I started my skincare journey as many young girls do: with a bright orange Neutrogena Oil-Free Acne Wash, a handful of bookmarked YouTube tutorials, and an intense feeling of desperation. Middle school was a time of transition for me, physically and culturally. I underwent distressing physical changes at the same time that social media rose in popularity. I got my first iPhone the summer before sixth grade and promptly downloaded Instagram and YouTube without thinking twice. Change was coursing through me and the rest of the world.
Prior to middle school, my only brushes with skincare and make-up came when I needed to apply cosmetics for my dance recitals. This ritual entailed little more than my mom smudging some pink powder on my cheeks, red cream on my lips, and haphazardly applying false lashes, most of which were Mary Kay samples procured from my grandma. At the end of the day, all of this was wiped away with a shower and a couple of Neutrogena Makeup Removing Towelettes (the ones in the blue packaging) that left my face red, splotchy, and stinging.
As far as I knew, this was how the rest of the world viewed and used makeup too. In middle school, I was in for a rude awakening.
As soon as I walked through the musty halls of junior high, all I could see were flicked cat eyes, painted sharply with jet-black liquid liner. Metallic gold shadows patted precisely on lids with soft browns faded into the creases. Orange bronzer buffed under growing cheekbones. Brow pomade intricately sketched out to form a square eyebrow.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” I would ask my girl peers. Upon which they would reply “A Jaclyn Hill video.”
The 2010s (while no less than four years ago) are what many have already begun to refer to as the “golden age of YouTube.” Every day people were able to rise in popularity by uploading videos of themselves talking to a camera, attempting internet “challenges,” acting out skits, telling stories, and educating people on any topic you could imagine. These “YouTubers” had the star power qualities of other entertainers we consume through mediated screens, but the relatability of a friend sending you a voicemail or long text message about their day. Because they weren’t A-listers walking red carpets, there was a certain accessibility to them. They existed not on the silver screen, but on our personal ones - their faces appearing on our Instagram feeds as frequently as our actual friends’.
This sense of accessibility is what made internet users particularly bewitched by the thoughts and opinions of YouTubers. The personal medium of social media facilitated the formation of parasocial relationships, making viewers feel even closer in proximity to YouTubers than their favorite socialites. These qualities made it easy to fall under YouTubers’ influence, a fact that companies took care to capitalize on. Hence the term “influencer” was born.
Of the YouTuber/influencer universe, I’d argue that there was no niche more prolific than the “beauty guru” community. Beauty gurus are and were exactly what they sound like: self-proclaimed experts in rituals that promote vanity. They posted in-depth makeup tutorial videos, teaching viewers the key to perfecting winged eyeliner or contouring their cheekbones. They also shared more chatty, nonchalant content known as “Get Ready With Me” or GRWM videos that consisted of them talking about life, pop culture, or answering viewer-submitted questions while applying their makeup for the day.
Regardless of the video concept, there was one constant through-line across all beauty guru content: products. Products, products, PRODUCTS! Whether it was a tutorial, casual GRWM, or a video solely dedicated to talking about products, beauty gurus were always sure to mention the name of the product they were using and the company that produced it. They even developed a signature way of holding products and product swatches in their videos, placing their hand behind the merchandise so their camera could easily focus on it (see below).
What was most fascinating about all the product-talk was that these figures were providing glowing reviews, demonstrations, and mere exposure of these products to their sometimes millions of followers, in many cases, for free. Without even being asked to. The role of salesperson was assumed naturally. It was simply how their service worked, they were in the business of providing viewers with transparent advice and guidance when shopping for makeup and skincare, which meant explaining what the best products to purchase were. It was a natural fit when makeup and skincare brands began sponsoring beauty gurus’ videos, a fact of which many YouTubers disclosed at the beginning of their tutorials. And, of course, sponsorships have now translated to short-form beauty gurus across TikTok. Everywhere we look, we’re inundated with product-talk.
Upon reflecting on the beauty guru boom of the 2010s, there are a number of things that stick out to me. The first of which is how quick we all were to accept skincare advice from people who couldn’t even see our skin. When it comes to makeup tutorials, there are a handful of videos that teach viewers how to do winged eyeliner on different eye shapes and contour different face shapes, providing some more personalized advice. But skincare is a lot like exercising - two people can do the same exact regimen and reap different results due to factors like genetics, environment, lifestyle, and more. Sure, many popular beauty gurus were former makeup artists with experience working with different skin types; nonetheless, the binary designation of “oily” and “dry” skin products developed a two-size fits all approach that was not always practical in practice.
In tandem with this phenomenon was the entrenchment of multi-step skincare routines that are as extensive as they are expensive. Anyone who has watched Vogue’s “Beauty Secrets” series on YouTube knows that “good” skincare routines are often synonymous with “long” skincare routines. The Beauty Secrets series consists of celebrities walking viewers through their skincare and makeup routines in real-time as they apply the products on their faces, explaining why each item is critical to maintaining a glowing complexion. Since these celebrities make a living off their appearance, they often designate a good portion of their material resources to physical upkeep, which explains why most of these videos have titles like “Emmy Rossum's 28-Step Beauty Routine” and “Niall Horan's 22-Step Skin and Hair Routine.”
