Raise your hand if your earliest memory of skincare is a giant, suspiciously bottomless tub of Nivea cream sitting on your gran’s table like it paid rent.

You know the one, big blue tin, smelt like a hug, cured dry skin, heartbreak, probably tax debt. Everyone used it. Granny slapped it on her face, elbows, knees, ankles, and probably the wallpaper. It worked on everything. Acne? Nivea. Eczema? Nivea. A bad breakup? Nivea and tea. Life was simple. One cream ruled them all, and it cost, like, £2.50 on a bad day.

Then something tragic happened, we grew up.

Suddenly, we’re spending £100 on a “lightweight peptide-infused hyaluronic pre-serum booster” that claims to reverse aging, heal emotional wounds, and probably do your taxes. Your skincare shelf turns into a Boots branch. Ten products before bed. Seven in the morning. Each with its own mood, personality, and therapist. And what does it all amount to? £400 a month and still the occasional chin spot called Gerald.

And here’s the twist, I have psoriasis on my thumb. Yes, just the thumb. Glamorous. Had it since I was 10, and it flares up the moment I even think about cheese or sleep badly. So I’ve tried everything. Ointments. Creams. Witchcraft (only joking). Dermatologists who charge £80 to look vaguely concerned and recommend oat baths.

And guess what’s actually helped? Absolutely nothing. Except, maybe… that old tub of Nivea my gran kept next to her glasses.

The other day, during a dramatic psoriasis flare-up (my thumb looked like it was auditioning for a horror film), I had a full existential moment. When did I abandon Nivea? What happened to that humble £2 miracle? Somewhere between 18 and 20, I got drunk on freedom and thought, “You know what this sensitive skin needs? A twelve-step skincare routine and some glittery foundation from YouTube.”

Cue regret. I tried it all, expensive creams, budget disasters, DIY avocado face masks (don’t ask). And now? I can’t even use makeup. Can’t touch my face without my thumb screaming, “How DARE you.”

Irony? I used to fight my mum about not letting me wear makeup as a teen. Thought she was ruining my life. Now? I want to build her a statue. Turns out she was protecting me from a future of flaming thumb psoriasis and wasted Sephora points.

These days I keep it basic. No makeup. No ten-step routines. Just vibes, water, and a cautious relationship with Nivea (the upgraded sensitive skin version, obviously). If only someone had told me at 18 that “dewy glow” is just marketing speak for “you’ll break out tomorrow.”

So, real talk: What’s something you did in your teen years that you deeply regret now?

Come on. Let’s bond over our questionable choices and teenage delusions.

Loads of luv,

Hannah 💙

P.S. I usually write on Mondays and Fridays, but I skipped yesterday because I was out doing very important things (aka living my truth and avoiding responsibilities).

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