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It’s one of the most passionate corners of the internet—the world of beauty YouTube, where millions tune in for makeup tutorials, dramatic reveals, and the personalities that drive global trends. At the heart of this community stands James Charles, a makeup artist who’s racked up over 23.9 million YouTube subscribers and 40.7 million TikTok followers as of March 2026. His rise feels meteoric: in 2016, at just 17, he became the first male brand ambassador for CoverGirl after a senior year photo went viral. He’s launched an eyeshadow palette with Morphe Cosmetics, started the Sisters Apparel clothing line, and even created and hosted the YouTube Originals show Instant Influencer, which won the Show of the Year at the Streamy Awards.
That reach matters—because James Charles isn’t just a creator, he’s a cultural tastemaker. Fans cite his creative makeup looks, celebrity collaborations with names like Kim Kardashian and Lil Nas X, and his consistent message that makeup is for everyone. For many in the LGBTQ+ community, he represents visibility: Charles came out as gay at age 12, and says, “I’m confident in myself and my gender identity—happy being a boy. But at the same time, I love makeup. I have a full set of nails on all the time.”
But as his influence grew, so did the scrutiny. The tension? A series of accusations that Charles, like other major beauty influencers, has engaged in cultural appropriation—the adoption of styles, symbols, or aesthetics from marginalized cultures, often without acknowledgment or understanding of the deeper significance. The criticism isn’t unique to Charles, but his prominence has made him a lightning rod for this debate.
The concept of cultural appropriation, according to academic definitions, is when elements of culture or identity are borrowed by another—often dominant—culture in ways seen as inappropriate, disrespectful, or exploitative. For example, this can include using hairstyles, fashion, or religious symbols that have deep meaning in communities of color, detaching them from their origins and turning them into trends or commodities. American anthropologist Jason Jackson describes cultural appropriation as an act focused outward, done to a particular party, and says it can bring about feelings of loss or violation for the affected community.
Within beauty YouTube, the stakes are high because makeup and fashion draw from a wide range of global traditions. The James Charles fandom, which Charles calls his “sisters,” is known for its energy, loyalty, and massive online footprint. But this intensity can fuel controversy, especially when Charles showcases looks that reference styles linked to Black, Asian, or Indigenous cultures.
One of the most visible controversies in the beauty space is the use of hairstyles like cornrows, box braids, or dreadlocks by non-Black creators. Critics argue that these looks are deeply rooted in African and African diaspora cultures and that their casual use by white influencers erases both the historical significance and the discrimination faced by Black people who wear them. This isn’t just an abstract debate: in 2018, actor Zac Efron faced backlash for posting a photo with dreadlocks, sparking similar conversations about intention, respect, and power dynamics.
Fashion choices have also brought accusations. For example, Victoria’s Secret faced public outcry in 2012 when a white model wore a Native American-style war bonnet on the runway—a symbol that, according to Cherokee academic Adrienne Keene, represents respect, power, and responsibility and is traditionally earned in Native communities, not worn as a costume. The company later apologized after being called out for trivializing cultural tradition.
James Charles, working in an industry where makeup and clothing overlap so closely with cultural history, has sometimes been accused by viewers of crossing these lines—whether through hairstyle, costume, or even using language that originated in marginalized communities. The beauty community, including Charles’s fans and critics, debates to what extent his looks celebrate versus appropriate, and whether there’s a meaningful difference.
The roots of this problem are structural. Fashion and beauty, as global industries, have a long history of taking inspiration from marginalized cultures without acknowledgment or compensation. Indigenous communities, for example, have argued that their symbols and designs are collectively owned and should not be used as mere trends. Professor Rebecca Tsosie, writing for the Native American Rights Fund, stresses the distinction between individual use and collective cultural property—arguing that tribal nations, not single artists or designers, actually own these traditions.
The criticism aims not just at individuals, but at the broader system. When James Charles or other influencers showcase looks from outside their own backgrounds, it can be seen as a form of exploitation that brings commercial or social gain to the appropriator, while the originating culture may see little recognition or benefit. Julia Serano, in her book Outspoken, identifies three main harms: erasure of context, exploitation for gain, and denigration by reducing cultural symbols to stereotypes or fashion.
The effects of these controversies ripple outward. Small creators of color sometimes find themselves drowned out by larger, predominantly white influencers who popularize styles that originated in marginalized communities. Financial opportunities, brand deals, and audience growth can flow to those with the biggest platforms, not the originators. Some critics see this as part of a larger pattern of cultural dominance, where the mainstream benefits from the creativity of others without responsibility or respect.
But the debate isn’t one-sided. Critics of the concept of cultural appropriation argue that cultures have always intermixed, borrowed, and evolved, and that attempts to police cultural boundaries can inhibit creative freedom and reinforce group divisions. Kwame Anthony Appiah, an ethics columnist, says that the real issue is respect, not ownership—asking, “Are my actions disrespectful?” rather than “Do I have a right to this?”
Within the James Charles fandom, opinions are divided. Some fans defend their favorite creator by arguing that intention matters, or that Charles’s looks are examples of cultural appreciation, not appropriation. Minh-Ha T. Pham, writing for The Atlantic, notes that accusations in fashion are often countered with claims of appreciation and inspiration. Others urge for more accountability, pointing out that power dynamics matter: when someone with 23.9 million subscribers borrows from a marginalized culture, the context is different than between individuals of equal status.
The community still debates where the line lies. Is it possible to celebrate another culture’s beauty without crossing into appropriation? Should there be more collaboration and crediting of original creators? How do we draw boundaries between inspiration, appreciation, and exploitation? The discussion is further complicated by the rise of “cancel culture,” as seen in other James Charles controversies, where public opinion can swing rapidly and careers can be affected overnight.
As of now, the debate remains unresolved—not just for James Charles, but for the entire beauty and fashion space. And it raises a bigger question: in a world where trends travel at the speed of social media, who gets to draw the line between appreciation and appropriation, and what responsibility do creators with global influence owe to the cultures they draw from?