Last week, I sat next to a twenty-something woman at an industry dinner and mentioned I was 32. I saw the horror seep into her pupils as they dilated, her mouth drop ever so slightly agape. I recognized this reaction because I’ve shown it myself — back when I was 26, fresh to New York, after connecting with a potential new friend and finding out she was in her thirties. Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Numbers that felt so far-off to me at the time, that seemed to signal something I wanted no part of: serious, adult decisions forced to be made in a serious, adult decade. No, thank you — I’ll stick with my unpredictable, unencumbered twenties where mishaps and mistakes are made with abandon and forgiven as quickly as pressing unsend.
The problem is, when I turned 30, those feelings remained. Perhaps I’d feel differently at 31 and find myself ready for those serious decisions I staved off so desperately. No? Well, definitely by 32 then — I’ve had three whole years to face the facts. But somehow, my denial morphed not into acceptance, but into a hyper-conscious awareness of how society — and strangers at work dinners, and subconsciously, I — view women in their thirties. Sometimes I get the opposite reaction: someone’s eyes will widen not in fear, but in surprise. “Wow, you look amazing for 32!” “You look like you’re in your twenties!” (Who knew three years could mean so much?) Or, a new one, which always feels underhanded, “But your skin looks amazing!”
My skin has always been just okay. Oily in the T-zone with the occasional breakout and perpetual texture issues, my skin is privileged in its okay-ness. Being fortunate enough to test the priciest, buzziest products each day through my job has its perks, but I’d be lying if I said that I took full advantage until now. My skin-care routine in my twenties reflected my life at the time: haphazard, hastily thrown together, inconsistent. It was a means to an end, a necessity at best, and an avenue of constant experimentation.
My skin-care routine in my twenties reflected my life at the time: haphazard, hastily thrown together, inconsistent.
But recently, I’ve found myself taking a different, more intentional approach. I’ve found solace in my skin-care routine not as a means to fight off signs of aging or to stave off my acceptance about my youth slipping away, but solely for what it brings to me in that moment. The jelly cleanser that melts away the stress of the day; the soothing toner that feels like a clean slate; the body oil that calms me and forces me to take a moment for myself. I gravitate towards brands whose values stand for something — with founders whose faces look like mine. The products I put on my face aren’t just a means to an end — they’re just another extension of the complicated, internal journey of finding myself in this new decade. Somehow, having a skin-care routine in my thirties means so much more.
Somehow, having a skin-care routine in my thirties means so much more.
As a result, my skin looks better than ever. And though my feelings are still complicated when people do pay me these “compliments,” I’m learning to put less weight into the opinions of others and the impossible standards society places on women, and focus more on the quiet moments in the evening when it’s just me and my products. Undoing years of societal expectations and my own nuanced feelings towards aging is going to take inner work, and probably a few therapy sessions — but if it can begin with a moisturizer, I’ll gladly start there.
Ahead, the eight skin-care products I count on as a 32-year-old, all at Ulta Beauty.
