Author’s note:
This post does not discuss sunscreen. That does not mean I don’t endorse daily use of SPF. It’s just not the focus of the piece.
Plus, I grew up in the 80s and 90s, so #babyoil
Give a “totally” if you’ve heard of the following:
Oil of Olay
Jean Nate (Nah-te, IYK, Nate if you’re under 38)
Skin so Soft
Ponds Cold Cream
Revlon “Cherries in the Snow”
St Ives Apricot Scrub
Seabreeze (ouch. #iykyk)
Lubriderm
Dove bar soap
Noxzema
Every generation has the staple skincare products they watched their moms, grandmas, favorite celebrity, or older sibling use. Never mind that I’m aging myself, the final item from the above list was my first facial cleanser. I’d stand, (on a chair), next to my mom, in front of the bathroom sink, and mimic her moves – smearing Noxzema all over my seven or eight year old face.
It may have burned. I told myself it was working.
After gently wiping and rinsing the thick layer of cold white cream, (I can still feel it on my fingers), I’d follow up with one of two lotions – Oil of Olay or the Lubriderm pump that forever stood vigil against the vanity’s wall.
Eventually, I moved on to Dove soap, still followed by Lubriderm. I did not have my own funds and used whatever products my mom purchased for the house. (She had a sneaky stash of higher end products, such as Elizabeth Arden and Lancome, but they remained hidden from my greedy little hands.) Once in a while, I’d swipe a SeaBreeze pad across my forehead, against the hairline. Again, it was the late 80s. There was hairspray involved.
In my twenties, I graduated to lines like Mario Badescu, Perscriptives, and Clinique. I scoured the skincare section of magazines, learning all I could about which ingredients were best suited for my young, albeit now slightly dry, face.
I never missed a night of face cleansing and moisturizing, (except while I was in college, but that’s a whole other book that will never be written.)
The moisturizing also included my body. I loved choosing a soothing or invigorating scented lotion a nd slathering it on my legs and arms after a shower. I still do.
It was the ritual of it. The first element of self care I came to know. First it was about emulating my mom, then about becoming a teenager and experimenting with different looks and products, then about how to keep my skin looking the way it did when people would comment,
“You have great skin. What do you use?”
The answer has always been pretty much everything. Since I was used to – and loved – the ritual, I welcomed exfoliants, serums, face masks, and toners. The additional “steps” everyone fusses about were more ways I could feel pretty, pampered, clean – and just plain good.
Now, in my forties and wishing one application of cold cream could erase the years of when tanning was cool, smoking was social, eyebrows were plucked thin, and hair was frosted, these steps are not only considered self care, they are necessary. More self preservation than self indulgent. And on top of the five to seven steps I take to appear more youthful, I’m also not above a visit to a medi spa, something I’m pretty sure my mother would have snuck off to, had certain treatments and funds been available to her in 1988.
Makes me wonder what seven and eight year olds of today, including my daughter, will write about in future blog posts describing us.
Speaking of my daughter, I reclaim the joy of skincare when she now stands next to me and asks to “do the steps together” – to “wash the day off” as we sometimes call it. She holds still and squeezes her eyes shut while I spritz a rosewater toner in the air toward her little face. Then she asks me for a bit of cream, which of course, I allow. 
(I also allow this.)
And before everyone gets all twisted about what kind message I’m sending her – it’s not about fighting wrinkles at the ripe old age of eight. It’s simply about how to take care of yourself by washing your face at night. It’s about participating in whatever it is that makes you feel good, creating a ritual together, forming good habits.
(So relax. Your face can freeze that way if you keep frowning like that.)
Maybe one day she’ll come across a sheet mask and giggle, thinking about how we would walk around the house looking like Hannibal Lector and his demon child, frightening her brother and father. (See above) Maybe if she’s upset, she’ll smell rosewater, think of me, and feel safe.
Every time I see Oil of Olay and Jean Nate, I hear my grandmother’s voice. And while Cherries in the Snow is not a skincare product – it’s a lipstick color I’ve never quite mastered and never should have tried – I will never forget when my mom dabbed it on my lips. I felt so glamorous, like Evita, center stage. 
No matter what you think about the message here, there’s beauty in the nostalgia, literally. And when you look at skin care as something that allows us to treasure and honor, rather than preserve, the beautiful faces and bodies we were given, it’s hard to argue against it.
I’ll end with one of my favorite 90’s movie character quotes, ever:
“Take care of you.”
If you guessed that line without Google, comment below.
