WHEN LAST NIGHT
shows
Leila, 22, communications student, lover of oat lattes
Some nights deserve a standing ovation. The music, the drinks, the bad decisions that felt like the best decisions… until the morning after shows up uninvited. Hangovers don’t just live in your head. They crawl onto your face, settle into your pores, and leave your glow on read. Here’s how I fake being alive when my skin is screaming louder than my headache.

The wake-up call
Damn. That’s the only word that leaves my mouth when I open my eyes. My phone says 10:07, my brain says “never again,” and my skin? Let’s just say it’s dry, tight, and somehow shiny in all the wrong places. I drag myself to the bathroom and the mirror does not hold back — raccoon eyes, blotchy cheeks, a glow that clearly didn’t survive the tequila. It’s like my face RSVP’d to the after-party and forgot to come home.
The desperate fixes
I always start with water, gallons of it. Coffee comes next, but water is the real MVP. Then it’s me splashing cold water on my face like I’m in a movie montage, except it doesn’t look that cute — mascara smears down my cheek, my hair’s a crime scene. Sometimes I try a sheet mask if I can find one at the bottom of my drawer, but usually it just makes me look like a ghost who partied too hard.
The quiet hero
The only thing that’s ever convinced me I didn’t actually commit skincare crimes the night before is this one cream I keep reaching for. I don’t know how to explain it except it feels like it’s stitching my skin back together. Ceramides, hyaluronic acid, all the science stuff aside — what I see in the mirror is that my dull skin suddenly looks like it’s had eight hours of beauty sleep. My personal trick? I keep it in the fridge, so when I put it on, it’s cold, soothing, and instantly forgiving. Honestly, it feels like hitting “undo” on my face.
The finishing touches
After that, I swipe on a bold lip, throw on sunglasses the size of my insecurities, and nobody suspects a thing. People assume I’m glowing because I’m well rested. Little do they know I was eating fries on the floor of my kitchen six hours ago. Damn, if only they could see the before version.
The moral of the story
Here’s what I’ve learned: hangovers don’t have to come with shame. Hydrate, laugh at yourself, find the product that saves your skin’s life, and keep moving. Because honestly, life is too short to let a night out ruin the next day. And if anyone asks? I woke up like this.