Payal Khandwala on her war against ageing and the holy grail of skincare

It was a lazy lockdown afternoon. My daughter and I were taking photos, zooming into stuff, leaves, flowers, slippers, my dog’s paw…everyday things, some seemingly innocuous, others profound, depending on how existential you felt at that moment. 

And then it happened. She took a photo of my eye. I didn’t see it at first. I was too busy wondering if my mascara was too clumpy. But there it was. The dreaded F word. On my face that had been so kind to me all these years. A 'Fold'.

Right there on my eyelid. An event, both innocuous yet so profound. It had arrived unannounced. Like a guest at an intimate dinner, you didn’t invite. I must have blurted out "Whaa…" because my 12-year-old daughter responded as if to help... "What? that? mom…I think your eyelid collapsed."

"Great. Thanks a lot!" I laughed. Because you know, you can trust your children, to never soften the blow.

So, I did next, what any self-respecting 47-year-old woman would do. I decided to go online shopping. First step. I bought a 5X magnifying mirror. And then came the trauma. I saw pores. And spots. And fine lines. 
And the mothership—Wrinkles. WHEN. DID. THIS. HAPPEN? I could feel myself spontaneously combust.

This is why nature makes you go slowly blind. It’s a good filter. Blurry-eyed but blissfully unaware. I’ve had reading glasses for five years. This might begin to explain the shock and horror I was experiencing. (If youth is on your side, I’ll understand if you exit this piece right now).

But I dove right in. I was in the market for an eye cream. Pronto. Something scientific that would make the tectonic plates on my face’s crust stop short from crashing into each other to many more miniature mountains, while I age unsuspectingly...watching the 50th documentary on serial killers, before I go to bed.

I‘d even settle for the just-slow-this-train-wreck-down kind. (I’m also realistic). Except, I was simply not prepared for what I discovered. Whilst I was cleansing my face with my body wash my whole life and sleeping with my eye make-up on (guilty as charged on both counts), the skin care industry was a minefield, and it had exploded. And I was obviously living under a rock.

I was meant to start at 25. Zapped Emoji. I was already two decades too late. I had no time to waste. The train had left the country.

Lesson 1 - I had to wear sunscreen, all day, every day, even if I was indoors?! Was I the only one who thought, NO, I’m brown, this does not apply to me? What happened to us needing vitamin D? Apparently not via your face, we don’t. Noted.

Lesson 2 - Turns out you also need a moisturiser twice a day, no matter what your skin type. Huh?! But I wore a serum/face oil. I was taking care of my skin. Not enough it seems. Simply put, your face oil cannot replace your moisturiser. Who knew? Duly noted.

Lesson 3 - Your skin repairs at night. They should teach you this in school, with how to do your taxes. Mental note made.

After traversing the mind-numbingly cluttered space of bloggers, influencers, skin specialists and dermatologists, I found and stuck with the ones that focused on 'mature' skin. 

Lesson 4 - That was my category, like it or not. Massive note to self. My face was crumbling. I had no time for well-meaning 20-year-olds gushing about the wonders of collagen supplements. They had plenty and I did not. So, we weren’t quite on the same team. 

But thank god for all the billion reviewers. Without them, I’d be lost and this journey wouldn’t have been half as entertaining. After endless hours of cross-checking pro tips and recommendations, I immersed myself in the language of skincare. I was on a war footing. I needed the industrial strength, no fluff stuff. I’m a sucker for great packaging, but at heart, I’m also a nerd. So, homework is my jam. And because I’m curious by nature, I can be just as thrilled researching psychopaths, as I can be, phenoxyethanol. (A preservative best, when found lowest on your ingredient list).  

I was determined and diligent. I’d be the first detective dermatologist. I made notes. Many. For the uninitiated, I found some heroes to look for that might help you navigate this treacherous territory. Pick humectants, like hyaluronic acid is for instant hydration. Now I look for them like long-lost lovers in my ingredient list. Find emollients, like shea butter. Befriend them. Actives like Vitamin C and Vitamin A. Awesome twosome, if like me you haven’t quite come to terms with ageing yet. And some silent heroes like peptides, alpha arbutin and chemical exfoliants that you can explore if you feel so inclined.

Be patient, then layer, rinse, and repeat. Till you die. I know it sounds monstrous, but I’ll tell you why it’s not. Remember my eye cream that started it all? The bad news is, one eye cream was not the answer I was looking for. As if it wasn’t complicated enough, you need different ingredients for puffiness, dark circles and wrinkles. So, I picked two eye creams and I alternate. But wait. There’s light at the end of this technical tunnel.

The good news is, after 3 weeks of religious use, my foe the fold, had all but disappeared! I mean it’s still there, let’s get real, but it’s hiding in my lid crease now! The enemy has retreated. My faithful little army of bottles and balms won! It was a mini miracle, I might add here, that I frankly did not see it coming.

If this seems frivolous in times like these, you might not be wrong. But as silly as it might sound, I’ve found that my long sessions in the loo (mums will identify with this one), have become rituals I look forward to now. And on some days when you feel like you’re losing your mind, it may not be much, but for me, it’s enough.

My AM PM routine is less mundane and more magical, knowing that when I walk through that door, there is an array of mystic potions, little angels in a sanctuary, waiting patiently to pamper me. They transport me to the promised land, where my face will fall apart gently if it must, but will at least glow, while it goes to dust. And for those few moments of the day, it’s this therapy that keeps me sane. 

Privately I channel my inner Cleopatra. Even though I’m well aware I look more like a glazed donut. But it makes me smile, and then I don’t seem to mind my crow’s feet at all. Until I have to figure out 6th-grade mixed fractions or pick up my cat’s poo.

 

Lead image: Payal Khandwala Instagram