Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the number of skincare products I own and whether it's, well... too much. Scrolling through skincare discussions today, I stumbled across a thread that made me pause. Someone asked a question that's been lingering in the back of my mind for a while: How many products is too many? And honestly, the variety of answers was both reassuring and overwhelming. Some people admitted they had cabinets stuffed with cleansers, toners, serums, masks, moisturizers you name it. They justified it by saying that having options felt comforting, like having a full wardrobe for different skin "moods." Others kept it minimal, swearing by a strict 3- or 4-step routine that they repeat like clockwork every single day. It made me realize: skincare, much like anything else personal, doesn't really have a "one size fits all" rule. For some, a 15-step routine is therapeutic. For others, even 5 products might feel excessive. Personally, I've noticed that the more products I pile on, the less happy my skin seems. When I overcomplicate my routine layering multiple serums, trying out new treatments back-to-back asa my skin tends to freak out. Redness, irritation, random breakouts. It's like my face is waving a little white flag, begging for mercy. But the temptation is so real. New launches, cute packaging, glowing reviews as it’s easy to justify adding just one more to the shelf. And the thrill of trying something new? Completely addictive. One thing that really stuck with me from today’s conversation was the idea that it’s not necessarily about the number of products, but how thoughtfully they're used. Are they addressing specific needs? Are they layered carefully? Are they necessary, or just clutter? Maybe that’s the real question: not "how many is too many," but "how intentional am I being?" Tonight, I’m going to sit down, pull out everything I have, and ask myself : - Does this actually serve my skin right now? - Am I using it just because I feel guilty it’s sitting there? - Would my skin be happier with less? I don’t want skincare to feel like a burden. I want it to feel like a treat, something simple, nurturing, and joyful. Maybe I’ll end up keeping my "tiny apothecary" of potions. Or maybe I’ll find peace in paring it all back to the basics. Either way, after today, I’m reminded that skincare should feel good, not overwhelming.

Today, I find myself reflecting on the importance of listening to my skin, and how often I’ve turned to online communities for support when things don’t go as planned. It’s been a journey of trial and error, and there’s always something new to learn. I remember a time when I was battling with stubborn breakouts and dullness, feeling frustrated as I tried to tackle every issue with more products, thinking that might be the solution. But I quickly realized that more isn’t always better. It wasn’t until I shared my struggles with a group of like-minded skincare enthusiasts that I began to really pay attention to my skin’s needs, rather than just following the latest trends or advice. The feedback I received from others was both eye-opening and relieving. I learned the importance of simplifying my routine, sometimes, less is truly more. Instead of layering on tons of products, I began focusing on gentle, hydrating formulations that respected my skin's natural barrier. The support I received from that group helped me understand that skincare is a deeply personal experience. While the products that work for some may not always work for others, hearing different experiences and learning from the successes and mistakes of others has made me feel less isolated. It was a reminder that there’s no one-size-fits-all approach, and finding what truly works for me involves patience, self-awareness, and being open to trying different things. Now, I take more time to listen to my skin. When something doesn’t feel right, I adjust. If I feel like my skin is getting irritated, I scale back and give it the break it needs. I’ve also embraced the power of self-care as skincare isn’t just about looking good; it’s about feeling good in my own skin. And sometimes, that means stepping away from products altogether and letting my skin breathe. This journey has shown me that we all have different needs, but we can learn so much from each other. It’s okay to seek advice, to ask for help, and to share when things aren’t going well. Skincare is an ongoing process, and I’m grateful for the experiences and advice that have helped me along the way. Today, I’m proud of my skin’s progress, and I feel more confident in knowing that I can adjust my routine to what it needs, not just what I think it should need.

I know. We’re all tired. Another toner pad launch, another ad with someone wiping across their cheek in perfect light. They’re everywhere. But after trying probably 15 different kinds (not an exaggeration), here’s what I’ve realized: I don’t use toner pads for the toner. I use them for the structure. There’s something about the ritual. The swipe, the texture, the gentle pressure. When done right, it sets the tone for the rest of your routine. Not all pads are created equal though. Some are way too saturated, others dry out in a week. Some are too rough, some too flimsy. The only ones I keep in rotation are Anua Heartleaf Pad when I’m flaring, Numbuzin No.3 Pad on makeup days (that slip!), and Skin1004 Probio-Cica Pad when I need calm and bounce. So yes, I have pad fatigue. But I also know that toner pads are like shoes — it’s about fit, not hype.

Snail mucin saved my skin once. I was three weeks into a bad reaction from a vitamin C serum that my skin clearly hated, and no amount of soothing gel or cream helped. I picked up a snail essence on a whim — one of those cult K-beauty ones that people say gives them “glass skin overnight.” I didn’t expect much. But within days, my redness calmed. My cheeks stopped flaking. The glow came back. I was sold. Then came the questions. How is snail mucin collected? Is it ethical? Are the snails harmed? Are they stressed? The answers were vague. Some brands said they “let snails roam on mesh” and “collect the trails.” Others avoided the topic. A few videos surfaced showing industrial collection using mild electric stimulation — not lethal, but not necessarily humane either. I felt torn. How could something that helped my skin so much come from a process I couldn’t ethically support? I started looking into alternatives. Fermented ingredients. Beta-glucans. Lab-grown mucin analogs. Some came close, none felt quite the same. But I learned that caring for my skin also means caring about where my skincare comes from. Do I still use snail mucin now? Rarely. Only when I know the brand sources responsibly — and only when my skin really needs it. Otherwise, I’ve shifted my focus to formulas that are transparent about sourcing and ethics. It’s not a black-and-white decision. But I think that’s the point. Beauty can be healing and complicated at the same time. And that’s worth talking about.

