There is a specific brand of self-care lie we tell ourselves in the name of beauty. We've all had those self-care fails that usually begin on a Tuesday evening, somewhere between the third ping of a work email and the realisation that the fridge contains nothing but a wilted spring onion and half a lime. It’s the moment we decide: I shall be a Spa Goddess. In my head, this involves a cosy, fluffy robe, a single white lily in a slim vase and a sheet mask that fits my face like

The alarm bells are ringing; your face has declared a state of emergency. You’ve had a week (or a month) that’s been, to put it mildly, a bit of a bin fire. Your sleep schedule is a bigger myth than goldfish having a memory span of three seconds. Your hydration consists solely of lukewarm coffee and your face — oh, your face — looks like it’s been neglected longer than Whitby Abbey. Flaky patches, dullness so profound it could rival a total eclipse and pores the size of manho

There’s always something we haven’t got that other people claim we need. Skincare wristbands are the latest ‘must have’ beauty tool. Rows...

A tenner used to buy a month’s worth of sweets, now it barely covers a fancy coffee. When it comes to cosmetics, a ten pound note is...