When I entered the world of skincare, everything was three steps. I was an oily teenager and got my hands on Clean & Clear. There was a cleanser, astringent toner and an oil-free moisturiser. My acne got worse, and so I upgraded to Proactiv Solution (a traumatic triple dose of Benzyl Peroxide, precisely as excruciating as you’d imagine). Meanwhile, my Mum’s three steps were from Clinique, also a cleanse-tone-and-moisturise situation, but formulated for her dry skin. I remember the yellow cake soap in our shower. These rituals were my indoctrination; the start of an enduring obsession with curating a skincare routine. The promise of what it could do for me – both my face and my self-esteem – was impossible to resist.

Serum was more of an optional extra at the time (this was the early 2010s). And it was a prestigious step. We had Estee Lauder Advanced Night Repair – launched in the eighties and actually pioneered the serum category as we know it today. But I don’t remember much else. Maybe SkinCeuticals CE Ferulic, or Lancôme Advanced Génifique? Skincare routines were pretty simple, maybe a scrub (typically made from pulverised almonds) or a peel-off mask – I especially loved those. Sunscreen was hardly spoken about in the context of beauty. In-clinic procedures were shrouded in secrecy. Botox was kind of extreme and mostly reserved for celebrities. Luxury brands were less into science and more into storytelling. No one knew what was in skincare, or at least, no one was really talking about it.

I remember when Glossier launched in 2014. A few years later, it was called out in a profile piece on Emily Weiss for The Cut that Glossier didn’t share details of its formulations, because the belief was that customers didn’t care, as long as they were happy with the results.

Skincare today is an estimated 115.65 billion dollar industry*. Its worth has been on an upwards trajectory for years, but this was undoubtedly accelerated by the pandemic. Suddenly, we were house-bound, anxious, a little bored and, in some cases, had more money to spend on exfoliants and sheet masks. TikTok, or more specifically ‘SkinTok’, proliferated, and every scroll exposed us to dermatologist advice, GRWMs and 12-step K-beauty routines. I became obsessed with devices: LED masks, steamers, microcurrent tools that zapped my muscles into sculpted submission. I wanted it all. We experienced the phenomenon of maskne for the first time, all while being forced to stare at ourselves for hours on Zoom. Restaurants and parties were out. DIY facials and everything showers were in. Skincare as an industry exploded, but so did the amount of research and intelligence – skintelligence – to decode it.

Skintelligence as a concept is about understanding the nuanced and sometimes convoluted world of topical skincare. It’s about understanding ingredients and their various functions; knowing your Alpha- from your Beta-Hydroxy Acids, and that Retinol is a sub-category of the Retinoid family, and it takes two conversions within the skin to become Retinoic Acid (the prescription kind, however, takes zero). It’s realising that Hyaluronic is a humectant but Squalane is an emollient, and that a formulation can only be as effective as its delivery system. It’s separating your Peptides from your Exosomes. It’s realising that the buzzy toner you bought at Mecca is also a chemical exfoliant, or your new face cream is actually packed with Vitamin C, so you probably shouldn’t use it at night. It’s knowing what to use and when to use it. If you’re confused by it all, you’re not the only one.

Now, everyone has a platform. Dermatologists are dishing free advice – so are formulators, aestheticians, editors and cosmetics chemists. Loyalty has shifted from brands to purveyors of information. Ingredient concentrations and clinical studies have become any given skincare brand’s greatest asset. Our routines have become more intentional than ever, not to mention more technical... We’ve started skin cycling and manipulating our cellular turnover. We’re hyper-focused on results and want function over anything else.

Hannah English, a scientist and the author of Your Best Skin is one of Australia’s biggest online educators, known for her ability to break down complex ingredient science into digestible information: “I wrote my book in 2021. Interest in skincare had picked up during the lockdowns, and a lot of people were at a point where they had tried too many harsh actives at once and destroyed their skin barriers. My publisher and I noticed this happening and wanted to give people something evidence-based but also written with care,” she says.

This uptick in ingredient literacy can essentially be correlated to our excessive use of iPhones and thus access to information. Pre-social media, magazines were the gatekeepers of science and launch news. Classic beauty advertising relied on celebrity faces and aspirational messaging to sell a dream. Brand loyalty was also big at the time – you were a CHANEL woman, or a Clinique woman, or an Estée Lauder woman. In some cases that loyalty was passed down to daughters; it’s the reason why so many heritage brands introduced entry level product lines for ‘younger’ skin. Going to the beauty counter for the first time was a formative experience.

Now, everyone has a platform. Dermatologists are dishing free advice – so are formulators, aestheticians, editors and cosmetics chemists. Loyalty has shifted from brands to purveyors of information. Ingredient concentrations and clinical studies have become any given skincare brand’s greatest asset. Our routines have become more intentional than ever, not to mention more technical (we’ve welcomed new steps like milky toners, peels and barrier creams). We’ve started skin cycling and manipulating our cellular turnover. We’re hyper-focused on results and want function over anything else.

