How Self-Care Came for Babies
Having a baby can momentarily free you from beauty, wellness and self-care culture. But a disturbing–and honestly genius–industry has figured out how to lure us back through our kids.
Little note from me: I just want to acknowledge how weird it is to be writing about skincare for babies when so many families are facing unimaginable violence. It’s estimated that nearly half the casualties in Gaza are kids.
I can’t speak for anyone else, and am in no ways an expert on any of this, but personally I’ve found myself fixated on the insane privileges I take for granted daily.
It’s a privilege to have this platform where I can share my experiences, supported and uncensored.
It’s a privilege that I sent my baby to childcare today and feel confident she is safe.
It’s a privilege that the shoes she took off by the front door last night were there this morning, that our home is secure, and our daily rituals unperturbed by the forces around us.
Honestly, I’m not really sure what else I can add, other than to suggest you consider all you have and how you can help. If you have means, donate money. Show up in person. Write to your MP. Hug your family and think of all the parents who would give anything to be in your place.
Writing about kids attracts a lot of online interactions that I wouldn’t have had two years ago. This month, I was followed on Instagram by an upcoming brand that promised a “new approach to my child’s bathing ritual”. For context, my child’s “bathing ritual” involves me undressing her during dinner, dunking her in the bath, distracting her with toys, then putting up with two to 10 minutes of screaming while I dress her and promise we won’t do this again for several days. Shockingly that’s not the experience they’re selling.
In this brand’s world, children are serene, tanned, salt-crusted and always staring knowingly at the camera. Most of their images feature long-legged mothers who don’t look like me either. They prowl sea shores, half-dressed and perfectly tousled, with stylish toddlers slung off hips as tasteful accessories. And while this alternative online reality caught my eye, it’s hardly an outlier.
While pregnant I started to notice how familiar beauty, wellness and self-care tropes were already being passed onto my future child. Hell, the bump itself presented an exciting new world of commerce. Apparently it wasn’t enough to grow an entire human in the space I used to struggle to fit a large burrito. I also needed to ensure my swelling belly was free from any unsightly marks or discolouration. Luckily there was an endless supply of balms, ointments and even stomach sheet masks to ensure that in the future, no one would suspect a living creature once nestled beneath my ribs.
My daughter is now 17-months-old. So far, her understanding of “self care” is not choking on Cheerios. But soon enough, that will change. A kid-sized sheet mask (so many masks) or cartoonish skin product will eventually catch her eye.
Maybe it will be Millie Bobby Brown’s Florence by Mills eye balm, that promises to brighten and “reduce the appearance of dark circles” among its pre-teen consumer base. Or something from North West’s expected spin-off beauty line will draw her in.
As a kid, I’d have loved the official Care Bears Beauty offering that contains a serum that chirpily promises: “Like sunshine in a bottle, this primer serum is sure to brighten your day and your complexion with Sunflower oil, Vitamin C, Niacinamide.”
(In the name of journalistic transparency I should specify that despite the appearance of Funshine Bear on the label, these products aren’t explicitly made for kids. But it’s fair to say the design and branding certainly wink at them.)
There’s a strange irony in seeing a market that’s obsessed with promoting the myth of eternal youth collapse on itself and just start selling directly to babies. And the obvious take away is you’re never too young to let this specific breed of worms enter your brain.
Sometimes I try to remember when I first became aware of my own appearance. Or rather, try to remember a time when I wasn’t consumed by thoughts of it. Honestly, I can’t.
In primary school kids were discussing diets, lamenting looking tired and inspecting their faces for imperfections. Nothing about this is new. We’ve long known that brands create impossible beauty standards, then monetise our insecurities when we fail to meet them. What’s interesting to me isn’t just how this market targets an always younger demographic. But how it also uses this new demographic to recapture an old one.
The Prodigal Customer Returns
I can’t remember when I started worrying about how I look. But I can remember when I stopped. I was naked, on all fours, several hours into my labour.
Since then, dull skin, dirty hair and eye bags haven’t bothered me that much. Firstly, I no longer have the time and money to obsess over my appearance. But also – more optimistically – having a daughter has changed my relationship to my body.
When I look in the mirror now, I don’t feel disappointed. Reviewing my legs, hips and ass I’m slower to criticise. Rather than seeing what’s wrong with them, I notice how my shape mirrors my mother’s and wonder if my daughters will look the same. I’m proud of myself. And I hope this perspective, not my insecurities, will be passed on. That she’ll look in the mirror and see me, not everything a faceless brand tells her she is not.
That's all very sweet for me, but a disaster for the people who I used to pay to wax, shape, smooth, stretch and polish said legs, hips and ass. Now that I’m less consumed with the art of adorning my own body, they need to find a new way to access my money. If I won’t spend it on myself, what about her?
I don’t know many parents who are actually running out to buy their toddlers those sheet masks and brightening serums. But they are slipping back into this murky soup of wellness and beauty in other ways, like…Baby Spa.
To be fair, Baby Spa is less nuts than it sounds. There are no infant sheet masks here. As they describe it: “Baby Spa Australia is an exceptionally unique experience, offering hydrotherapy and infant massage for babies aged from two days to eight months.”
Apparently, “The soothing pressure of our purified water creates an environment that relaxes and promotes gentle exercise.” Which does sound nice. It also costs $95 and, at least from what I can tell, isn’t drastically different from floating around in a regular pool or bath.
I first heard about Baby Spa at my council parent’s group. The mums who sent their kids along were smart women who I don’t want to present as naive or ripe for a grift. They also reported that their kids did enjoy the experience and were quick to recommend it. But when I asked if Baby Spa had services for parents, say to have a massage while their offspring were gently bobbed for 20 minutes, they were surprised.
The idea they deserved a bit of tenderness, let alone would spend $95 on themselves, didn’t cross their mind. They had exited the self-care marketplace, but hadn’t escaped it completely. While they weren’t buying Care Bear skin products (yet) they were still caught in the pull of consumer culture and the idea that beauty, peace and wellness are products to be purchased. Just now they weren’t buying them for themselves, but for their children.
Part of me has a begrudging respect for all these products and brands. There is a tidy genius to this. Lose a customer when their emotional and financial resources are redirected to their child. Replace that customer with said child. And just as the cycle continues, so does the fantasy that fuels it all.
In the past, we dreamed of glowing skin, expensive candles, toned legs and a meditation practice. Now it’s a bathtime that doesn’t involve screaming. The dream is different, but the mechanism is the same. Brands sell us expectations we’ll never meet, so we purchase their products in the hope we will. We used to buy things to fulfil a fantasy of ourselves. Now we buy them to fulfil a fantasy of our children.
But if I pause, and am honest with myself, the real fantasy I want to occupy is one where everyone just stops telling me how my life is supposed to look at all. Where I can face the mirror, with my child, and say “we are enough”. That doesn’t cost $95 dollars, but it somehow still feels like the ultimate luxury.
Thank you for reading all the way to the bottom! I’d love to hear about your throughts and experiences. Leave a comment or catch me on Instagram. Also, if you enjoyed this article, give it a share!
Are you sure you've chosen a trustworthy source for your information ? Al Jazeera citing Gaza’s Ministry of Health ??? Really ? In which world are you living Wendy ?
Perhaps could you take a look at https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/10/18/israel/palestine-videos-hamas-led-attacks-verified and so many other (NOT pro-israeli) independant sources.
It's so unfortunate that you propagate lies, and express unilateral compassion.