The fine lines of beauty
Lindy Woodhead nominates her dream creams It’s just as well that 50 is the new 40. In the West we live and work in such an ageist, youth-obsessed society that panic seems to set in at the first sight of a wrinkle. Given that the government has now decreed that women can’t retire until they’re 65, presumably it won’t be long before we are issued with a diktat about skincare. We may have to work until we’re old, but we can’t afford to look it. Rather like ‘five a day’ for fruit and vegetables, it shouldn’t be too long before the nanny state takes to telling us what we already know — that the ‘six a day’ golden rules for glowing skin are: cleanse, exfoliate, moisturise, drink lots of water, stay out of the sun and don’t smoke.
It could be argued that such a straightforward beauty routine — like a healthy diet — is common sense. But nothing is ever that simple. Most dermatologists argue that good skin is, in part at least, down to your genetic inheritance. The rest is in your hands and, to a large extent these days, your wallet, particularly in respect of new formulas for exfoliating and moisturising — not to mention the latest weapon in the arsenal of anti-ageing products, fillers. The beauty industry bombards and entices us skilfully labelled, beautifully packaged creams to be used 24/7. It used to be that you only had to remove your make-up before you went to bed. Now there’s an array of night creams and applicators that are designed to work wonders while you sleep. No wonder today’s dressing-tables look like a batterie de cuisine — and since fresh face-cream aficionados know the best place to store them is in the fridge, the bedroom is definitely the new kitchen.
So it’s hardly surprising that the fastestgrowing sector of the beauty business is the quasi-medical science cleverly called ‘cosmeceuticals’, now said to be worth over $15 billion a year. Makeup has always provided essential retail therapy in times of depression — whether economic or emotional. When times are hard lipstick sales escalate, and it’s a safe bet that these addictive creams will also beat any market downturn. Savvy shoppers who probably eschewed science at school chatter away effortlessly about dehydration, enzymes, intercellular ‘glue’ and ingredients such as AHAs, antioxidants, ceramides and retinol (Vitamin A to the uninitiated). They weigh up the benefits of an exfoliating face cream versus clinical dermabrasion and Botox, and wouldn’t venture out without wearing total sun-block. None of this comes cheap. There are inexpensive creams on the market — confusingly, the prices for ‘rehydrating, anti-wrinkle’ formulas range from around £5.99 to an astonishing £350. Such is the allure of cosmetics and the psychological penetration of ‘status price points’ that most consumers truly believe that if it costs more, it must be better. So are they really worth it and do they really work? I can’t answer that, but in all honesty I would rather get my dreams out of creams than resort to surgery. There’s something scary about moon-faced women with no laughter lines. I draw the line at products containing caviar and diamonds — frankly I’d rather eat it or wear them — but admit to a weakness for Clarins and Clinique and I’m never without Arden’s Eight-Hour Cream. And with global sales sky-rocketing (there’s even a range called ‘Rocket Science’), it seems that most of us are hooked one way or the other.
Anti-ageing being the Holy Grail of the beauty business, the quest for taut skin is nothing new. Ancient Egyptians who bathed in alum mixed with mud from the Nile knew their stuff. Alum is an astringent which sets up a mild inflammation, causing swelling and tightening, so the benefits of the post-mud bath would be a smoother skin. The Greek physician Galen, attached to the Roman Court of Marcus Aurelius in AD 160, invented the first moisturiser when he blended olive oil with beeswax and added rose water. The finished cream had a cooling effect on the skin and was a lot more appealing than the recipes used by earlier Roman beauties, whose favoured anti-wrinkle recipe was based on crocodile excrement.
Times and trends have moved on, but wrinkles are always with us. I’ve been targeting Dior’s new filler with ‘precision pen’ towards a crevice on my forehead — ignoring the caustic remarks from my cynical husband that ‘surely something that size needs polyfilla’. Joking apart, there is a comfort zone attached to buying into such seductive luxury. We’re happy to believe that the science will work; after all, if you believe in something enough, doesn’t it always happen?
Lindy Woodhead’s book War Paint: Miss Elizabeth Arden and Madame Helena Rubinstein — Their Lives, Their Times, Their Rivalry is published by Virago at £9.99.
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