I'M A BEAUTY EDITOR AND... I'M NOT GOING TO SELL YOU ANYTHING
Perhaps not the best business model, but hear me out.
I consider this to be a fact: there are plenty of amazing products out there.
I’m not the beauty editor who says, “I’m a beauty editor and these are the seven products you need right now,” or "This serum will CHANGE YOUR LIFE" because the truth is, there are hundreds, thousands, you could pick from and like. You could walk into Chemist Warehouse and grab something really great off the shelf for $20. You could go into Sephora and snap up a $200 serum or a $30 Korean barrier balm. Any of those things could make you equally happy.
I’ve spent over a decade surrounded by beauty products. I know what I love, what I find effective or interesting or genuinely innovative, but I’m also not going to pretend a serum is live or die, or that ageing is a ‘problem’ we can shop our way out of.
While I am discerning to a point, I enjoy being delighted. Beauty brings me joy. Sensorial texture? Beautiful packaging? Easy delivery and application? Sold! I also have so much admiration for the brand founders who hustle their way through a saturated market because they believe so fiercely in their product and its ability to make a difference.
Maybe part of the happiness beauty brings me is that we grew up without much of it. When I was young, my parents went broke. Right down the proverbial gurgler, financially speaking. Food was more of a priority than skincare (save for big tubs of QV-style budget barrier cream). So even after all these years working in beauty, there’s something about being surrounded by beautiful skincare and lipsticks and perfumes and ridiculous, weighty jars that still feels like unbelievable abundance. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being grateful that I have access to all these wonderful products. The QV is still five-star by the way. I know that expensive doesn’t necessarily mean better, even if I die for a little bit of luxury.
A cream or serum can do something, but it can only do so much. Plump, smooth, deliver glow? Sure. Actually reverse time and give you your 25-year-old collagen back? Not exactly.
Which brings me to one of the questions I find myself screaming into the void:
Why is youth always the goal?
Yes, we know: youth is beautiful. It’s fun and lovely and the collagen and elastin are living their best lives. But it also comes with insecurities and mistakes, and I don’t know a bouncy-faced, line-free tween, teen or young adult who doesn’t completely take it for granted while they have it.
I’m 45 now. Perimenopause is a party I didn’t particularly want to RSVP to. It’s rough out there, between the night sweats, the hot flushes, the sensory issues and the brain fog as I look at my face in the mirror, first thing in the morning and get a jump scare.
I know it can be trite to lay on the platitudes about how age is a blessing and your face reflects the memories of your life. I don’t have to love every physical manifestation of ageing in order to value being alive. But there is truth in it.
There’s a certain amount of grit required in getting older. You watch your skin change and your youth fade while you wrangle your kids, worry about your parents, pay the bills, do all the domestic crap required to prevent yourself from living in squalor… and somehow just keep going, day after day.
So, the lines on your face celebrate the journey of your life? Plenty of people I know who celebrate their life would love to erase their lines, and do. I will never forget how good and fresh I felt when I had my elevens Botoxed into smooth-foreheaded oblivion.
But guess what? I’m a single parent. I have too many bills. The bills have killed the Botox.
So I use the skincare and makeup I have and love, and the endless stream of products I’m lucky enough to test and trial, to make the absolute best of what I have. There's so much out there that's absolutely stellar.
But I remind myself of this: youth is fleeting and then you’re suddenly old until you die. It makes me laugh to be so bleak. But is it depressing, or liberating? Because what even is old anymore? Sometimes it’s a wrinkly face and a walking stick. Sometimes it’s an attitude, and sometimes, more often than not, it's being kick-ass-amazing as hell, well into your 80s and beyond. In any case, I’m convinced that spending the rest of our lives mourning the face we used to have is a terrible waste of the face we have now.
Your knee joints may be pondering whether to give up on life and your collagen may be depleting faster than you can drink the supplement shake, but you’re cool as fuck. Yes, you, even if you can’t do a TikTok and your child has told you you’re cringe. (LOL). Apparently writing LOL is cringe now as well. WHO KNEW?
So use the serum. Don’t use the serum. Get the Botox if you want it. Don’t if you don’t.
We only get one life.
Beauty doesn't have to fix you to be worth enjoying.
And sometimes, the pleasure is the point.
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