Actors don’t just have lines to memorize. They have lines to erase! “Especially when modern cameras pick up whether a single pore has a sore throat,” writes Betty Gilpin, a three-time Emmy nominee for GLOW who next stars in The Tomorrow War. The self-deprecating “product hound” reviews six that she deems worth their luster.
Whenever a makeup artist prepares to put face oil on me, I kindly ask that they not, as every oil makes me break out. Wait—I’m receiving word from my psyche that such confrontation would make me flush the color of liquefied bricks, so instead I say, “Great! Face oil!” and quietly panic. My fellow descendents of potato-and-teacup tribes know the frustration of the skin’s contradictions, but this face oil sinks in like I’m an olive-toned, allergy-less mogul. Augustinus Bader is a German brand that fancy people are obsessed with, thanks to its patented TFC8 technology (a blend of amino acids and vitamins said to support the skin’s natural repair mechanism, obviously). The oils include babassu, hazelnut, karanja, and pomegranate, and just like that, there go my baby names. That this is making me dewy and plumped and not bumpy and clogged is witchcraft to the highest degree.
Buy for $230 on violetgrey.com
It’s come to this: putting rainbow LED panels on your chest so society deems you fit for a public V-neck. But against all odds, this device involves self-care outside the male gaze or mirror rage. There’s still the godsend of red and blue light (red stimulates collagen, blue murders acne-causing bacteria). In my daily treading water above the pandemic-induced malaise, I threw on some British Office blooper reels and anti-aged my Irish-ass décolleté. Then, using the 14-minute setting for anti-inflammatory pain relief, I wrapped the panel around my Auntie Em hip for sweet healing. Perplexing, but it works. I was able to walk around my kitchen without sounding like 17 pennies in a blender. My poor ancestors. They went through Ellis Island and decades of hardship so that I might worry about my neck in Getty Images. This generational disappointment apologizes and loves this gadget.
Buy for $435 on drdennisgross.com (April 20)