My Skincare Origin Story (Featuring Teenage Glow Goals and a Priceline Addiction)
Let me take you back to my teenage years, where my skincare routine involved a Maybelline Quick Stick*, a splash of cold water, and a quiet obsession with having that translucent, glowing skin. My skin wasn’t terrible, just the occasional juicy pimple making a cameo before photo day, but even then, I knew I wanted radiance. If I was going to be a pale girlie, I wanted to be transcendent. I used this one L’Oreal moisturiser my mum bought me religiously until they discontinued it (the betrayal), and after that you could find me haunting the aisles of Priceline like a woman possessed, searching for the next holy grail.
In my twenties, everything changed. My skin went rogue, which I later discovered was a symptom of undiagnosed celiac disease. It was dry, reactive, and full of rage. So I went full crunchy granola: mineral makeup only, natural skincare, oat scrubs (ironic, considering my allergy), and slowly brought my skin back to life. Turns out gluten and drugstore makeup were not my besties. That season of simplicity taught me how powerful ingredients really were, and that not all skincare is created equal.
Then came my thirties. And with it, the arrival of K-beauty which, honestly, it was like meeting skincare for the first time. Hydrating essences? Snail mucin? Sheet masks that make you look like a damp ghost but leave you glowing like moonlight? I was hooked. My skin blossomed, and so did my routine. It stopped being about fixing and started being about loving. Skincare became ritual. A moment of stillness. A quiet kind of power. And that love? It’s only deepened.
*It was the 90s and back then, your foundation options were beige, or irrelevance. If you sat at either end of the skin tone spectrum, the beauty industry had simply decided you weren’t its problem. Us pale girlies were turned orange, the melanin-blessed girlies were barely acknowledged at all, and we all just accepted it because what choice did we have. Then Rihanna launched Fenty Beauty with forty shades and single-handedly told the entire cosmetics industry to do better. It did. We were seen. Finally.
Botox, Tretinoin and Champagne: A Love Letter
I’m 42 now, and these days, nothing makes me feel more relaxed than sipping Prosecco in a sheet mask with Lulu the cat judging me from the hallway. Twice a year, I book in for my Botox and have a full catch-up with my injector, who knows more about my life than most of my friends. It’s not some desperate attempt to chase youth. It’s just part of how I care for myself. Like getting your nails done, or eating vegetables, or blocking your ex-husband on everything.
Botox, for me, is never about “freezing time.” It’s about softening the parts of my face that want to default to fury when I get stuck behind someone slow at the grocery store. It literally stops me from frowning. Which, yes, makes my forehead smoother, but also makes me less likely to spiral about things I can’t control. It’s therapy-adjacent. And as for tretinoin? She’s the bad bitch in my bedside drawer. Keeps my skin clear, smooth, and luminous like a dewy peach. I love her more than some of my exes.
Here’s the thing though: none of this comes from a place of fear. I’m not trying to erase the years. I just like my skin to glow. I like to feel good when I catch my reflection in a shop window. I’ve always been fixated on skincare, and that’s not going to stop just because I’ve crossed into my forties. It’s not about pretending I’m younger. It’s about showing up for myself exactly as I am, just with better lighting.
Loving Your Skin Means You Get to Choose What Feels Good
Some people will tell you that doing anything to your skin as you age means you’re ashamed of getting older. Honestly? That’s nonsense. Loving your skin doesn’t mean you have to love every wrinkle, every sun spot, every hormonal breakout that decides to show up like an unwanted party guest. It just means you get to choose how you care for yourself without needing to justify it.
For me, skincare has never been about staying young. It’s been about staying present. Staying connected to my body. Giving myself small acts of devotion in the bathroom mirror when everything else feels too loud. When you’re going through a breakup? You double cleanse. When work is chaos? You exfoliate. When life is good? You slap on a face mask and bask in the joy. It’s ritual. It’s grounding. It’s mine.
And yes, sometimes that includes injectables. Sometimes it includes expensive serums. Sometimes it includes using the same five-step routine for three months because your brain can’t handle more than that. None of that makes you anti-ageing. It makes you a human being, doing their best, trying to feel like themselves in a world that loves to tell us what we should and shouldn’t do with our faces.
Your Glow Is Political (But Make It Personal)
We talk a lot about the patriarchy profiting from our insecurities, and rightly so. But here’s my hot take: choosing skincare, choosing to look after yourself, choosing to invest in your face because you want to? That’s not the patriarchy. That’s personal power. What matters is the intention. If you’re doing it because you feel like you’re not allowed to age? Let’s unpack that. But if you’re doing it because you love to see your skin catch the light like a goddess mid-rebirth? Babe, get the serum.
I’m not here to police your products or your choices. I’m here to say: it’s okay to love beauty. It’s okay to want to look good. It’s okay to find joy in beauty routines and Botox appointments and lip fillers and mani-pedis and the way your skin glows after a really good facial. It doesn’t mean you’re shallow. It doesn’t mean you’re in denial. It just means you care. And that’s enough.
We need to stop equating skincare with shame. For me, this is about pleasure. Presence. Play. It’s a way I show love to myself. And yes, sometimes that love comes in a syringe. Sometimes it comes in a glass bottle with a pipette. Sometimes it comes in the form of cleansing balm that smells like eucalyptus and victory. It’s all skincare. It’s all care.
You Can Age Beautifully and Still Be a Little Bit Vain
Let me say it plainly: I love skincare because I love myself. That doesn’t mean I love everything about ageing. Some bits suck. The sudden chin hairs that arrive uninvited? Rude. But I still choose to show up for my face every single day. And if I’m a bit vain about it? Good. Vanity, when it’s rooted in love and not fear, is a celebration.
I’m allowed to love how my skin looks post-Botox and also not be terrified of crow’s feet. I can want glowing skin and also understand that ageing is a gift not everyone gets. The two are not mutually exclusive. We need to make space for nuance. For choice. For women to love their faces at every age, in whatever way feels right to them.
So no, I don’t hate ageing. I just really like it when my skin looks hydrated and happy. And if that means I spend more on my face than I do on my car, then so be it. This is the only skin I’ve got. She deserves to be pampered, treasured, and occasionally slathered in snail mucin and hope.
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