Nate Gallant: Sometimes we talk here at OT about a physical object, something at the intersection of art, design, or consumer products, which has become too much of a thing. Something whose cultural life seems to have uniquely outstripped its use value or price point as a commodity, despite being aesthetically interesting, well-designed, or undeniably useful. I think this is true of the Stanley water bottle. Any piece of coffee equipment from the matte-black coffee workflow world or any espresso drink in a "hipster" coffee-shop. Similarly, anything subject to the "boutique" tax. I think this is also likely true of everything in Sephora.
To be very clear, I do not dislike Sephora, and I am not trying to lob some theory-bro hot take at a tentpole of femme life in the US. I have, at various points in my own life, attempted to embrace the world of self-care and self-expression through the store's seeming monopoly on the brick-and-mortar consumption of beauty. And yet, I know that the store is largely not designed for me as someone who has never been socialized into the many complex codes of self-presentation which shape the main reason Sephora exists: makeup.
The store is, however, equally confusing to me as someone who is not particularly online. Navigating Sephora feels more to me like navigating Instagram, TikTok, or the depths of beauty-influencer Youtube than it does a physical space. A hall of literal and figurative mirrors, reflecting brands, ideas, and trends I have no reference point for, set to aggressively pulsating music, with equally intense fragrances and bright lights. Their interiors are so marked by illegible signs that I am not sure if I could even describe to you the physical size or shape of any of the suburban mall locations I've cautiously ambled through. In this sense, the store is overwhelming to me for its density of codes whose reference points are merely foreign to me. Not inherently bad or more consumerist than anything else, just very disorienting to the novice, and in this case, a novice who wanted a relatively inexpensive daily face-sunscreen that does not make my skin terribly oily.
I am personally not trying, and in fact may be unable to place myself within the constellation of beauty culture when I buy sunscreen. For many who have already attained the specific erudition of this world, I imagine this is their entry point. However, personally, I want a shortcut around the thicker end of this forest of cultural mediation in order to find chemical mediation between me and the sun's ever-intensifying UV rays.
For this, I appreciate that I can now get a nice sunscreen from Target. I like that their pharmacy section has expanded to resemble non-American pharmacies, where you can get high-quality beauty products with the normal level of retail interaction that comes with a big-box store. For me, I have settled on La Roche-Posay's many face-specific sunscreens. They are relatively inexpensive. The Dry Touch Face Sunscreen, specifically, is very, very light and smooth on the face. Lighter in my experience than the Super Goop's Unseen Sunscreen, which I also used for a long time and would recommend if it is more accessible to you, and has the advantage of not leaving any white-cast on your face (I notice it is in a lot of FSA stores). The Neutrogena options are nice too. For the uninitiated, I promise, none of these will give you the skin-crawl of the sticky, unevolved goopy stuff slathered onto you as a child.
But mostly, sunscreen is something I want to be less of a thing, and closer to an object. In this case, I would say protecting the external organ of your skin is more important than protecting your soul from the onslaught of the commodity. Though, it is nice to have the choice.
Kyle Chayka: My main interaction with skincare has been a decades-long fight with face acne, now extending well into adulthood and perhaps middle age. The products I encountered were neither fun nor enjoyable, beyond their efficacy (if they even actually worked). Microplastic beaded scrubs as a teenager gave way to more targeted Neutrogena spot cream. That is to say, my relationship with my skin is usually combative, defensive. In the hopes of changing this dynamic, a few months ago, I stopped into a Manhattan outpost of Kiehl’s, one of the few brands I was reasonably familiar with. It has to do with like Switzerland right? The homeland of the sanatorium?
Maybe it was the fact that I have disposable income, or the now-omnipresent wisdom that sunscreen is the best single thing to do for your skin, but I stopped to consider a NEW Kiehl’s product on the shelf: a small $42 bottle of “Better Screen™ UV Serum SPF 50+ Facial Sunscreen with Collagen Peptide.” I was attracted by its promise to “boost skin radiance and visibly improve skin tone and texture,” presumably with the help of several ingredients I didn’t really understand. So I bought it, the highest price per ounce I’ve ever paid for an unguent.
The good news is I love it. The sunscreen is very light, sinks in immediately, and doesn’t provoke further acne problems. My skin tone has indeed become more even and it just feels healthier — a marked improvement maybe the result of not using any other moisturizer regularly, lol. As someone who cares primarily about aesthetics, its upscale medical-ish bottle and pleasant pump mechanism are also appealing. These qualities encourage me to apply the sunscreen much more often than I might otherwise: It makes skincare less of a chore. My approval was further bolstered by seeing an influencer I follow on Instagram start promoting it. Friends have informed me that applying the advertised collagen as an ingredient to your skin has not been clinically vetted. (This article says it’s basically a really good moisturizer even if it doesn’t create more collagen in your skin.) Honestly, I could not care less. Isn’t this all vibes and placebo effect anyway? Your astrological sign isn’t real either.
Previously on One Thing:
NPR tech correspondent Bobby Allyn wrote a dispatch investigating “Grid Zero,” the strategy of posting as little as possible to the Instagram grid page to remain ~mysterious~ in the internet’s content deluge.
The conversation around the piece in the comments is worth perusing as well: “Gen Z especially doesn't care that much about posting as for consuming content”; “From a personal experience I'm seeing a trend in making close friends and posting only to them”; “Do I want to be an open book? I don't think I do.”