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MY EX's SKINCARE

was better than mine

By Maya, 26, not bitter, just barrier-compromised

I wish this was fiction. I really do. But the truth is: my ex had better skincare than I did. And not in a “he used whatever was on sale” way. No — this man had a routine. A shelf. A face mist he actually liked. Meanwhile, I was out here raw-dogging my barrier with over-exfoliants and an identity crisis in a bottle. We broke up over dinner (red flag: he didn’t flinch when I cried in public), but the real heartbreak hit a week later — standing in his bathroom, packing my things, and spotting his cleanser. A minimal white tube. No fragrance. No drama. Just barrier-friendly, pH-balanced peace in a bottle. I left the relationship, but I didn’t leave that bathroom the same.

MY EX's SKINCARE was better than mine

Step One: Grieve, then google

I did what any self-respecting, freshly single girl would do: I stalked his products. Every last one. I found Reddit threads, derm-backed YouTube videos, and an entire world of ingredient lists I couldn’t pronounce but suddenly needed. Ceramides? Occlusives? Pro-collagen jelly textures? Count me in.

What started as revenge-glow motivation turned into a genuine curiosity for my skin’s needs. Not what was trending. Not what promised glass skin in 3 days. Just: “What actually makes my face feel less angry?”

Step Two: Unlearn everything

Turns out, my 12-step routine wasn’t helping. I was exfoliating like it was a sport. I had three different spot treatments and no moisturizer I trulytrusted. Meanwhile, my ex — that dewy bastard — used 3 products. Total. A gentle cleanser. A barrier cream. And SPF.

So I did it. I stopped buying things that looked cute and started choosing what felt right. I scaled back, listened to my skin, and shocker: it stopped screaming at me.

The plot twist Glow-Up

Now, a few months post-breakup, my skin is the best it’s ever been. It’s not flawless — but it’s calm, resilient, and mine. I found my non-strippingjelly cleanser. My daily cream that actually locks in hydration without clogging anything. And yes, I even mist now (but mine smells like citrus and has a name that ends in “dew”).

No contact. Just clear skin.

If you’re wondering: no, we don’t talk. But if he ever sees me again, I hope it’s in golden hour light, with my glow bouncing off my cheekbones andthe soft scent of a barrier cream he’ll never get to try.

I may have lost the boy — but I gained the skin.