A few thoughts on skincare, motherhood, aging, and whatever’s happening to my forehead lately. Spoiler alert: You are whole, happy and freaking gorgeous.
I’m 44. Those three lines above my eyebrow and totally-notox-moving forehead are starting to plague my thoughts.
Turns out aging isn’t the hard part — it’s trying to look immune to it while doing it.
The vibe: Wait, did I miss the group chat about microneedling?
We say we love women who don’t give a f*ck. But actually living that truth? Rare.
We reward it, we envy it — and we all chase that illusion of effortlessness in our own way.
I want that glow that tells the world I’m doing something right. Like motherhood isn’t aging me… it’s unveiling my true glow. Like when we were pregnant and barfing and someone told us we looked radiant. That kind of delusion.
But let’s be real — sometimes the desire to "glow" is less about vanity and more about clinging to self-esteem. A sign that we’re still here. Visible. Relevant. Still ourselves.
Our old, younger selves.
Even after birthing a human or a few - and keeping them alive and happy 24/7.
Here’s what I’ve been thinking about…
...pic: summer skin in full mode, too tan, red patchy flare-up, freckles, lines, dry, but this is just my face.
Skincare / Motherhood
This morning, I’m sitting in mismatched pajamas. My face is bright red because I’ve been exfoliating a little too aggressively — you know the feeling. I also keep layering on this new retinol cream that might be working or might just be frying my skin.
There’s a cat curled up in my lap, and I’m checking the clock every three minutes because I need to pick up my daughter from preschool. Ideally, after squeezing in a Peloton ride — the only thing lately that makes me feel professionally accomplished. Even though I’m technically still running a creative business from home. Technically.
Aside from wondering if the slight nausea in my stomach is just in my head — or the start of that norovirus everyone at school just had — there’s one other, much less urgent thing on my mind this morning:
My face.
Not in a dramatic way. Just this low-level hum. A quiet, persistent awareness that this is the version of me most people see — on Zoom, at school drop-off, at dance class, in passing.
My face is the front door now. It goes first.
And lately, I’ve been wondering:
When did skincare become one more way to fall behind — like I missed the chat where everyone got the memo but me?
Because let’s be honest — none of us have the time. None of us have the bandwidth. But somehow, we’re expected to exfoliate, red-light, dermaplane, micro-needle, Botox, and vitamin-C-serum our way back to 27. And not for fun — for maintenance. For normal. For “you look great!” at the PTA meeting.
And it’s not just about looking young. It’s about staying visible. Looking relevant. Appearing rested. Presentable. Well. Even when we’re deeply, profoundly tired.
And here’s the thing — the people we’re trying to keep up with? They’re not even our peers. They’re either celebrities with medical-grade everything, or they’re 22-year-old influencers who haven’t even started aging yet. Meanwhile, we’re in our 40s raising kids. And somehow skincare became part of the parenting performance. Like if our foreheads are frozen and our skin is glowing, we’re doing it “right.”
We Grew Up With Faces. Now We’re Trying to Outrun Them.
We grew up with Jennifer Aniston and Gwyneth. And thank GAWD they seem to be embracing the aging generally gracefully memo:
Self esteem, natural beauty, aging well, loving laugh lines and kincare and motherhood, but make it real and easy.
More recently, we've watched Alicia Keys go bare-faced on purpose and Pamela Anderson show up makeup-free ... everywhere. A woman literally plagued by the "fake fake fake" persona is now the posterchild for authenticity and naked skin. (She's one of my fave long-time vegans, btw, so the natural shift doesn't actually surprise me. You watched her Netflix documentary. yes?) We saw Bethenny Frankel turn her bathroom into a skincare and makeup content studio and Britney get made fun of for dancing around in her PJs with messy hair and week-old eyeliner.
We’ve been watching women manage their faces in public for decades — and now, those same women are shaping the blueprint for what “aging gracefully” supposedly looks like.
But we’re not celebrities. Our lives don’t play out on jumbo screens with movie theater lenses. We don’t have our derms on speed dial. We don’t have $2,000 a month to spend on maintenance — or if we do, we’re probably putting it toward kindergarten tuition or a family trip to Disneyland.
And that's how it should be. So why do I still feel like I'm falling behind?
We Used to Obsess Over Our Bodies. Now It’s Our Faces.
In the ’90s and early 2000s, it was all about the body. Aerobics. SlimFast. Ab Blasters. Low-rise jeans. We were constantly thinking about our thighs. Our abs. Hip bones. Our reflection in the full-length mirror. That was the era of body pressure — because that’s how we were being photographed. Full body. Full frame.
Now? Now the camera is in our face.
We Zoom. Then we FaceTime. We selfie. And record voice memos. We show up on Instagram Stories before we even brush our teeth. And when we see our filtered faces every single day — and compare them to real life — it’s easy to start wondering:
Should I be doing more in real life to match how I look online?
And if I’m not doing more… am I falling behind? When did skincare and motherhood become a status symbol tie-in?
In LA, It’s Literally on Every Corner.
I live in Los Angeles. Which means I walk past a Botox studio, a laser lounge, and a skincare “gym” every time I run errands. You could fill your entire lunch break with red light, microcurrent, lymphatic drainage, and Botox — all before preschool pickup. Somehow motherhood and skincare become lunchtime hobbies.
It’s in your face. Literally. Which means skincare isn’t just a private ritual anymore. It’s a public conversation. A social cue. A lifestyle flex. And if you’re not playing the game — or at least opting out with intention — you’re still thinking about it.
Even in my own family, I feel the contrast. My older sister has sworn off all of it. No Botox, no lasers, not even fancy face wash. Meanwhile, I have a shelf of products in my bathroom that could double as a mini Sephora. I love skincare. A lot. I rub a solar wand on my cheekbones like it’s a sacred ritual. I still Google lasers and scroll TikToks about collagen and hormones and the one supplement I might be missing.
But I also know this: When skincare starts to feel like a scoreboard — or a requirement to be lovable, visible, or “well” — that’s when it stops being empowering. And starts becoming one more standard dressed up in self-care packaging. When motherhood and skincare vibe together, it starts to feel weird.
So No, I’m Not Sharing My Retinol.
No product link roundup today.
This isn’t that kind of article. And I’m not that kind of writer. (Well, today.)
If you want product recs, go to Vogue. Cosmo. Sephora. Your favorite influencer’s bathroom shelf.
But if you want to know what’s actually beautiful?
It’s this:
TODAY'S BEAUTY MANTRA
You are whole, happy and freaking gorgeous.
Beauty I actually hold super close to my heart...
The way you laugh with your kid.
How you chop fruit and make rainbow smoothies.
The way you hug someone like you mean it.
The hilarious story you tell about that time you messed up.
Your pop culture rants.
Netflix and podcast recs for me specifically.
Random meme you send or text out of the blue.
The way your face lights up when you’re doing something that matters.
When you show up — tired or glowing or somewhere in between.
If no one’s told you lately: You’re beautiful.
Even if you’re not doing lasers.
Microneedling.
Or botoxing galore.
You are whole, happy and freaking gorgeous.
Red face, pajama pants, cat on your lap — and all.
More motherhood and skincare rants, always coming your way..
