What exactly are we asking Black-owned businesses to sacrifice to prove they deserve our support?
It’s a question that feels particularly relevant following the latest controversy surrounding The Lip Bar, the Black-owned beauty brand founded by Melissa Butler. As conversations about the company’s continued relationship with Target circulate online, Butler has found herself publicly explaining why a retail partnership established years before the current boycott isn’t something she can simply walk away from.
In a series of Threads posts, Butler addressed the growing criticism directly, explaining that The Lip Bar has a longstanding contractual relationship with Target, its first major retail partner. She also made clear that the company is not asking consumers to return to Target, pointing instead to its website, Walmart, Amazon, and its Detroit storefront as alternative places to shop.
But perhaps the most revealing part of Butler’s response wasn’t about retail distribution at all. It was her reminder that behind the brand are approximately 30 employees, most of them Black women, whose livelihoods depend on the company’s ability to remain financially viable.
That detail deserves more attention than it’s receiving.
Because somewhere between holding Target accountable for its decision to roll back diversity, equity, and inclusion commitments and demanding that Black-owned brands demonstrate their allegiance to the boycott, we’ve started directing our frustration toward the very entrepreneurs we’ve spent years encouraging to build businesses, create jobs, and take up space in major retail.
And I think we need to have an uncomfortable conversation about that.
As a Black consumer, I understand the purpose of the Target boycott. We have every right to decide where our money goes, particularly when corporations make decisions that appear to contradict their previous commitments to our communities. But there’s a difference between holding a corporation accountable and expecting Black-owned businesses to absorb the consequences of that accountability.
In January 2025, Target announced that it would conclude several of its diversity initiatives, including its three-year DEI goals and its Racial Equity Action and Change program. The decision prompted calls for a consumer boycott, with shoppers demanding greater accountability from a retailer that had previously positioned itself as a champion of diverse businesses and communities.
But what about the Black-owned brands already operating within Target’s retail ecosystem? The ones that secured distribution agreements, invested in inventory, developed marketing plans, and built business models around relationships established years before the retailer changed course?
Were they supposed to simply walk away?
The Lip Bar is one of the clearest examples of why that expectation deserves closer examination.
Founded by Butler in 2012, the beauty company established its relationship with Target years before the current controversy. For a Black-owned beauty brand that began with Butler making lipstick in her kitchen, securing national retail distribution was a significant business achievement. It represented the kind of access and opportunity Black entrepreneurs have historically struggled to obtain in the beauty industry.
Yet following Target’s DEI announcement, that relationship became a source of tension.
The financial impact of the boycott has been significant, but it hasn’t told the entire story of The Lip Bar’s business. Butler previously acknowledged that sales at Target had declined approximately 30% to 40%. Yet in an October 2025 interview with Beauty Independent, the company projected 40% overall growth for the year, reflecting its efforts to diversify distribution, expand its product offerings, and strengthen sales beyond Target.
The distinction matters. A decline at one retailer does not automatically signal a decline in the business itself, and The Lip Bar’s efforts to create alternative purchasing opportunities demonstrate that the company has been responding to a changing consumer landscape rather than simply waiting for shoppers to return to Target.
Yet those efforts haven’t eliminated the criticism surrounding its continued presence at the retailer.
What exactly are we asking for?
If consumers don’t want to shop at Target, and a brand provides other ways to support its business, why should its existing relationship with Target automatically become a referendum on its loyalty to the Black community?
And perhaps more importantly, why do we assume that ending a retail partnership is as simple as deciding we no longer want to shop somewhere?
In her recent Threads statement, Butler said The Lip Bar’s contract with Target is not easily changed and that withdrawing from the retailer would bankrupt the business. That’s a consequential claim from the person responsible for keeping the company operating, and one that deserves to be considered before demanding an immediate exit.
Retail agreements can involve contractual obligations, inventory commitments, production schedules, distribution costs, and financial expectations that extend well beyond a single season. A company cannot necessarily abandon those commitments without consequences, and consumers rarely have access to the information required to understand what those consequences might be.
That doesn’t mean Black-owned businesses are above criticism. It means our criticism should be informed by what a business actually controls.
And not everyone in the Black beauty community agrees with the backlash. Prominent beauty voices, including Ruthie L.A., have publicly defended Butler, pushing back against the criticism directed at her and The Lip Bar.
That response highlights an important distinction within the broader conversation. Supporting the boycott and supporting Black-owned businesses are not necessarily opposing positions. Consumers can remain committed to withholding their dollars from Target while recognizing that the independent brands operating within its stores did not make the corporate decisions that prompted the boycott.
The conversation becomes even more complicated when we look at Kahlana Barfield Brown.
In September 2025, the former InStyle fashion editor launched KBB by KAHLANA, her independently owned fashion brand, exclusively at Target. The collection introduced her distinctive approach to accessible fashion through elevated wardrobe essentials, thoughtful silhouettes, and pieces designed for women who wanted style without the traditional luxury price point.
As someone who works in fashion, I understand the significance of that achievement. Building a recognizable personal brand is one thing. Translating that influence into ownership, product development, and national retail distribution is something entirely different.
For Black women in fashion, those opportunities have never been equally distributed.
Yet the brand’s Target exclusivity also places Barfield Brown in a particularly difficult position within the broader boycott conversation.
Unlike The Lip Bar, which offers consumers alternative purchasing channels, KBB by KAHLANA is sold through Target. Consumers who want to purchase the collection currently have to engage with the retailer at the center of the controversy.
I understand why that creates a dilemma for shoppers committed to the boycott. But I also question the expectation that Barfield Brown should be able to immediately restructure her business to accommodate it.
