishment a pass for the broader systemic issues that cause higher mortality rates. 

But none of this means Black folks should forgo protecting our skin from sun damage.

Melanin does offer some protection from sun damage, making photoaging and damage a delayed process. But visible light damage is cumulative, and overexposure to UVA/UVB rays can cause DNA changes to our cells. (Interesting aside: A photoaging scale didn’t exist for Black skin until 2018, when a team of researchers created one.) 

There’s even historical evidence that indigenous Africans used clays and ochre—possibly to protect their skin from sun damage. This Twitter thread shares anecdotes about other ways their elders protected their skin from the sun. I couldn’t verify most of it, which is typical for information passed down orally, but I thought it was cool. And the OP was hilarious.

If you’re still reading, I’m sure you’re wondering what type of sunscreen to use. It should have an SPF of at least 30 and be broad-spectrum, meaning it protects against UVA and UVB rays. Many people opt for chemical photo filters because they’re more cosmetically elegant. But dermatologists typically recommend mineral sunscreens for a couple of reasons:

• It’s better for inflammation and acne scarring.

• It offers complete protection against the entire ultraviolet spectrum. 

• It’s excellent for sensitive skin. 

• It offers immediate protection since it sits on top of the skin versus chemical sunscreen, which absorbs and takes about 15 minutes to kick in. 

• It’s known for a fact that mineral sunscreens are safe and not just “generally recognized as safe,” which means research has shown insignificant or no detrimental effects on animals or humans. 

Two studies conducted by FDA scientists found that several common photo filters found in American-produced sunscreens—Avobenzone, Oxybenzone, Octocrylene, Homosalate, Octisalate, and Octinoxate—absorb into the bloodstream in minimal amounts. But those levels are above the FDA’s safety threshold. This doesn’t necessarily mean chemical sunscreens are unsafe, but more research is needed to determine what’s happening. And the FDA is proposing new safety recommendations, an effort that appears to have been sidetracked by the coronavirus pandemic. 

Still, I opt for mineral sunscreens because Black women have a higher chemical burden from beauty products. I’m cautious, and there’s no harm in being judicious. 

“But Julia, mineral sunscreens make me look like a ghost.”

Here are a few options that dry sheer: 

• Pipette Mineral Sunscreen Broad Spectrum - $12.00 at Ulta Beauty 

• Etude House Sunprise Mild Airy Finish Sun Milk - $16.99 at oo35mm 

• Versed Guards Up Daily Mineral Sunscreen - $21.99 at Target

• Hero Cosmetics Shield Superlight - $23.99 at Target 

• Biossance Squalane + Zinc Sheer Mineral Sunscreen - $30.00 at Sephora 

(Fwiw, these aren’t affiliate links, and I don’t get anything aside from the satisfaction of you purchasing skincare from a reputable source.)

After you apply two finger lengths of product across your face and neck, give the sunscreen a few minutes to settle. And, remember, your sunscreen will always be visible if you’re using too much of your other skincare products, not giving those products time to absorb, or both.