I used to love big brands. Their campaigns looked clean, their packaging was minimal, and they used phrases like “backed by science” and “soothes irritation.” I didn’t question it. I trusted them. Then I started working on small content briefs for them. Just a few UGC reels, nothing major. But what I saw behind the scenes? Changed everything. One brand asked me to feature a cream without showing the texture. Another insisted on a voiceover saying “noticeably brighter skin in 3 days,” even though I had only tested it for five. Some sent me products with the ingredient list covered by stickers. Others asked me to avoid showing redness or pores. One literally told me, “we want the serum to look like magic, not science.” So now when I see a clean flatlay with a dreamy caption and no mention of what it feels like, I scroll right past. It’s not that I don’t trust brands anymore. I just trust experience more. And I know now. The best reviews aren’t the ones with the best lighting. They’re the ones that tell the truth.

like. be honest. have you ever bought a sensitive skin line and gone. wow, revolutionary? me neither. most of them are just bland. and not in a comforting way. in a “we added nothing but still charge you $38” way. i get it. fragrance-free, low pH, no harsh alcohols = safe. but what about actually supporting sensitive skin? where are the formulations that help strengthen, hydrate, calm, and still feel like something? because right now i feel like we’re just paying more for “not doing harm” when we should be paying for “doing actual good.” so here’s my very short list of sensitive skin stuff that doesn’t feel like air in a bottle. • Illiyoon Ceramide Ato Concentrate Cream (actual skin barrier help) • Mixsoon Centella (doesn’t pretend to do more than it does) • La Roche-Posay Cicaplast B5+ Balm (thick, but reliable) everything else? idk. i want to believe. but some of these launches just feel like beige water in expensive jars.

There’s a weird quiet that comes after you stop chasing flawless skin. No more hoping your pores will disappear in the mirror. No more checking for glow in every selfie. No more panic over one dry patch like it’s a moral failing. For me, this shift didn’t happen overnight. It happened after three months of trying to “treat” what was probably just seasonal dehydration. After two vitamin C serums. One new toner pad. A failed oil cleanser experiment. And a few random stress breakouts. Then one day I looked in the mirror and thought, “Oh. This is just my skin.” Not broken. Not behind. Not waiting to be fixed. Just… existing. Functioning. Being skin. Now I use what feels good. I skip steps without guilt. I don’t log everything I use anymore. And weirdly? I think my skin looks better now than when I was trying harder. Letting go of goals doesn’t mean you give up. It just means you give your skin a chance to exist without being a project.

Spicules have been floating around in Korean dermocosmetic circles for a while now, but lately they’ve started showing up in more and more over-the-counter skincare. So what are they? Basically, spicules are micro-needles (usually from marine sponges) that gently prick the skin to increase cell turnover and enhance absorption. Sounds intense — and it kind of is. The first time I used a spicule serum, I didn’t know what to expect. I applied two pumps and patted it in as usual… and then came the tingle. Not a burning feeling, more like static electricity under the skin. It lasted about 30 minutes. My skin didn’t get red, but I could tell something was happening. The next morning? My skin felt incredibly smooth, like I had gently exfoliated without any peeling or dryness. But the texture stayed “buzzed” for a day or so, and it made layering other products feel strange . Like they were sitting on top rather than sinking in. Here’s what I’ve learned after testing four different spicule products over the past two months: • They’re not for beginners. If your skin barrier is already compromised or you’re using a lot of actives, this might be too much. • You do need to simplify your routine when using them. No acids, no retinoids, nothing too emollient right after. • The results are real. Softer skin, improved tone, fewer clogged areas — but only when used with caution. Would I recommend them? Yes — but with a huge caveat. Think of spicules as exfoliation with a learning curve. Don’t jump in expecting miracles. Do your research. Patch test. And most importantly, know when your skin needs stimulation and when it needs to just… rest.

The integration of AI in skincare promises personalized routines based on individual skin analyses. I tried an app that scanned my face and recommended products. While some suggestions aligned with my needs, others felt generic. AI offers potential, but human intuition and understanding of one’s skin remain irreplaceable.

I know most people think being a beauty influencer is just about receiving free products and posting cute shelfies. And don’t get me wrong — the perks are real. But the reality? It’s so much messier than what you see on your feed. I once filmed a sponsored reel at 2 a.m. in my kitchen because I didn’t have daylight hours left. I had to re-shoot the final scene three times because the product texture didn’t “show up enough.” The brand wanted visible absorption — but not so much that it disappeared. They wanted the cap in frame, the label forward, and the skin prepped but not dewy. Oh, and no music unless I had full licensing. And I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve had briefs that respected my tone of voice, that allowed for disclaimers if the product didn’t suit my skin. But I’ve also been ghosted by PR teams after negotiating rates, sent “gifts” with five-slide content asks, and told I was “too skin-neutral” for a dewy skin campaign. There’s pressure — not just to look good, but to know everything. To keep up with INCI lists, SPF filter updates, ingredient studies, global formulations. And also: what’s trending in Seoul, what’s trending on TikTok, and what hasn’t gone viral yet but should. But here’s the thing I love: when someone DMs me and says, “Hey, that product you recommended? It fixed my barrier.” Or “Thank you for showing a no-makeup version of that serum — I thought I was the only one it pilled on.” It’s not about perfect skin or perfect content. It’s about real conversations. And that’s the part I’ll keep showing up for — even if it means filming texture shots with one hand and holding a mirror with the other.