When I was in the fourth grade, I had the worst acne. My mom never took me to the dermatologist. She waved it off as a teenage quandary. I frantically combed the shelves of drugstores to self-soothe. This is where I found Neutrogena’s oil-free acne wash. The soap washed away all impurities as promised, but it also stripped me of my natural oils. My face was dry like a desert bed, but it did clear up my acne. I felt so defeated.
When I got to high school, still battling frequent flare-ups, my mom finally let me in on her beauty secret: a tub of Pond’s Cold Cream. I was unconvinced, but desperate. I hate to say the thing worked like a charm. My skin cleared up in a week. I found it a little shameful that I pledged allegiance to the cold cream cult. But I won’t be the last—I will happily pass it on to my kids like a generational baton.
Don’t get me wrong; I have always tried to escape it. It’s not as cool as the trendy oil cleansers and balms that popped up during the boom of the millennial personal improvement saga. But I cannot deny that the legacy of cold cream prevails for my skin type. Even Kylie Jenner can attest, per an ELLE interview. When I moved to Australia, I learned that only one chemist kept it stocked at the bottom shelf of their personal care aisle. Last Christmas, it was sold out state-wide.
Then something happened. I turned 34, and my Korean-inspired regimen of cold cream, a soy-based cleanser, pH-balanced toner, a night cream, and daily sunscreen—was just not cutting it. The reasonably minimal skincare needs of my 20s now seemed unable to keep up with what appeared to be signs of aging. I looked dull, and my skin felt rough. I started forming spots on my cheeks. My pimples re-emerged in small bursts at the most random areas: on my eyebrows, or under my jaw. I formed wrinkles around my eyes. I read that once you turn 30, your body’s collagen production drops significantly. It was time for me to join the legions of modern women and their exasperating odyssey for a snatched face.
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Contemporary skincare has certainly triumphed with scientific engineering. We have advanced from using bottles of Eskinol and patting baby powder on our faces and the oil-control films we kept in our gimmick purses. Today, we’re pumping tinctures and serums, making concoctions like a witch with a cauldron. We’re dousing ourselves with vitamins and rolling refrigerated crystals onto our faces. Products can target hyperpigmentation, fine lines, or the dehydration (and regret) that befalls you when you’re hungover. The range is so clinical it’s almost disenchanting. Beauty is now a full-on chemical intervention: acids, retinol, and steroids in bite-sized containers. But the benefits are incredible if you know how to research, follow instructions, and use them with caution. There is no skincare concern that a TikTok vlogger can’t answer and a feature on The Cut can’t verify. It’s serious big girl stuff.
Just recently, I traversed the skincare multiverse. I’ve added an exfoliating acid. I’ve committed to two kinds of serum—one for overnight repair and one for hydration. I use an eye cream. And I started with retinol, the anti-aging powerhouse. I do two routines now: one for the day and one at night, and I alternately schedule my active chemicals. Now that I am spelling it out, it all sounds absurd. But it’s not like the pursuit of beauty sprouted out of a vacuum in modern times—it has plagued society for centuries.
Caring for our skin is so overwhelmingly abundant and accessible that it would seem a waste to just sit around and watch. Women have amassed enough capital to direct the cultural production of the beauty industry. This is a point for celebration! Although, I acknowledge that I can only join the club because my purchasing power finally allows it. The phenomenon of beauty lies at the intersection of gender and capitalism. It’s easy to dismiss it as a consumerist engagement. I get it—some of us just want to keep our faces clean. One concerned writer via The Outline, did this when she called the whole thing a “con,” arguing that “skin has withstood millions of years of evolution, how could we be getting it so wrong now?” Such questions spark continued debate about the business of beauty. I don’t doubt that the endeavor is built on social constructions and not without points we should criticize. We don’t need to be doing all this. But if we draw so much pleasure from it, do we need to raise so many caveats? I don’t see men needing to explain the ways they do horology or automobiles.
I don’t know what we get at the end of a dutiful skincare routine. Like, what is the goal of the skincare journey? It is certainly not everlasting youth. But I only have to look back to the acne-ridden teenager scrubbing her face with soap just to know that the goal never was about reaching fantastical ideals. I have always just wanted to feel good in my own skin.
Feminist and civil rights activist Audre Lorde once wrote, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation and that is an act of political warfare.” In this era of engineered beauty, it is not so bad that we just want to shed our unwanted skin and regenerate anew. And to do this, isn’t it great we can get help from our nutrient-laced, clinically-tested friends? Skin deep, all we want is to feel comfortable with ourselves. But hey, I admit that I also like basking in the moment when people ask how old I am and I reveal I am past my 30s. In those moments, I feel I am glowing. It is bliss. Also, it cost me a fortune.