Even during the post-war consumerism boom of the 1950s, skincare routines consisted of little more than a cleansing soap and healthy dose of Pond’s Cold Cream. How did we get from that to twice-a-day, 10-step regimens? How did we get from women washing their faces to middle school girls performing “anti-aging” rituals, requesting serums and eye creams at age twelve?
I know that influencers aren’t the sole people to point fingers at, as late-stage capitalism undeniably cranks the mass consumption wheel to its full and unsustainable hyper-speed. Yet, I can’t help but acknowledge how the culture of influencer product-worship has contributed to common people amassing hordes of skincare products. We’re told by these people that are essentially animate online billboards that we need a micellar water, cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, eye cream, and lip mask to keep our skin “healthy.” And because we trust them - due to the parasocial nature of it all - we take their advice as a little girl does with her big sister, applying layer upon layer of goop without bothering to read the ingredients list.
As a result, we willingly spend hundreds of our own dollars a year to keep this circus in session and throw away thousands of empty plastic tubs that will sit on this earth longer than we will. And as it turns out, other than giving ourselves a temporary glowy exterior, we actually aren’t making our skin any better!
In “All of Those Products Are Making Your Skin Worse” for the New York Times, writer Courtney Rubin asks dermatologists about the detriments of overloading your skin with products. The “acid mantle” consists of a protective film of natural oils, amino acids, and sweat that covers our skin. The mantle can be damaged with excessive scrubbing and alkaline washes, leading to inflammation, allergies, and breakouts. According to Dr. Ellen Marmur, one of the tell-tale signs of over-exfoliation and a compromised skin barrier is a shiny forehead: an attribute that countless skincare enthusiasts seek to obtain in the age of “glazed donut skin.”
In the Times article, dermatologist Whitney Bowe blames this common skin barrier destruction on “our obsession with squeaky clean and using product upon product.” It feels good to lather our face up in gunk and let it slowly absorb as we recline for the evening. The experience is glamorous, akin to an old Hollywood starlet prepping for a red carpet premiere. But as beauty brand founder Neada Deters explains in this article by Jessica DeFino for Coveteur, overworking the skin can be detrimental. “We are often just stripping away skin’s natural layers and replacing them with layers of products,” she explains.
Unlearning the mythology of extensive skincare has been a challenging process for me. As with any dominant community, once one is indoctrinated into the dense world of online beauty culture, it’s difficult to accept alternate versions of reality. Going through the motions of my skincare routine every morning and evening has become so commonplace that I do it in an almost mindless trance, like driving a routine route to work every day. Skincare is a habit. A security blanket that I never wished to be parted with.
Nevertheless, as I’ve learned more about feminism and how harmful beauty standards are for women’s mental health, my skincare routine, once as tight-bound and efficient as a reliable clock, has begun to unravel. One of the resources that’s been most instrumental in helping me unlearn pervasive beauty myths is Jessica DeFino’s writing for
, a newsletter that undoes the brainwashing skincare and makeup companies work hard to instill in consumers.One day, after running out of my serums and eye creams, I decided to not replace them to see what would happen. To my surprise, my skin didn’t start flaking off my face, I didn’t combust into flames. Perhaps my body didn’t really need them. The next layer I’ve begun to interrogate is my cleanser. After learning to be in tune with how my face feels rather than how cathartic it feels to apply products, I realized that I didn’t like the squeaky clean feeling that comes from scrubbing down my mug twice a day. I’ve been taking care to effectively rinse my face and remove makeup. I’ve still been moisturizing lightly when needed and applying SPF. But I have also been avoiding the abrasive feeling of chemicals stripping my skin at all costs, and I hope to learn how to make my face products even simpler over time.
If you’re anything like I was even a year ago, you might be clutching your pearls at the thought of taking steps out of your skincare routine. However, the research shows that there is such a thing as using too many products on your skin. I understand that it can be difficult to immediately break a habit as pervasive as skincare, change is tough to execute overnight. If you challenge yourself to remove just one product, starting with baby steps, I think you would be surprised to see how non-reliant your skin can be on whatever miracle-super-glow-bounce-goop product is being peddled your way by a person who is making money off saying it’s essential.
I’m not making a case against abandoning “self-care” but rather a case against the externalized commodification of it. If our “self-care” stops at the skin, are we really caring for ourselves as holistically as possible? Simplifying our skincare regimens will not only allow us to more effectively utilize our purchasing power, but will also make us more in tune with our bodies, listening to and observing them to see what they actually need. As glamorous as it can feel to lather up our faces, at the end of the day, product-talk is often just talk. And self-care shouldn’t be skin deep.
For more on the corruption of the beauty industry, I highly recommend subscribing to
by the talented .And for a more philosophical discussion about beauty and ageism, feel free to check out this other article from me!
👏🏽 so well said, especially the last part being slightly nervous when cutting down face skin care steps and realising your skin didn’t get hurt by less products. i’ve been trying to do the same so reading this right now has felt like a sign that i should be brave and go through with it.
I was a young lady during the rise of Mary Kay products. I remember how heavy and awful my face felt with primer, foundation, powder and the like.
Mostly been a fairly natural gal, with the fresh faced, with the exception of my high school years, and my skin looks and feels amazing.
I love what you shared and applaud your journey to free your face!
💞