My mother-in-law is baffled when she looks at my vanity kit. I have two makeup bags: one filled with lipsticks and the other with essential makeup products. She’s come to terms with my makeup-hoarding habits, but now she’s staring at my large kit brimming with fancy glass bottles, tubes, tubs, and sprays. “It’s skincare, Mummy,” I explain, preemptively addressing her unasked question. The look on her face is a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. “All of this is just for the face?” she asks, as though she can’t comprehend the necessity of applying such an assortment of liquids to one’s visage.
This incident took place two years ago, when I was among the millions of women absorbing skincare advice from social media beauty influencers, now obnoxiously known as ‘skinfluencers’. Who knew there was a specific cream just for the neck? Not me, until I saw a woman online applying it while earnestly warning her audience that the neck ages the fastest. That experience was the start of my deep dive into skincare, where daily scrolling brought a new “must-have” product to my attention.
Influencer marketing has driven a surge in skincare overconsumption, creating a cycle where consumers feel pressured to buy more than they need. There are specialised products for under-eye care because, when you’re not busy developing eye bags from being endlessly ‘skinfluenced’, you need eye creams and patches to combat the effects. But perhaps the most revered skincare advice today is the relentless use and reuse of sunscreen. Our grandmothers could never have imagined a time when we’d be warned that without slathering on S.P.F. 10,000, our fate would be sealed—either looking like a sun-dried raisin or, worse, inviting a legion of malignancies.
And then, of course, we have the celebrated actives: the acids, the masks. Anti-aging. Anti-wrinkle. Anti-anxiety. Anti-common sense. Anti-any-hope-of-keeping-your-mornings-sane.
Historically, skincare focused primarily on maintaining basic hygiene and shielding the skin from environmental damage. But as the beauty industry has grown, it has introduced a multitude of products, each claiming to solve specific issues or deliver impressive results. With the rise of social media, particularly platforms like Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok, our approach to skincare has shifted significantly. Influencers have emerged as modern-day beauty gurus, dispensing advice, product recommendations, and detailed demonstrations of their routines. The popularity of the 12-step Korean skincare regimen is a prime example of such routines. This trend introduced a new standard, subtly implying that more steps equate to better results—a belief perpetuated by both skincare brands and influencers, leading many to adopt these increasingly complex rituals.
Anti-aging. Anti-wrinkle. Anti-anxiety. Anti-common sense. Anti-any-hope-of-keeping-your-mornings-sane.
There was a time when I, too, let the Internet convince me that it is important to have a day routine, a night routine, a sunscreen routine, a lip care routine, and a routine for every conceivable skincare need. And the only way to establish these elaborate routines is to invest in products —toners, serums, moisturisers, emulsions, face mists, and a plethora of potions. The more I watched these curated step-by-step rituals, the more products I added to my cart, believing I was one purchase away from perfect skin.
Admittedly, I have tried them all. It felt semi-therapeutic at first, like a ritualistic act of self-care, an indulgence in luxury that promised eternal youth. Spending hundreds of dollars on these products became a self-justified ideology because good things are usually expensive, right? But, as I meticulously curated my collection of serums, creams, and toners, I started to wonder: when did skincare become so complicated, and is all of it really necessary?
As I questioned the necessity of these routines, I also began questioning the economics of skincare. The cost of beauty : how much are we really spending on these products? And there’s the environmental impact , the wastefulness of excessive packaging that is rarely discussed. A whole corner of social media is pushing us to buy stuff just because it’s ‘pretty’. Sure, some brands try to come across as natural and sustainable, but in most cases, it is nothing more than clever marketing , a little trick called “greenwashing”.
Behind the incessant promotion of these products lies a deeper concern: is this really about skincare, or is it a symptom of a larger cultural obsession with youth and beauty? In the skincare world, brands market to us gullible men and women, banking on our belief that the more expensive a product is, the better it performs. This belief is not entirely unfounded; research has shown that price often correlates with perceived value and efficacy. But in the labyrinth of skincare, this correlation is often exploited. And here’s the real kicker: the skinfluencers who sell us these dreams often have professional treatments, good lighting, and filters working in their favour. Many don’t disclose their use of cosmetic procedures or editing tools, creating an unattainable standard for their audience.
This growing consumerism isn’t about caring for our skin or health; it’s about how we come to value ourselves, how we’re conditioned to constantly seek improvement, and the toll this takes on our pockets and the planet.
Beyond packaging, the production of skincare products also has a significant environmental footprint. For instance, the widespread use of palm oil in cosmetics is a leading cause of deforestation, particularly in countries like Indonesia and Malaysia, where vast areas of rainforest are cleared to make way for palm oil plantations. Chemical compounds such as acrylonitrile butadiene styrene (ABS), commonly used in packaging beauty and skincare products like compact cases, caps, and closures, generate a substantial amount of hazardous waste and toxic byproducts.The production processes for these ingredients, as well as the energy-intensive manufacturing and transportation involved in getting products to consumers, contribute to significant greenhouse gas emissions.
Many skincare products contain microplastics that pollute water and harm marine life. It’s estimated that 9 out of 10 skincare products have microplastics, releasing about 3,800 tons into the environment each year. With microplastics seeping into oceans, packaging waste piling up in landfills, and natural resources being exploited for ingredients, our beauty routines are leaving a devastating ecological footprint.
We have to ask ourselves: is this pursuit of flawless skin actually making us feel better, or is it fuelling unnecessary anxiety about our appearance? From personal experience, I can attest that many of the expensive, highly recommended products I’ve tried—after waiting patiently for results—didn’t deliver. My skin felt smothered by layers of product, looking worse than before. This growing consumerism isn’t about caring for our skin or health; it’s about how we come to value ourselves, how we’re conditioned to constantly seek improvement, and the toll this takes on our pockets and the planet.
The good news is that there’s a growing movement that’s pushing back against this relentless cycle. The rise of “skinimalism” encourages people to pare down their routines, focusing on just a few essential products that are truly effective. Skinimalists advocate for using multi-purpose products—like a moisturiser with S.P.F.—so you can both, simplify your routine and reduce the waste generated. This minimalist mindset is catching on, but what can you do to incorporate it into your life? Start by reviewing the products you own and focus on essentials: a gentle cleanser, moisturiser, and sunscreen. These basics meet most skin needs, and additional products like toners or serums are only necessary for specific concerns, such as acne or eczema.
Zero-waste skincare is on the rise, encouraging the use of products that leave no packaging behind. Support companies making sustainable choices by choosing brands with eco-friendly packaging, like refillable containers or minimal designs. Lastly, dispose of products responsibly. A number of cities in India have recycling programs for cosmetic containers, and some companies offer in-store recycling for empties.
It’s time to wake up and smell the moisturiser. The endless parade of products doesn’t reflect our self-worth. It’s a testament to brilliant marketing and our susceptibility to it. Let’s ditch the 27-step routines and embrace a simpler approach. After all, science supports it, our wallets will thank us, and maybe, just maybe, our skin will finally have a chance to breathe.
