Why your boyfriend has great skin despite the frugality of men’s skincare routine


The other day, I went to have a passport photograph taken and found myself confronting the great mystery of the men’s skincare routine. As I watched the photographer make his customary edits, I noticed another picture on the screen beside mine. It was a man with skin so apparently perfect that he needed no retouching at all.

I stared at my photograph. Then at his. And then back at mine.

He probably washed his face with water, wiped it on his T-shirt and called it a day. Meanwhile, I sat there wearing makeup over a carefully assembled skincare routine, only to watch the photographer erase my acne marks and even out my skin tone.

My brother, whose skincare routine begins and ends with water, which is itself often optional, occupies the extreme ends of the grooming spectrum. Some weeks, he washes his face once with a salicylic acid cleanser, seemingly to compensate for the previous six days. On other days, when the moon turns blue, he enthusiastically applies every bottle within reach, creating what should, by all accounts, be an irritation cocktail. He still walks away with gleaming skin.

I grit my teeth, look at the countless bottles weighing down my vanity shelf and mutter under my breath. Whether I’m cursing the bottles or my brother remains open to interpretation.

My father is no better. When I asked about his skincare routine, he repeated, “Skincare… routine?” as though I had coerced him into explaining quantum entanglement. I lowered my expectations. “What do you wash your face with?” I asked. “Shampoo,” he said, giggling. “When I wash my hair, the water runs down my face and cleans it, too.” A two-in-one system of which he was far too proud.

I stared into the distance, wondering how our car had a more elaborate grooming routine than he did. And yet, his skin appeared flawless. The answer, dermatologists say, lies somewhere between biology, behaviour and the radically different standards by which men and women are taught to assess their faces. God, apparently, is not playing favourites. At least, not entirely.



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