SORRY MOM,
I’m updating the skincare manual you gave me
Camille, 27, Parisian, cool kid rediscovering the basics.
I grew up watching my mom apply the same cream every night, no matter the season, mood, or breakout. It was simple, comforting, and smelled like home. But somewhere between TikTok chaos and my own skin barrier having an existential crisis, I realized: the manual needed an update. Sorry Mom , I still love your glow, but I’m rewriting the rules for mine.
I thought “clean” meant tight skin. It meant my barrier was screaming.
For years, I chased that ultra-clean feeling. That tightness that made me feel like I’d done something right. If it didn’t sting, it wasn’t effective. If it didn’t leave my skin squeaky, it wasn’t clean. Except it was never a glow, it was inflammation. Stripping my skin until it fought back: with redness, flakes, breakouts, and dullness.
What I didn’t know back then: the skin barrier isn’t just a trend , it’s the gatekeeper of everything.
When it’s weakened, nothing works. When it’s strong, your skin doesn’t have to fight anymore. It just breathes.
The 12-step routine gave me anxiety, not answers.
Somewhere along the way, self-care became a checklist : Cleanser, toner, essence, serum, second serum, ampoule, cream, mist, balm, SPF, repeat. At one point I had a serum for moods. No, really.
But my skin? Confused. Inflamed. Tired.
Just like me.
I wasn’t healing. I was overcompensating. Trying to fix a problem I hadn’t even named: lack of understanding. What I’ve learned: simplicity is not laziness, it’s intelligence. Now I stick to what makes sense biologically. A cleanser that respects my skin. A hydrating serum that speaks the same language. A cream that seals it in. Three steps. Twice a day. Consistently. And that’s when I saw results.
I love my mom’s rituals. I just don’t want her skincare logic.
This isn’t a rebellion, it’s an update.
My mom’s routine made sense in the 90s. Skin was something you covered, not studied. You used what your friends used. You stayed loyal to jars with iconic lids. But today? We know more. We deserve better. And honestly, so does she.
We understand our skin is a living, adapting organ. It has a circadian rhythm. It responds to stress, hormones, temperature, even light exposure. We can work with it, not just on top of it. This is the new skincare language. It’s not about glow. It’s about balance. About logic. About long-term love.
I didn’t need a product breakthrough. I needed a mindset shift.
The biggest thing I’ve unlearned? That skincare is reactive.
Most of us only do skincare when something’s wrong. A breakout. A rash. A dull patch that won’t leave. But real skincare, the one that actually transforms your skin, is the kind you do when everything feels fine. When it becomes a habit, not a panic button. When your routine is so intuitive, so aligned with your biology, you stop thinking about your skin. Because it’s just… fine. Calm. Healthy.
That’s what I found with Glowery. Not 10 new steps. Just the right ones. Backed by science. Adapted to young skin. Designed to make me trust my glow again.
The cream wasn’t the point. The gesture was.
There was something quietly beautiful in the way our mothers cared for their skin. One cream, one mirror, one moment. It wasn’t a 10-step routine or a quest for glow , it was a gesture. A way to check in with themselves, without saying a word.
And even if our skin lives in a different world now : faster, more exposed, constantly stimulated, that gesture still holds something I want to keep. I don’t do exactly what she did. I’ve learned to listen to my skin in a new way, to understand what actually helps. But I do it with the same intention. The same care. That same quiet ritual that says, “this moment is mine.”
And if I ever pass something down, I hope it’s not a rule, or a routine, but a feeling: the feeling of being connected to yourself.