As consumers of skin care, we are easily bought. I know because I used to work in advertising.
Our job was to pull at your underbelly, tug at your insecurities and where you thought you had none, we planted one.
So now, your teeth aren’t white enough. Those age spots need to go. Those pesky lines around your mouth need smoothing. Your eyebrows have lost their arch. Your eyes have lost their sparkle.
We are seduced, by a soft pianist, suggestive lighting, flowers, and wise women in black and white. All glowing with a knowledge and know-how we mere mortals could only aspire to.
Department store beauty has never been sharper, crisper, or more seductive. We are hypnotised by beauty and all its forms and become putty in the hands of the best.
Has it ever occurred to you that we should all be completely wrinkle free by now? If all the claims that have been made over the last 20 years were true, that our brows would be smooth as babies’ bottoms?
But the beauty business is a clever beast. It just keeps moving the Holy Grail goal posts. And thus we are led by our credit cards to the next shiny jar, the next patent pending promise.
We get home. Unpack the new shiny things (let’s get real – there is ALWAYS more than one jar), throw away the cellophane and boxes and all their tiny, undecipherable print, peer into the mirror, and lather away.
Looking for discernible signs of spring.
And weeks later, when they don’t come, we tell ourselves it’s our fault. May be it’s just me. My skin is different. Or it’s the fault of my genes. I need sleep. Better food. Less stress.
Yet again, the half empty jar finds itself in a draw, pushed to the back, nudging another. We are hungry again and get sucked back in to the never-ending race. For the next patent pending promise, the next hope in a jar.
The next creamy pink fix.