II. Skincare as Feminine Identity, Strategy, and Religion
Once upon a time, being a “real woman” meant wearing heels and smiling through
the pain. Now? It’s about skin cycling, multi-step routines, and gua sha at 7:15 a.m.
Today’s femininity is a full-time job. We don’t just perform it — we optimize it.
Glow is the new grace. A dewy finish is social currency.
Your face isn’t just your face anymore — it’s your brand. A billboard of discipline, hydration, and tiny molecular miracles.
We don’t flirt. We layer.
We don’t rest. We mask.
We don’t ask how you’re doing. We ask what your barrier function is up to.
We’re the CEOs of our own epidermis, and business is… congested.

III. Skincare as Therapy (Except Not Really)
Let’s be real: skincare isn’t just skincare anymore. It’s “self-care.” It’s “ritual.” It’s “healing.”
Except when it’s not.
Sometimes it’s just something to do with your hands when your brain is spiraling. A way to feel in control when everything else is going to hell. A shiny, scented illusion of stability.
A 2021 study in the Journal of Cosmetic Dermatology found that 84% of women said skincare made them feel more “in control” — even when it didn’t change their skin that much. Translation? The ritual feels like wellness. Whether it actually is, is another story.
We’re not always moisturizing out of love.
Sometimes we’re exfoliating out of existential panic.

IV. When “Glow” Becomes Pressure
You know the phrase: “You don’t have to look like what you’re going through.”
It sounds cute — until it doesn’t. Because sometimes I do look like what I’m going through. And maybe I should. Maybe my face is allowed to reflect my f***ing life.
But glow is currency now. And if you’re not glowing, people assume you’re failing.
Glow has become a litmus test for spiritual wellness.
You could be sleeping, journaling, hydrating, and in therapy — but if you’ve got a hormonal breakout, you’ve failed the vibe check.
There’s shame in having texture.
Guilt in looking tired.
Panic in waking up with a zit before a first date.
Because we’ve internalized this ridiculous math: glowing skin = emotionally stable person.
It’s not just about how you look.
It’s about how you appear to be functioning.

V. The High of the Glow — and the Crash That Follows
We all know the hit. You try a new product. Your skin glows. You get compliments. You start walking around like the main character in a wellness commercial.
You post a story. People comment. “Omg your skin!!” “Drop the routine!!”
Your brain lights up like a Christmas tree.
That’s not vanity — that’s dopamine.
And you’re not imagining it: studies show that receiving positive feedback on appearance boosts serotonin and oxytocin — the bonding and reward hormones.
So yeah, your toner is emotionally validating you more than your boyfriend ever did.
But here’s the catch: the glow doesn’t last. Skin flares. Life happens. Hormones rebel. Suddenly you’re $340 down and emotionally moisturized but still slightly dead inside.
And that’s when the spiral begins. If clear skin = good person, then acne = emotional failure.
We don’t just want good skin — we need it to prove we’re okay.

VI. Meet the Glow Industrial Complex
Let’s talk about the machine behind the madness.
The skincare industry is expected to hit $204 billion globally by 2025, thanks in no small part to TikTok, Gen Z panic, and hot people whispering about peptides in perfect lighting.
Influencers aren’t just people. They’re walking marketing funnels with god-tier genetics and discount codes. Their routines are expensive. Their lives are curated. And their glow? Often just genetics and a $600 facial they didn’t pay for.
But we watch. We copy. We click.
And the algorithm loves it. It serves us more serums, more glow-ups, more pressure to optimize our entire identity through a seven-step nighttime routine that ends with whispering “I am enough” while patting vitamin C into our cheeks.
We’re not just consumers. We’re content.
And our face? The battleground.

VII. What We’re Really Trying to Fix
Let’s be honest: when we “fix” our skin, we’re often trying to fix something else.
A breakup. A burnout. A bad job. A hollow feeling we can’t quite name.
We might not be able to change our relationships or rewire our brains — but we can buy a serum. We can do something. Anything.
And that feels like progress.
Skincare gives us structure in the chaos. A sense of purpose. A reason to stand in the mirror and try.
But sometimes it becomes another form of control. Another area where we demand perfection. Another place to feel not enough.
We say “glow-up,” but we really mean, “Please don’t leave me. I’ve improved.”

VIII. What If You Don’t Want to Glow?
Here’s a wild idea: what if glow is overrated?
What if showing up with a bare, unfiltered face isn’t a failure — it’s a revolution?
What if we stopped interpreting “radiance” as moral superiority, and started seeing it for what it is — skin. Just skin. Sometimes soft, sometimes dry, sometimes hormonal, sometimes alive in a way no algorithm can quantify.
You don’t owe anyone glow. Not the internet. Not your ex. Not your mirror. Not the world.
And on the days you’re not glowing? Maybe you’re just resting. Or surviving. Or healing. That counts too.

IX. Glow Is Not a Finish Line. It’s a Marketing Term.
Let’s retire glow as a goal. Let’s make it a side effect of peace — not the proof of it.
Let’s let our skin be messy, uneven, honest. Let it show up the way we do — trying our best.
Because real glow doesn’t come from glassy cheeks or twelve-step routines. It comes from being at peace with yourself — breakouts, burnout, and all.
The real glow?
It’s not your face.

It’s the fact that you stayed soft in a world that told you to be polished.