POST-APEROL GLOW ?
More like pre-breakout flush
By Lila — 25, spritz lover & self-proclaimed glow chaser
There’s this magical moment halfway through your terrace apéro when you swear you’ve never looked better. Cheeks flushed just right, lips glossy, skin dewy without even trying — and the golden hour lighting? Totally on your side. Someone drops a “Your skin is glowing!” and you buy it. But here’s the tea: that’s not glow. That’s your body sending out a flare — alcohol-induced vasodilation, dehydration, and heat working overtime. You’re not radiant. You’re reactive. And your skin will make sure you know it… by morning.
The illusion of the spritz glow
Alcohol dilates blood vessels. It makes your face flush, your skin feel warmer, and your pores look smaller — temporarily. Add a little golden hour lighting and it’s giving “fresh summer skin.”
But underneath? It’s a storm.
The sugar in cocktails spikes inflammation. The alcohol itself dehydrates you. And if you’ve been in the sun, laughing, sweating, reapplying makeup… you’ve got the perfect mix for barrier drama.
What I didn’t do (and really should have)
I came home tipsy and lazy. No double cleanse. No soothing layer. Just a quick splash of water and bed.
By morning: dull skin, tightness, and two mysterious bumps on my chin. One under-eye felt puffy. My glow? Gone.
So I did what I always do in this situation: I overcorrected. Clay mask. Ice cube. Panic.
Wrong moves.
What actually helped (and now lives in my “after-apéro” kit)
I started with a proper reset — no foam, no oil, just a jelly cleanser that does the job without picking a fight. It rinses off clean, doesn’t leave my skin squeaky, and never asks too much from it.
After that, I kept it simple: a fine mist (mainly for comfort), then a lightweight fluid to bring hydration back where it was clearly missing.
And finally, a soothing cream — the kind that’s made to support your barrier, not fight your breakouts.
No exfoliants. No perfume. No overnight miracle claims.
Just calm, cool, steady steps — and by morning, my skin wasn’t glowing, but it had stopped panicking. And that, honestly, was the goal.
The glow I actually want? The one that lasts.
Now, when I catch myself mid-Aperol thinking “omg, I’m glowing”, I smile — and drink a glass of water.
Because glow from alcohol isn’t glow. It’s inflammation in a cute outfit.
And honestly? I’d rather have fewer compliments at 10PM than a full-blown breakout by brunch.