For most of my adult life I’ve been drowning in beauty products. Literally.
When I lived in Los Angeles, I had an amazing antique claw-foot bathtub set versus the back wall of my bathroom. In between the tub and the wall, I balanced bath bombs, body washes, sea salts, sugar scrubs, skin softeners, and hair conditioners. One time, I was taking a bath and drifted off to sleep. Minutes later, I was jolted awake to my tub shaking: dozens of bottles, tubes, and containers had caved in on top of me. When I was finally able to dig my way out of the tub, I slipped on a streak of bath oil and fell.
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This was not the luxurious life of a beauty queen. It felt more like the slapstick version of hitting rock bottom for a beauty junkie.
But even that was not rock bottom.
“I spent thousands of dollars to have the chicest brand-new lipstick, the hottest highlighter, and the most high-tech anti-aging cream.”
My bathroom and my bank account would become my nightmare. I spent thousands of dollars—on a regular basis—to have the chicest brand-new lipstick, the hottest highlighter, and the most high-tech anti-aging cream. Eventually, hundreds of beauty products cluttered my counters.
Even when I wasn’t spending my own money, products mounted: I worked at a celebrity tabloid magazine where PR firms would frequently send samples of beauty products their celebrity clients endorsed. Half the time the product was junk, but I was also something of a hoarder, so instead of tossing the stuff—because, were I a logical woman, I would think “Nah, I have enough already”—I would tuck the samples away in my bathroom, bedroom, living room, kitchen, and…yes…car. One time I drove around with 500 mini-bottles of shampoo for months without noticing they were there until I stopped short at a red light and they flew from the back seat, exploding versus the windshield.
I had so numerous products that it took me hours to get ready every day, digging through it all. I was frequently late to events because I was applying another layer of body bronzer or meticulously curling my hair, testing a brand-new setting spray or curling gel I had just bought. Then I’d remember that a brand-new package full of an A-lister’s “red carpet look” mink lashes arrived, so I’d dick around for another hour messing with those. I started having a reoccurring nightmare that I took so long to get ready that I’d miss an important life event.
“One time I drove around with 500 mini-bottles of shampoo in my car—until I stopped short at a red light and they flew from the back seat, exploding versus the windshield.”
That was the insanity of my beauty routine.
This was the insanity of my life.
I had no idea how it got this way. When I was a teenager, I used only soap, water, shampoo, conditioner, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. My hair was always shiny and my skin was flawless. (Granted I was a teenager, so nature was working with me at that point.)
My mother’s daily beauty routine was pretty basic too, consisting of showering, smearing Vaseline on her face and body, and then applying eyeliner and mascara. Fin.
On special occasions she wore red lipstick to contrast versus her naturally ginger red hair. She never bothered with face creams, foundation, or trips to the beauty salon. I don’t even think she bought razors or shaved—and she was not a feminist or a hippie. (She voted for Reagan and both George Bushes, FYI.) Despite her absolute lack of effort, she always looked so fresh, healthy, and young.
So why was I trying so hard?
I decided to simplify my beauty routine. I made a commitment to give or throw away everything except for 10 beauty products. I cleared out my cabinets and never looked back. Here are the essentials I narrowed it down to:
1. Coconut Oil (Refined)
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