I’ve decided to get a little organized this weekend, since I’ll probably not want to do any cleaning. cooking, etc. the next few weeks due to work craziness. Not that I ever really want to do any cleaning, cooking, etc. in the first place, but I was gonna gift my future self the joy of not stressing about household chores when I’m stressing about other stuff.
I have skincare products scattered about my house, so I gathered everything together to organize it and store anything that could be considered a dupe in a box to be used as needed once I run out of what I’m currently using, because my bathroom is tiny and has basically no storage space (hence the products scattered about the house).
That’s when I realized I have wayyyyyyy too much product for someone with only one face. Even though I only started my obsessive skincare journey at the beginning of the year, I have acquired enough products to last me years. That’s crazy!
What’s even crazier is that I don’t even have particularly terrible skin. My skin is relatively normal – not too oily, not too dry, although it can lean combo depending on the season or if I’ve travelled to a new climate (or if I’ve forgotten to drink enough water or am not getting enough sleep).
That said, I’ll never have perfect skin, no matter what, thanks to a bad case of the chicken pox when I was twelve that gave me a couple of scars. I don’t get much acne – a few little barely noticiable bumps, and sometimes every few months a red angry one depending on hormones and stress. My pores are definitely visible, but that’s just the way they are (thanks for those genes, Dad).
Yet apparently this is the year where I did the “omg I’m getting old, there are distinct crow’s feet, I look so haggard when I look in the mirror, WHAT DO I DO?” freak out. Even though I know that you can’t look young forever, I’ve just been used to people assuming I skew at least 5-10 years younger than I am. But now people refer to me more as “ma’am” than “miss,” and this is the first year that I’ve not been carded when I was out with friends for a drink. (It happened twice! And I’m younger than 35!)
So I apparently had a mini existential crisis. I’ve never really been one to get caught up in the beauty hype. For years I’ve not worn makeup (except for special occasions). I’ve always let my hair air dry and do its thing without styling. My theory is that if I am clean and neat, then that’s all that really matters.
Yet somehow, despite me not being connected to the beauty world, I’ve still assimilated the hideous idea that visible signs of aging are things I ought to do my best to postpone.
It’s not like prior to this year I was destroying my skin. Because I didn’t wear makeup very often, my morning routine of washing with a foam cleanser and then slapping on some moisturizer with spf was apparently doing just fine. If I was going to be spending a lot of time outside, I’d add on extra 50spf sunscreen. My skin wasn’t dry or oily or acne-prone. I didn’t have a ten-step nightly routine (I honestly didn’t have a night-time routine, period – sometimes I wouldn’t wash my face until the next morning, which right now to me sounds vaguely scandalous, but unless it had been a particularly sweaty or dirty day, there seemed no reason that it couldn’t wait until my morning shower).
But suddenly this year there were visible crow’s feet and I just looked so depressingly tired and haggard, which sent me into a panic.
I didn’t stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I looked tired because I was tired. For at least six years, I’ve had insane 60 hour work weeks with unpredictable schedules, which means I haven’t had a regular sleep schedule, since, uh, forever. I would get so busy, I’d forget to drink water. Oh, and I am older than I used to be.
Instead, I started to research like crazy and buy products, trying to solve problems that maybe I didn’t have.
To be fair, I think my skin looks a little bit better. I’ve got that “dewy glow” – but I still have small bumps and visible pores and those icepick scars that will never be moisturized away. I also have started to wear makeup regularly this year, so falling in love with the concept of a double-cleanse actually works with this new habit, and because my weird pale-with-olive-undertones skin makes it impossible to find a decently matching foundation/bb cream/etc, I’d rather make sure my skin looks naturally decent so I can keep my makeup minimal.
But I don’t need endless bottles and jars of slightly-different-but-essentially-the-same products. I don’t need to keep researching products, desperate to find the so-called “holy grail” that everyone else talks about.
I don’t need a “holy grail.” I have enough “good enough” products that do what I need: keep my skin clean and hydrated and protected from the sun.
That’s not to say all skincare is terrible and you are a terrible person if you slather on ten products religiously every night. I’ve found that I genuinely enjoy the habit of an evening routine, even if sometimes I only use a couple of products (micellar wipes and moisturizer now have a home by my bed for a reason), or sometimes I want to do the whole shebang and do the double-cleanse with toners and essences and acids and moisturizer and occlusives. My skin is sometimes happy for all this pampering, and sometimes it’s like, “Whoa lady, we didn’t need all that, and it’s just gonna get wiped off in the morning without showing any miracles.”
But it makes me a little angry to think that there’s something deep down within that so easily believes the lie that women have to look like they’re in their twenties forever, or else they don’t matter.
Yet… there’s also another part of me that loves how glowy and soft my skin has become.
Is there a point to this? Maybe. There’s probably a whisper of an essay on feminism and how even those of us who think we eschew the normal standards of beauty still internalize those man-made rules (pun intended).
The real point, though, is I’m forbidden from buying any new skincare products because holy heck I have more than enough and it would just be a waste of money and space. Now, if you would please excuse me, I need to go and use up one of the gazillion sheet masks I have…
The Obsessive Dilettante 