Primers and setting sprays?
My make-up bag had four of them. Silicone and alcohol. Lovely on a twenty-year-old.
But a line isn’t a gap you can fill — your face folds there every time you smile — and silicone doesn’t fold. It creases, and takes your foundation with it.
Four bottles, every morning. By two o’clock it was in my lines anyway.
High Street foundation?
I’d worn No7 for years. Min-ji explained it to me: most British foundations have pigments too large to penetrate the skin. They sit on the surface and settle into your wrinkles by 2 p.m.
I was building a wall on my face that highlighted my age instead of hiding it.
The expensive one?
I moved to Charlotte Tilbury because I thought spending more would fix it. And the truth is you cannot buy your way out of the wrong pigment.
The price changes the bottle. The pigment stays the same. By the afternoon it had oxidised until my jawline looked orange, and made everything look worse.
And the worst thing? The beauty industry knows all of this.
Primers that crease, foundations that sit on top, ‘luxury’ formulas that turn orange by lunch.
It’s generated billions of pounds.
Because every product that doesn’t work just sends you looking for another one. And another.
The second you find something that actually works, they stop making money.
That’s why not one foundation on your shelves was ever built to stay out of your lines. It’s exactly the way they wanted it.