When I first sat down to write this post, it was a whiny screed about how I’m 32 but still getting spots. And yes, it is very annoying to realise that I’ve spent the guts of a decade trying to ward off hormonal acne. A decade! Imagine all the time I’ve spent thinking about cystic acne when I could have been, I dunno, pondering the mysteries of the universe. Though now that I say this, I do believe my cystic acne IS one of the mysteries of the universe.
I never had any real skin issues as a teenager, or in college, where my “skincare routine” amounted to a makeup wipe at night. But at around 22, I started getting painful cystic spots on my chin and jawline, and apart from some spells on hormonal contraception, it hasn’t left me since. I certainly pay enough attention to my skin. I massage it with lovely creams and lotions every day. And from my top lip upwards, it actually looks pretty good. So why doesn’t the bottom half of my face fall in line? And why does it feel like I’m failing because it won’t?
The quest for “perfect skin” has occupied me for one third of my life now, and was somewhere in the background for the rest of it. The concepts of “good skin” and “bad skin” were baked in at an early age, as they were for everyone else. When I was younger, I had the regular fears of spots and being “shiny” (scream), but since I got “into skincare” – which followed my skin taking its first bad turn – I have dedicated a significant amount of time, money, and energy to being clearer, bouncier, dewier. I keep up with the latest trends, brands, and innovations. I consume endless amounts of content on it. I write a newsletter about it. It feels important to do so. The next product could be the one that changes the game, you see.
That makes it sound a little bit like an addiction, and it kind of is - an obsession, definitely. When I think about “giving it up,” I feel a certain amount of panic. Skincare is an investment in the future, or so I’ve been told. Your skincare routine is kind of like your pension. I’m moisturising now so that 65-year-old me can maybe have a somewhat less wrinkled face. There’s an illusion of control.
While my interest in skincare isn’t putting me in debt or affecting my health, as someone who has perfectionist tendencies already, there has been a mental toll. It’s encouraged a level of body surveillance that’s started to feel harmful. We recently got a new mirrored cabinet in our bathroom, and I realised with a dull horror that it offered a better vantage point for examining my chin, something I can absolutely never resist doing. Every issue is magnified - I zoom in on the flaws, convinced all everyone can notice is the spot shoddily hidden under layers of crusty concealer.
It doesn’t help that being overly obsessed with skincare is very much acceptable, cool even. Being afraid to leave the house without SPF on is the logical end point of the 2010s beauty boom, which positioned a good skincare routine as something of a virtue. Loading your underbed storage with enough product to stock a Sephora is admirable. Fixating on fine lines and hyperpigmentation and tiny blemishes that no one else can see isn’t rotting your brain, actually. The latest thing is the skin barrier, the outermost layer of your skin that protects everything underneath. Everyone’s skin barriers are damaged. Why exactly do we think that is? We’re so close to the truth.
My skin has changed a bit over the past year, probably to do with age – I get eczema around my eyes unless I use a very specific eye cream, and patches of dryness and red, bumpy irritation on the tops of my cheeks. This sent me into a frenzy of Googling, of course. How to fix? What to do? And which products?! The answer is always the simplest, least exciting one. Strip everything back to the very basics: gentle cleanser, hydrating serum, moisturiser. Stop using all active ingredients (but they’re the sexy ones!). And things did get better. I slowly reintroduced Vitamin C and retinol, the former only on my forehead. I exfoliate once a week now, if at all. I got some benzoyl peroxide gel to apply as soon as I sense a cystic spot under the skin, to hopefully stop it in its tracks. I’m doing less, but I’m still in a state of CONSTANT VIGILANCE.
I don’t think I can face giving up skincare as I know it. But I want to learn how to take it much less seriously. Make it more about enjoyment and less about fixing things. More about self-care and less about self-control. And let’s be real: Even at times when my skin looked more or less “perfect,” I moved the goalposts of what “perfect” was so there was always a new issue to fret over. My skin will probably never do exactly what I want at any given time, so I’m just going to get on with it. That’s what makeup is for, anyway.
Thanks for reading Vanity Project! It’s my birthday today, can’t you tell? This is very “birthday freakout” coded. See you very soon for the next one!