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[post_date] => 2025-01-01 11:27:00
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How skincare has, and hasn't, changed across generations of women.
I have a distinct memory from when I was a young girl, of my nani, my maternal grandmother, opening her Ponds cold cream, with its white base and light green lid, and tapping it onto her face.
I’m still a child, maybe 10 or 11, and when she finishes, she offers the jar of cold cream to me, insisting I also start putting it on regularly to take care of my skin. As I scoop up some of the cream and begin applying it, my nani watches my technique intently, correcting me wherever she thinks I'm not being gentle enough. “Never rub your face,” she tells me. “It’ll make your skin sag and give you wrinkles.”
For as long as I can remember, I have associated my nani with that Ponds cold cream. It really was, and still is, such a key part of her everyday life. She still has jars of it in her bedroom and her bathroom so that it’s always on hand, and brings it with her whenever she leaves home. Yet despite her obvious brand loyalty, my nani’s routine has always been more about process than product. At a time when women were asked to be invisible, to put everyone before themselves, those five minutes spent meticulously applying her face cream each night were an almost rebellious act of self care.
Skincare in Pakistan, and perhaps across the world, has changed significantly since my nani’s days, and I’ll admit even I’ve given in to the hype, buying at least a couple of products with fancy ingredients on the label like “hyaluronic acid” and “AHAs.” But unlike my nani, I’ve always been far less meticulous with my skincare routine. Perhaps it's because these trends are still quite new to me, or maybe the routines themselves have become too complicated. But perhaps more than either, it’s because these products are only selling me an idea of self care, rather than actually fostering a habit of it.
Growing up, aside from what I learned from my nani, the concept of skincare was taught to me very differently. In fact, it wouldn’t be remiss to say that in South Asia, the importance of skincare starts from the womb. I remember, starting from when I was a child, the pregnant women around me were told to eat “white” foods during pregnancy so that their baby would have fair skin. Anything dark—coffee, chocolate—was to be avoided, out of fear that it would cause their baby to have a darker complexion. Despite these myths being completely debunked, they still form a critical part of skincare motivations for older South Asians today, and pregnant people often still receive the same advice.
It’s no secret that whitening has long been a major motivation behind skincare within many Asian cultures and amongst countless other cultures around the world. Despite global trends to push “fairness” out of advertising lingo, the underlying beliefs and colorism still persist, along with the dangerous ways people choose to realize them. This has been true for centuries: Some Renaissance era women would even wear leeches behind their ears to suck out their blood and leave them looking paler, which was considered more beautiful. As recently as the mid to late 20th century, many brides in South Asia would utilize a similar technique in anticipation of their weddings—again, to appear paler and “more beautiful.” Dr. Christine Hall, a GP and Aesthetics Doctor at London’s Taktouk Clinic, says that similar beliefs have long existed in Korean culture, too. “There is an age-old belief which suggested that darker skin tones mean that you worked the land, and so this was correlated to a poorer societal class,” she says. “As a result, most South Koreans did and still do prefer to avoid the sun and tanning—but the focus is on anti-aging, and not so much skin lightening or bleaching.”
As Dr. Hall notes, while some skincare practices have remained consistent across generations, it is the motivations and drivers behind those routines that have continued to shift. In a more extreme example, a recent T: The New York Times Style Magazine article reported that people are still using leeches for beauty treatments today—not for the sake of becoming paler, however, but “in an effort to refresh the skin and reduce wrinkles.”
It makes sense that as beauty standards have continued to evolve, our motivations for partaking in skincare would evolve with them. But, Dr. Hall argues, this isn’t necessarily always because women are trying to chase an ever-changing standard of beauty. After all, we live in a time where women are perceived very differently from the world my nani grew up in; and some of these shifts can also come from letting go of the societal pressures that demand women to conform to them in the first place. “Sometimes, the ideology of having perfect skin and being beautiful goes too far,” Dr. Hall explains, citing the extreme pressure many South Koreans, especially women, feel to maintain their looks. “This has resulted in a movement called ‘escape the corset’ where women are cutting their hair short and throwing away their makeup and refusing to conform to these unrealistic expectations.”
In some ways, the motivation behind the “escape the corset” movement—driven by self-empowerment and a woman’s right to look however she’d like—almost feels closer to my nani’s relationship to skincare than most of what’s sold to us today. One major reason for this, of course, is the overwhelming and unnecessary economy of choice fueled by capitalism, which depends on continuously moving the bar for “beauty” in order to keep us buying more new products. Beauty is now a multi-billion dollar industry, largely funded by women, and it’s only growing each year. This is also partially why, compared to previous generations, there’s been a global shift from more natural skincare—including a reliance on homemade DIY products—to lab-formulated, fancy-sounding multiple-step routines that can only be purchased in a store, and at a cost. “In Greece where I’m originally from, older generations always used natural remedies for many years,” shares Fani Mari, a freelance beauty journalist and content creator. Despite not being a fan of DIY skincare herself, she still incorporates some of these remedies into her skincare routine because they’re simple and effective—and connect her to her culture and the elders who passed it down to her.
