Confessions of a recovering beauty junkie (Part Two: The 90s)
Second in a 5-part series chronicling my cosmetic follies across the decades. Today: the perpetual quest to be a Total Betty, not a Monet
What is this series again?
It’s a 5-part series, in which I tell you about the many products I’ve slathered on myself across each of 5 decades, and why - often with decidedly mixed results.
This is (hopefully) to prevent you from wasting a) money and b) emotional outlay in the same vast quantities that I have done over the years. Also, nostalgia is fun.
And today is the 90s?
Yes. Famously a super fun time to be a woman1.
How did I feel about the way I looked in the 90s?
Ok, so the 90s take me from 13-22. That’s a lot of life.
I had my first kiss, started going out-out, met my first love2, lost my virginity3, took my A-levels, re-took my A-levels4, set off to university in Manchester and worked part-time in retail5.
This is how I looked at the start of the 90s6:
And this is how I looked by the end.
So during this time, I still had all of the stuff swirling around from the previous decade, but now enter My Heaving Cleavage Of Destiny.
It’s difficult to know exactly how big my boobs were during this period, because they literally didn’t make bras in my size yet. I have always been small of back and large of bosom7 and that was an alien concept until the 2000s - then skinny-with-tits became the aesthetic norm, boob jobs soared and bra companies rushed to cover those newly-enhanced cleavages.
What I do know is that my first bra was when I was 11, and it was a 34B. Chances are, I was actually closer to a 28D, but I was working with what was available at the time.
I was wearing a 34E by 15 and there were so few bras for that size back then. I decided to Marks and Spencer at 17 to get ‘properly’ measured in the hope that some magical door would open and I’d suddenly find the lingerie haul of my wildest imaginings.
This task defeated three saleswomen in the lingerie department, who then all crammed themselves into my cubicle and physically tried to force my boobs into a bra with their fingers. There was no recognition from them that this was a supply issue; instead, they made me feel like I had somehow done something wrong by having these anomalous breasts. I cried all the way home on the train.
It didn’t help that Kate Moss entered the zeitgeist in the 90s. Between her and the grunge/heroin chic movement, it wasn’t an easy time to be a busty girl. The female cast of Baywatch were obviously doing their thing, but I don’t think they owned a bra between them, so it didn’t really help me out.
Bravissimo8 would come along and literally change my life in around 19999, but until then, the self-loathing ramped up another notch.
Sidebar: having boobs this size10 is kind of a weird space to try to function in peacefully, even now. Clothes are still a challenge, looking elegant is literally impossible11 and men stare all of the time. People think they’re fair game to grab12 and - even now - also do varying degrees of performance to figure out if they’re real or not13.
Other than ALL OF THIS, I actually probably felt better about myself overall than the previous decade. I was aggressively pursued by chaps throughout my teens14 and I was definitely absolutely comfortable being validated by male attention for many years to come. I had a very delightful boyfriend, who thought I was magnificent, and I was evidently attractive enough to work at French Connection, where the beautiful people of the high street hung out at the time.
But, I still cried into the mirror at least once a week. So, you know, still some work to do on the old self-esteem.
What products was I using in the 90s and why?
Face:
So after early forays into Ten-O-Six and Clean and Clear, flirtations with St Ives apricot scrub15 and barely surviving an encounter with Oxy-10, it was time for my Clinique Era to begin.
Clinique
If you are female and had a face in the 1990s, I’m willing to bet that a Clinique product found its way onto your face during that decade.
It was perfect. The aesthetics were ideal for the 90s - all sleek bottles and pastel colours.
You took a quiz to determine your ideal routine16 and then (if you were me), disregarded the results and purchased the harshest formulations possible - the higher the number, the more effective the product, right?
So my combo was:
The soap bar - for oily skin. Even though I didn’t have oily skin, other than the excess oil it was creating to combat the extreme harshness of the products I was throwing at it17
The clarifying lotion (4) - FOUR. To their credit, I think some of the reps did try to dissuade me from this, but it took me several years to step down to 2.
Dramatically different lotion - I wish they’d had the audacity to call this ‘I’m Yellow, Motherfuckers!18”. But it wasn’t just the colour that would blow our collective consumerist minds. This had A PUMP. We were too good to shake or squeeze another bottle. WE WERE PUMPERS.
I haven’t used any of this stuff in at least 15 years, but I can still remember the smell of the Dramatically Different. As well as the slightly claggy feeling it invariably left on my skin. Still, I was locked in now, for several years to come.
The total domination of Clinique during this period normalised a few of things:
Spending much higher sums on skincare. No more £5 bottles for any of us. £15 or more per product showed you were serious about your skincare.
At the time, Clinique was only available in department stores. So you had to talk to a smily lady in a white coat to get some. And then she could ‘suggest’ the rest of the range to you. No more idly browsing the shelves at Boots without pressure; we were now vulnerable to being influenced19.
The early marketing stressed the importance of using the routine twice a day. No fucker needs clarifying lotion twice a day, every day. But that’s what they told us, so that’s what we did20.
