Long before 'inclusion' became a corporate buzzword, MAC Cosmetics was already redefining beauty as a vibrant spectrum of faces and voices. Founded in 1984 by the visionary duo Frank Toskan and Frank Angelo, this Toronto-born brand boldly rejected the polite restraint often associated with Canadian culture, instead embracing artistry and activism. But here’s where it gets controversial: while MAC pioneered inclusivity in the beauty industry, its once-radical approach has since become the industry standard, leaving the brand to navigate a sea of imitators. And this is the part most people miss: MAC’s resurgence isn’t just about nostalgia—it’s about reclaiming its indie spirit in a world that’s caught up to its vision.
From the start, MAC stood out by celebrating marginalized communities and challenging mainstream beauty norms. With their irreverent wit and unapologetic attitude, Toskan and Angelo cast models of all ages—from their 20s to their 90s—and expanded their foundation ranges to include an unprecedented array of shades. This wasn’t just about variety; it was about ensuring people of color could find shades that truly matched their skin tones, long before diversity became a cosmetic cliché. In the 1990s, they made waves by partnering with trailblazers like RuPaul and k.d. lang as their first brand ambassadors for the Viva Glam campaign, a lipstick line that donates 100% of its proceeds to HIV/AIDS causes—a commitment that continues to this day.
But as the beauty world caught up, MAC’s shine began to dim. Celebrity-backed brands and digital influencers flooded the market with copycat products, and what was once revolutionary became expected. Enter Nicola Formichetti, the Japanese-Italian creative force named MAC’s global creative lead last year. With a résumé that includes over a decade as Lady Gaga’s collaborator, creative director for Mugler, and artistic director for Diesel, Formichetti sees his role at MAC as a homecoming. “I always felt included and like they were disrupting,” he says, reflecting on how MAC’s bold vision resonated with him as a queer person. His affinity for boundary-pushing isn’t new—it’s rooted in his family history, from his rebel mother, a Japanese flight attendant who married an Italian pilot in the 1970s, to his grandmother’s shock at her daughter’s unconventional choices.
Formichetti’s partnership with Lady Gaga is a masterclass in challenging the status quo. Remember the infamous meat dress Gaga wore to the 2010 MTV Video Music Awards? Conceptualized with artist Franc Fernandez, it was a protest against the U.S. military’s anti-LGBTQ “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy. “If we don’t stand up for our rights soon, we’ll have as much rights as the meat on our bones,” Gaga explained. Formichetti reflects, “I wouldn’t be able to do that today, but I’m glad it went out there. It was powerful.” This boldness sparked what Vogue dubbed the “Gaga effect,” influencing fashion runways worldwide with its avant-garde aesthetics.
At MAC, Formichetti is bringing that same experimental energy. His first spokesmodel, Kris Jenner, sparked debates about beauty standards and aging. Then came the viral moment at last year’s MTV VMAs, where Doja Cat bit into an edible version of MAC’s Lady Danger lipstick, crafted by chocolatier Amaury Guichon—a stunt that generated $2.8 million in media exposure. His latest campaign with Chappell Roan channels club kid energy, a stark departure from previous Disney and Stranger Things-themed collaborations. To boost accessibility, MAC also partnered with Sephora, making its products available at the cosmetics giant.
But is MAC’s new direction too edgy for its own good? Some argue that its recent campaigns, while buzzworthy, risk alienating its core audience. Others applaud Formichetti for reigniting the brand’s rebellious spirit. Toronto-based makeup artist Sabrina Rinaldi, who started her career at MAC, sees a “modern nostalgia” in Formichetti’s approach, blending the best of the 1990s and 2000s with a fresh, offbeat twist. Actor Alexander Chapman, who performed at MAC’s Viva Glam events in the 1990s as his drag persona Titi Galore, praises the brand for giving opportunities to Black and queer artists when few others would. “MAC gave us jobs,” he says. “Sometimes, they were the only jobs we got.”
Formichetti’s vision is deeply rooted in the club culture of 1990s London, where he met fashion icons like Alexander McQueen and John Galliano. “That’s where I learned everything,” he says. It’s a fitting connection, as MAC itself was born in a Toronto gay bar, the Manatee, where Toskan and Angelo first met. What united them wasn’t commerce, but community—a belief that beauty thrives in the margins.
So, here’s the question: Can MAC reclaim its indie spirit in an industry it helped shape? As Formichetti pushes boundaries and challenges norms, the brand is undeniably making waves. But in a world where inclusivity is now the norm, can MAC still stand out as a disruptor? Let us know what you think in the comments—is MAC’s new direction a bold reinvention or a risky gamble? The conversation starts here.