For many young women, a similar influence has guided them through their own skincare evolutions, as well. Haniya Shariq Khan, a young college student in Lahore, remembers her own skincare journey with her nani very fondly. While her nani passed away five years ago, Khan shares that she and her mother still follow the same skincare regimen she taught them to this day.
As the wife of a landlord, living in a rural area, Khan’s grandmother endured grueling days of work for most of her life, and skincare was her reprieve. “She was expected to do certain chores, such as making lassi by hand, an incredibly rigorous activity, but she realized quickly that the leftover butter made for a really nourishing moisturizer,” Khan shares. As time went on, and her grandparents' financial situation improved, she continued to indulge in her skin, eventually buying new creams, including some from as far as London.
“I think honestly she was just very into beauty,” Khan says. “Growing up so poor, she had no shoes to wear if she outgrew them… [But] even as a little girl living in the tenements, she used to be crazy about fashion, about the latest hairstyles, and always had her own kohl and mirror from the age of about nine. So this was a hang up from her very deprived childhood: She was keeping her inner child happy by indulging in all these things.”
This relationship to skincare felt similar to my own nani’s relationship to it, even if it took a slightly different shape: So much of the motivation behind skincare for our ancestors was a way of indulgence and self care. While on surface level, this might seem shallow, or largely motivated by societal pressures, these individual experiences show a far deeper sense of well-being, and even treating one’s self, in a time where, for most women, this was largely inaccessible.
Based on most beauty ads today, it may seem like “self care” is still the main driver behind the skincare industry. But the onslaught of consumerism, and the increasing pressure to buy more and more, has turned it more sinister. As a culture, we’ve turned skincare into a necessity. Combined with the pandemic’s impact on our mental health, the pervasiveness and pressures of social media, and an overflow of information in the digital age, skincare has also become a compulsion. Children as young as 10 are now buying into the pressure of using anti-aging products. Capitalism has meant that the move away from the pressure to wear makeup hasn’t necessarily freed us from caring about our appearance. It’s only made skincare our new cult-like obsession, and makes me question whether we’ve learned anything at all.
The way we begin to counter this is by discerning and deciding for ourselves what feels right, not what we’re told will make us feel beautiful by a slew of constantly changing trends and ads that insist we have to buy absolutely everything. It’s by returning to why our grandmothers washed their faces, and reconnecting to skincare as an actual vehicle of self care. This is easier said than done, but some beauty enthusiasts are trying—and in the process, building a new legacy that seeks to find the balance in all of it.
Meraj Fatima, the founder of Her Beauty, a Pakistan-based skincare brand that launched last year, says her brand was inspired by her own skincare journey, and unlearning the skincare traditions of past generations that didn’t work for her. But in the process of creating it, something surprising happened: Her mother and grandmother were willing to go on this renewed skincare journey with her.
Fatima, who had Rosacea growing up, says her skin condition meant she had to figure out what worked for her and what didn’t amongst the various natural “totkas” (home remedies) her mother and grandmother had passed down to her. “One thing that differentiates me from my mom is my mom used natural agents to do skincare, like using lemon, which is terrible for your skin, or malai, which could soften your skin, but my kind of skin will react to it,” she shares. Today, her mother and grandmother are open to trying the products she recommends instead, and are some of Her Beauty’s regular customers.
Still, Fatima wants to be mindful of not eschewing old remedies or products just because something newer and supposedly “better” might be available. She always tells potential customers to start with what they have at home first, and not buy products unnecessarily—even if they’re her own. “I’ve seen my teenage cousins who feel pressured to use so many products without reason. And I have a daughter, too, now, so I keep thinking about what I want to pass down to her,” she says.
The work for younger generations of women, then, is one of both learning and unlearning: Seeing skincare as more than just a trend, but instead, as a practice. Or perhaps as a ritual for the self, or an act of rebellion, like it was for our nanis. Perhaps, then, rather than buying something new, we need to step back, and realize the Ponds already in our cabinet is already enough.
[post_title] => Why Our Grandmothers Washed Their Faces
[post_excerpt] => How skincare has, and hasn't, changed across generations of women.
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[post_modified] => 2024-12-20 23:28:37
[post_modified_gmt] => 2024-12-20 23:28:37
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Kashmiri children walking home from school in winter.[/caption]
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