In the Philippines, fairness still carries currency. Whitening creams crowd pharmacy shelves. Family members make offhand remarks. The colonial hangover lingers quietly, reinforced by media and global beauty standards. But for many Filipinas, being morena isn’t something to hide or overcome: It’s become a source of power, pride, and visibility.

Here, six women share with Allure Philippines how they’ve rewritten the script and changed the tides for a new wave of morenas in the Philippines:

Biena Magbitang

For climate journalist Biena Magbitang, feeling beautiful as a morena was tied to both power and pride, but it was a journey. Early in her career, she learned how to wield her femininity strategically, dressing up accordingly to navigate the world of media and earn the trust that her reporting demanded. 

But as time went on, it was her identity as a Filipina abroad that solidified her sense of beauty. “Whenever I go abroad for conferences, you can actually single out people through their colors,” she says. “It’s my source of strength and power because I know I’m representing my country as a whole when I go outside. I don’t have to explain who I am anymore. If they see my color, they would basically think that I’m from this part of the world.” What once was a tool became a deep, unshakable pride in who she is and where she comes from.

Martika Escobar

Through the lens of filmmaker Martika Escobar, beauty was never about complexion, it was about presence. “If I think deeply about color, maybe people who are mestiza are still seen as more beautiful. But what’s more important is a person’s personality and how they work on set,” she reflects. Working in a male-dominated industry as a cinematographer and director, Escobar has felt the pressure to prove herself, not because of her skin tone, but because of her gender. 

“I think the way to deal with it is to just keep doing the work and support other women in the same roles,” she says. “There’s a different sensibility when women are behind the camera, and that’s something really beautiful.” Her first real image of morena beauty? Her grandmother. “She finds beauty in everything and everyone,” Escobar shares. “That’s what I want. To see beauty not just in appearances, but in how people are.”

Mitzi Jonelle Tan

Climate activist Mitzi Jonelle Tan never believed that beauty was something dictated by outside standards. It was something she learned to define for herself. “My mom always told me how beautiful, amazing, and spectacular I was—that I didn’t just have to be beautiful. I could be smart, kind, and funny, too,” she shares. That early grounding helped her develop a sense of self far beyond skin-deep ideals.

As the changemaker grew older, she became even more conscious of where beauty standards come from. “The rules were written by colonizers, by people who abused us and took advantage of the earth and our people,” she reflects. “I refuse to follow a box or guideline just because they said that’s how people should look. I’m not going to listen to some rule made up by [colonizers].”

Now, as she helps guide her teen sister, she’s intentional about representation: choosing books and narratives where morenas can see themselves reflected. “I want her to know she doesn’t have to look a certain way to be good, or to love herself,” Tan says.

Captain Brooke Castillo

For Captain Brooke Castillo, being a morena is about standing tall in who you are. “A morena is someone who can be herself, but also be an example to a lot of other morenas,” she says. Teased for her skin tone as a child, Castillo never let it shake her confidence. “I always believed there was nothing wrong with my color.”

In aviation—long dominated by men—she faced even bigger barriers. “They avoided hiring female pilots because if you got pregnant, they’d have to restructure the schedules,” she recalls. But with the support of her family, Castillo became the first Filipina to fly a commercial jet in 1996, and later the first female captain at Cebu Pacific.

Cherrie Atilano

Growing up on a sugarcane farm, Cherrie Atilano saw firsthand the harsh realities faced by sakada workers. “I’m anti-child labor, because I feel like I was a victim,” she shares. At 15, she swore off sugar entirely, refusing to contribute to an industry that exploited smallholder farmers.

Her mother pushed her toward education to escape that cycle, and return later to transform it. By 12, Atilano was already working with farmers, developing ways to help lower-income families grow their own food and spend less on daily meals.

Colorism, though, was another battle. “I was told I wasn’t beautiful because I wasn’t fair,” she recalls. Urged to try whitening products, Atilano instead grew to love her skin. “I have perfect skin, perfect color,” she says. “Your color is unique; not a lot of people have that color but a lot of people want it.”

Dr. Pia Bagamasbad

For Dr. Pia Bagamasbad, being morena isn’t about fitting a definition. It’s about confidence. “We shouldn’t really put any emphasis on skin color, but rather on highlighting that women are powerful no matter what skin color they have,” she says. In a society that still often equates beauty with being fair-skinned, she believes confidence is what breaks the mold. “If you’re beautiful as a morena and [are] confident, then I think you can do anything. It’s about carrying yourself well and being really good at what you do, because if you’re the best in the room, they’ll have no choice but to listen.”

Jean Enriquez

Human rights champion Jean Enriquez believes that being morena is deeply tied to ancestry and visibility. “The best thing about being morena is telling the world that the Filipino race is here, that we should be visible, we should not be seen as less important globally,” she says. But her sense of beauty runs even deeper, grounded in honoring the generations that came before her. “I tend to become emotional when I think about my ancestors…how they struggled and overcame obstacles along the way,” she reflects. “To honor where we came from, and what they’ve gone through to give us a future. That’s what’s most beautiful.”

Their journeys are not identical, but they echo the same truth: Beauty isn’t a single shade, it’s rooted in history, identity, and quiet defiance. For these women, being morena is no longer a deficit measured against impossible standards. It’s a statement, a reclamation, and in many ways, an inheritance. They carry their skin not as an apology, but as a legacy.