One of the single greatest inflection points that I can remember in relation to this cultural shift is the launch of The Ordinary back in 2016. Not only were the products dirt cheap, but they spoke to singular active ingredients like Retinol, Natural Moisturising Factors and Glycolic Acid. Remember the viral red Acid Peeling Serum that looked like blood? The brand put an ingredient at the forefront, instead of the formulation in its entirety. The products themselves also had very little in them – a handful of ingredients, nothing superfluous.

Despite how confusing it was to decode the extensive range, it opened Pandora’s box. Consumer scepticism ensued: how was it possible that a brand could sell a Hyaluronic Acid Serum for $20, whilst luxury competitors were priced in the hundreds? When it comes to skincare, there is an element of you getting what you pay for, but mostly the margins are just high. The Ordinary was upfront about the fact they spent nothing on marketing, celebrity endorsements or packaging, helping them to lower individual product prices, but the reckoning forced a lot of skincare brands to validate their prices with real data.

This acute increase in ingredient awareness is good and bad for consumers and brands alike. Good, because the more we know, the better positioned we are to spend money on skincare that works for us (also, the more savvy we are when it comes to misinformation). It’s also called a lot of hyper-luxury formulations into question.

Skincare lovers are no longer about what’s cool or cute in the bathroom (The Ordinary’s basic clinical droppers played into this). Consumers want efficacious products to target concerns like ageing, acne and pigmentation. I asked a friend, a 34-year-old working in fashion, for her take: “I get my recommendations from people I trust inside the industry – sometimes online but it’s mostly word of mouth. I don’t care what my skincare looks like but I care what’s in it – I just want stuff that works, whether that’s cheap, expensive, prescription. But when it comes to fragrance or stuff for my counter, like hand soap, I buy based on aesthetics. I want Byredo, Le Labo… something beautiful.”

A lot of brands are taking this into account. One I’m fascinated with is Soft Services, who technically make body products but they’re active and formulated for tricky issues like keratosis pilaris (one of the original founders, who has since left the brand, was Annie Kreighbaum formerly of Into The Gloss). The brand website has a ‘Mass Index’ directory page, almost like Reddit, that shares images of skin concerns and FAQs around ingredients to fix them.

Dieux, the skincare brand founded by beauty authority Charlotte Palermino, even goes to the effort of explaining every single ingredient within each of its products on its brand website. There’s also an onsite ‘Skin Bible’, plus ‘Sun-Screener’ where you input your SPF ingredients and it analyses what’s inside.

Emma Lewisham, whom I interview in this issue, is another good example. Lewisham’s eponymous brand uses exclusively natural ingredients, many of which are relatively unheard of in the market. There’s a lot of clinical data and white papers to back up formulation efficacy, and so Lewisham’s team spend a lot of time breaking down science into digestible information. The brand’s website hosts a ‘Skin Conversation’ page with ingredient information, product science, clinical testing results and general routine intel.

This acute increase in ingredient awareness is good and bad for consumers and brands alike. Good, because the more we know, the better positioned we are to spend money on skincare that works for us (also, the more savvy we are when it comes to misinformation). It’s also called a lot of hyper-luxury formulations into question.

From a brand perspective, most do also see the upside – it enables a deeper conversation with consumers on the science behind products. For some of the luxury Houses that haven’t previously spoken on these topics before, it’s also presented an opportunity to educate on science, formulation and ingredients (once upon a time this was at odds with exclusivity). During one of my earlier jobs as a part-time writer, I also worked on a department store Lancôme counter. The brand launched a huge marketing campaign around the best-selling Advanced Gênifique serum that positioned it as rich in pre-, pro- and postbiotic fractions (this was at the beginning of the gut health era). The formula hadn’t even changed, but consumer awareness had, hence the new communication directive.

As with any obsession, things can become problematic. As English mentioned, too many steps or active skincare ingredients can cause sensitivity (hence why skinimalism was one of the big trends post-COVID). I actually feel like RHODE, the beauty brand founded by Hailey Bieber, got this timing exactly right. Yes, the marketing tactics are genius and Hailey is the glazed skin blueprint, but the brand launched towards the end of the pandemic with a suite of ultra-hydrating, nourishing formulas – no Retinol or Acids in sight. We were all red and burned from all the at-home peels, craving something gentle. Hailey, all dewy and angelic, showed up with her Barrier Restore Cream.

Ultimately perfect skin is pretty much a myth – pores and wrinkles aren’t bad things that happen to us but signs that we’re alive and functioning as we should. Education is power and ingredient literacy can help us make the best choices, but skincare can be what you want it to be – it’s important not to get consumed by it all.