I'm one of those who was dealt the worse cards during the puberty round in the game of life; acne ravaged my face and back, along with my self-image. Still, there was hope in 11-year-old me; we all outgrow it, right? Fast forward to age 22, and nothing much had changed. I was battling the tiny eruptions of infected lava on my face, but the scars were a constant reminder that perhaps, I'd never win this fight. I was easy prey for the beauty industry; the admonishments to keep my face clean; to go for products designed specifically for acne; that I had to spend ever more on “better” products and brands if things didn't work. Oxy gave way to Neutrogena; that got replaced by Kiehl's, then Dermalogica; everything in between came through my cityscape of product bottles as I tried in vain to get my skin to behave. Through all this, depression and anxiety came to visit; we all know how wonderful such stress is for those with skin problems. Yet, in the lulls that I fell into, where I'd sometimes find myself in bed for days, face unwashed, I noticed that my skin was much calmer, and didn't break out as usual. I'd feel better, start functioning again, resume a cleansing regimen, and see my skin acting up again — it was like I was being punished for picking myself up. Just over a year back, I came to the epiphany that my skin needed a break; a long hiatus from the barrage of oil-stripping, bacteria-killing, scar-healing promises that never panned out. So I stopped — my face only received a bath of water, thrice daily on average, using just my clean hands. I did this for a week and expected mayhem; that didn't happen, though. It was likely the best time my post-puberty skin has had; with no more annoying substances fucking up the balance of its microbiome, calm ensued. No more dry, stretched and flaking skin sitting underneath a slimy later of oxidised sebum; acne was way less severe, healed faster, and wasn't all over my mug. Of course, oiliness prevailed, though even that was more bearable. Somehow, my face didn't feel gummy or horribly sticky like before; it felt like I had practiced witchcraft to have this work. Eventually, the condition of my skin had gotten to a point where I was so eager keep it this way. However, water alone would be impractical for days where work left me dirty, dust-caked and sweaty; I also noticed that being in heavily air-conditioned places dried me out easily. I revisited the practice of oil cleansing; looking back at past skincare regimens, I recalled that only one particular range sort of worked—the ES range from Labo Labo. It was specified for extra-sensitive skin and calmed much of the inflammation I suffered. Alas, they had discontinued it, and similar products from the same brand were a washout—what great luck. While poking about in a Muji store, I found myself in front of a display for their Sensitive Skincare range; I picked up bottles and scrutinised the ingredient list, and noticed the ommission of many ingredients that were found in their other product ranges — like parabens, among others. So I took the plunge and grabbed a bottle each of Oil Cleansing, and Light Toning Water – High Moisture; no soap or foaming cleanser, for I was determined not to reintroduce a practice that didn't work for years. It has been going well; plenty of friends have remarked about how great I look — that my skin is so much better, and what the hell am I doing differently. I've told some of them, and most expressed surprise or veiled scepticism — which is expected due to decades of being drilled about the need for products to take care of ourselves. One of the moments that really pushed me to go ahead with this extreme downsizing of my regimen was from seeing, in Sebastian Salgado's sublime Genesis exhibition, the near-flawless complexions on a group of native tribespeople who lived in the Amazon rainforest. Clearly they do not use any soap or bottles of products; I read up about how they swam in rivers and lakes and cleaned themselves with just freshwater. Somehow, the microbiome on their bodies was so balanced that issues that plague us have not befallen them. That was back in 2014; since then, I had flirted with the idea of going cold turkey a few times but never lasted longer than a couple of days. So if you've been fighting adult acne like I have—even at age 36 this year, so "growing out of it" is a foregone notion—do consider just giving your largest organ a break. Let it be, even if just for a couple of days, and see if it can sort itself out. After all, we weren't born with a need for a counterful of lotions, creams and gels, so maybe the act of taking care of our skin might just be the right habit to break.
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jacobvanloon
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