Menopause skin is not a skin issue. It’s a hostile takeover. It’s a full-blown coup d’état on your face. One minute, you’re coasting through life with a “fine” complexion, the next, you’re staring into the mirror like, “Who is this dry, desert-dwelling creature staring back at me?”
I’ve been lucky all my life. Dad’s skin? Perfect. Mom’s skin? Flawless. Me? I coasted through life thinking, “Skincare? That’s for teenagers, billionaires, and people who enjoy scented creams.” I never had a routine. Never cared. Never even really thought about it. My face survived on sheer luck, occasional soap, and perhaps some very passive-good genes.
Well…except for that one glorious year when I fancied myself a “mature lady makeup influencer.” That lasted roughly 72 hours—the exact amount of time it takes to realize you can’t survive on a ramen noodle budget and maintain a perfect beauty blog aesthetic. After that, I returned to my blissful ignorance, smugly patting my dry-but-“fine” cheeks.
Then menopause arrived like a villain in a bad soap opera: “SURPRISE! Your skin now belongs to me!”
Driving home from Tennessee recently, the sun hit my face and I thought, “Oily!” My sister was driving—thank God—or insurance claims for distracted face-petting would have been complicated. But when I actually touched my skin… nope. Sahara. Dry. Bone-dry. Cracked. My face was begging for mercy, and I had nothing to give it except guilt and vague promises to try harder.
My sister, ever the practical one, suggested, “Try my moisturizer.”
I nearly collapsed. Moisturizer. On me. The greasy, sticky, slip-and-slide horror I’ve avoided for decades. Hands? Nope. Face? Absolutely not. I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding it like I avoided gym class and small talk with neighbors. But my skin was sobbing, so I caved.
And then…magic. Heaven opened. Angels sang. Birds started performing synchronized flight patterns outside my window. My skin? Baby smooth. Baby. Smooth. I could barely believe it. For decades, I mistook Sahara-level dryness for “soft and supple.” Turns out, those are very different things.
At this point, I realized I might—just might—need a skincare routine. I know. Shocking. I, the person who once considered face soap a luxury, now have a full-blown regimen.
Here’s my current masterpiece of skin maintenance:
Morning Routine:
- Clean & Clear Morning Burst Oil-Free Gentle Face Wash (because I refuse to waste money—my past self may have been lazy, but my future self is fiscally responsible)
- Holy Hydration! Nourishing Night Cream (yes, night cream in the morning. No, I don’t care. Yes, it works. Don’t judge.)
Night Routine:
- Clean & Clear Night Relaxing Oil-Free Face Wash (finishing what I already bought, because throwing away money is a sin I cannot commit)
- Holy Hydration! Toner
- Holy Hydration! Triple Bounce Serum*
- Holy Hydration! Eye Cream
- Holy Hydration! Night Cream
The results? I’m absolutely shocked. My face feels lighter, smoother, softer, and—brace yourself—supple. Yes. SUPPLE. At 57, I didn’t think “supple” was a possibility. Yet here we are. My face is supple. I check it constantly. Twice. Sometimes three times a day, just to make sure it’s real.
I never thought I’d care about my skin this much. I used to think “skincare” was a conspiracy created by rich people to sell jars of cream and small towels you don’t need. Now? I know better. I know that sometimes, miracles come in vegan, cruelty-free, non-greasy jars, and sometimes, you just have to accept that your face has officially declared war on you and you’re not winning without backup.
Here’s a fun bonus: menopause isn’t just about dry skin. Oh no. It’s a full-body audition for “what can go wrong at the exact same time?” Hot flashes. Mood swings. Random joint pain. And, of course, the Sahara Desert that used to be your cheeks. I now understand why women stockpile moisturizers like canned food during a snowstorm. Survival is key.
So, if you’re dry, cracked, desperate to touch your own face without grimacing, or someone who, like me, thought moisturizer was the enemy, take it from someone who’s been there: e.l.f Cosmetics Holy Hydration! line is your new best friend. It’s vegan, cruelty-free, and apparently capable of performing miracles on faces that have officially declared war on their owners.
Final thought: if you see me glowing like a hydrated raisin at the grocery store, just know—it’s not Photoshop. It’s Holy Hydration. And maybe a little joy that I can finally touch my face without grimacing, cackling at the absurdity of menopause, and silently thanking my sister for saving my cheeks from a lifetime of Sahara dryness.
*I first tried their Bright Icon Vitamin C + E + Ferulic Serum. Smelled like…pork. Yes. PORK. Jimmy Dean sausage, specifically. Sure, I like breakfast, but I do not want to smell like breakfast meat at bedtime. Not even a little. I mean, it seriously confused my dog who loves bacon! So, I went with the Triple Bounce Serum option keeping with the Holy Hydration line.
Disclaimer: I’m not making any money from this—I just really, really like this product. This is simply my honest experience and recommendation from one dry-faced woman to anyone else trying to survive menopause without looking like a raisin.
Faith Love n Joy 