I’ve addressed this very issue in my own social commentary, and the responses demonstrate just how divided consumers remain. Some have made clear that regardless of their admiration for Barfield Brown or the collection itself, they are unwilling to purchase anything through Target.
That is their right. But I think we also need to consider what we’re asking of the entrepreneur on the other side of that decision.
We don’t know the terms of Barfield Brown’s retail agreement. We don’t know what future distribution plans may exist. We don’t know whether she intends to eventually sell through her own website, expand into additional retailers, or continue developing the brand through Target.
And we shouldn’t pretend that we do.
Who’s to say that the next phase of KBB by KAHLANA doesn’t involve an entirely different distribution model? Conversely, who’s to say that Target isn’t part of a longer-term business plan?
Neither possibility has been established publicly, which is precisely why making definitive judgments about her intentions is premature.
What we do know is that the brand has experienced significant demand. In February 2026, Target announced an expansion of KBB by KAHLANA, reporting that popular styles had sold out within minutes and generated more than 135,000 requests for restock notifications.
That is meaningful commercial momentum for an independently owned fashion business.
And it brings me to a larger issue that I think we need to confront.
We spend a considerable amount of time discussing the importance of Black ownership. We celebrate Black entrepreneurs securing major partnerships, expanding their businesses, creating opportunities, and building wealth beyond the limitations historically placed on our communities.
We want to see Black-owned beauty brands on national shelves. We want Black designers to have access to the same distribution opportunities as their counterparts. We want Black women to move beyond being the faces of campaigns and become owners of the businesses behind the products.
But when those opportunities finally materialize, are we prepared to accept the business realities that accompany them?
Because scaling a business often requires relationships with larger corporations. Those relationships may involve companies whose decisions we don’t always agree with. And those partnerships do not necessarily give independent founders control over the corporation’s policies, public statements, or public positioning.
That is not an excuse for poor business judgment. It’s an acknowledgment of how business operates.
Consumers have every right to withdraw their support. A purchase is a choice, not an obligation. Black ownership alone does not entitle any company to our money, and no entrepreneur should expect immunity from legitimate criticism simply because they share our identity.
But we also have to recognize the difference between accountability and demanding control.
Supporting a Black-owned business does not give us authority over its contracts, distribution agreements, or long-term growth decisions. We can question those decisions. We can choose not to participate in them. What we cannot reasonably do is assume that a business has the resources, flexibility, or legal freedom to make immediate changes simply because the public demands them.
And I find it particularly troubling when the criticism becomes more focused on the Black entrepreneurs than on the corporation whose decisions prompted the boycott in the first place.
Target made the decision to change its DEI commitments. Target controls its corporate policies. Target has the power to determine how it approaches supplier relationships and the communities it serves.
The Lip Bar did not make those decisions. Neither did KBB by KAHLANA.
Yet these businesses are left navigating the consequences while simultaneously defending their right to continue operating within the partnerships they’ve established.
There is also a question of who ultimately bears the financial burden.
When sales decline, the impact on an independent brand can extend beyond the founder. It can affect employees, vendors, manufacturing relationships, future investments, and the company’s ability to pursue additional growth opportunities. Those consequences deserve consideration, even when consumers remain committed to withholding their spending from a particular retailer.
And that doesn’t mean the boycott should end.
It means we should be more intentional about distinguishing between the corporation we’re holding accountable and the independent businesses operating within its ecosystem.
If a brand provides an alternative way to purchase its products, we can choose that option. If it doesn’t, we can decide to wait. If we no longer want to support the business at all, that remains our right.
But we should be careful about turning those individual purchasing decisions into public demands that Black entrepreneurs prove their allegiance by making business sacrifices we may not fully understand.
I also think there’s something worth examining about how quickly we expect Black-owned businesses to respond to these situations. We want immediate statements, immediate decisions, and immediate demonstrations of solidarity, often without knowing what conversations are happening behind closed doors.
Not every business decision can be made publicly. Not every negotiation can be disclosed. And not every next step can be announced before it’s ready.
Sometimes the absence of a public answer simply means we don’t have one yet.
As a Black woman working in fashion and communications, I’ve seen how difficult it can be for talented creatives to move from visibility to actual ownership. Getting a seat at the table is challenging enough. Building a business that can sustain itself once you get there is another undertaking entirely.
That is why I refuse to reduce these conversations to whether someone should simply leave a retailer.
We should be asking what it takes to build independent Black-owned businesses with enough financial stability, distribution options, and negotiating power to make those decisions on their own terms.
We should be questioning why access to national retail remains so concentrated among a relatively small number of corporations. We should be examining what meaningful corporate commitments to Black entrepreneurship look like beyond public campaigns and diversity initiatives.
And we should be asking whether our expectations of Black-owned businesses reflect an understanding of the challenges they face or simply our frustration with the corporations they depend on.
None of this requires abandoning the boycott or compromising personal values. It requires recognizing that two things can be true at once: Target can be held accountable for its decisions, and Black-owned brands should not automatically be punished for relationships they established before those decisions were made.
The Lip Bar and KBB by KAHLANA are not identical businesses, and their founders may ultimately make very different decisions about their futures. But neither should be expected to surrender control of those decisions to public opinion.
We cannot spend years demanding greater Black ownership, access, and economic power, only to turn around and penalize Black entrepreneurs for pursuing the very opportunities we’ve encouraged them to seek.
Because if our support for Black-owned businesses disappears the moment their business decisions become complicated, perhaps we need to ask ourselves what supporting Black ownership actually means.