The magic number of the 3-step routine. This laid the ground for routines to go nuclear in the future. If 3 steps were good, then imagine what 10 steps could do21!
Body Shop lip balms
I still remember how these tasted22. These were our gateway drug into decades of lip balm dependency.
And, if nothing else, they were a useful training ground for our tastebuds, essential preparation for the Mad Dog 20/20 we were about to inflict upon them during this decade23.
Make-up
13 marked the magical age at which I was allowed to start wearing make-up, and it’s fair to say that I fell headfirst into as much of the stuff as I could find.
A picture can save us several hundred words here, so I’ve about to save you about 1000 words’ worth:
I am FOURTEEN YEARS OLD HERE (1992)
You know when Just Seventeen told you to contour your browbone with blusher? This is what happened if you did. And the lop-sided blush placement on my cheeks fares no better. Absolute horrorshow.
Everything on my face is Rimmel, except the foundation, which was Boots 17 and a shade of orange that a pumpkin would envy.
Sixteen24 (1994):
Notable addition to the make-up collection here were those bronzing balls from Boots 17 that you swirled a brush around until at least one fell out and you accidentally trod it into the carpet. You know the ones.
And the lipstick? Our old friend Birthday Suit by Rimmel, of course. #250 ftw!
And by 18 (1996), we were here
By 18, I was using Black Cherry lipstick and liner.
This stuff walked so that Black Honey could run.
When I was 1925, Estee Lauder came out with the Enlighten and Lucidity foundations, sparking a 20+ year journey to find the perfect foundation26. My make-up spend starts to increase incrementally from here on in, in tandem with my rising skincare spend.
For context: by the time I go to university in 1997, I already have such a skincare/beauty habit that I effectively stop both drinking and smoking27 so that I have enough cash to fund my addiction. Most of my university friends never saw me drunk at university. In case you’ve ever doubted my commitment to product, this is Exhibit A.
Hair
Confession: I still don’t really understand what mousse does. But in the 90s, mousse was the Final Boss of all beauty products, so vats of mousse went onto my hair. Salon Selectives and Schwarzkopf smelled the best, so those were the ones I used. This is the only effect I registered.
I was mostly using Selsun shampoo on my hair at the time, then graduated to T-Gel, because of all the psoriasis. Both made my hair like straw. Which may have been why I elected to cut it all off in 1997.
Unlike many of my cohort. I only tried box hair dye once, somehow thinking that Clairol was going to magically turn my very dark hair into something resembling Alicia Silverstone. Nope. I never used Sun-In, missing this vital rite of passage. Thoughts and prayers to all of you who succumbed.
Also, it would be remiss of me not to mention hair mascara.
We were sold a dream that could not possibly be achieved in reality. The result was flaky clumps of unevenly distributed colour. I still miss it.
As a die-hard indie kid, I desperately, desperately wanted purple hair and an undercut, but I was too scared. I still believe this combo is in my future at some point28.
Mostly, my hair was there for turbo-moshing until I was about 18, then I went blonde and sadly moshed no more.
Body
Little changes since the 80s here, except I started loofahing with gusto. I should have just applied a sanding disc to my face and body every morning.
I became terrified of cellulite, even though I didn’t have any, and let myself get talked into a VERY EXPENSIVE YSL lotion by one of the White Coats. I don’t like the smell, it has no visible effects and I still repurchase another 2 bottles. This will become a theme.
What did I smell like?
The deodorant of choice was still coming from France, but I’d switched from Fa to Oe.
I LOVED the smell of Oe. it was fruity and weird and smelled sort of like floral bubblegum in deodorant form29
I - obviously - owned all 3 at some point, but one of them30 was the greatest smell my teenaged nostrils had ever smelled. At some point in the 90s, I moved from this to Dove original and I’ve barely looked back.
At 13 I had a brief, obligatory dalliance with White Musk.
From 14-18 I wore Coco Chanel. I distinctly remember my mum telling me that “It’s far too old for you”. I now realise why - that stuff is slutty as hell in the best possible way. I still love it on others to this day.
It was the 90s, so obviously I had my turns with CK One and CK Be. Although I never really liked them.
Then, just as the decade was drawing to a close, I landed on Gucci Envy and wore that for YEARS.
And just like that, this trip down memory lane is done. And what is a post about 90s beauty without this iconic video?
Next week: the 00s. And (spoiler!) my first cosmetic surgery.
Until the next time! x
I don’t know when was, tbh. But the 90s were def no picnic.
First IRL love. Morten Harket will always be my first love. It’s fair to say that I have a thing for Scandinavians 😂. Actually, specifically Swedes and Norwegians. The Danes are too dry and the Finns too intense for my palate.
To my first love - yeah, I know, how perfectly adorable
And STILL I had to diagnose myself with ADHD in my 40s 🤦🏼♀️
French Connection - when it was still cool (cool as FCUK, one might say.) (I slightly hate myself for this reference, but I’m keeping it in anyway.)
Obviously, this just looks a lot like me, really. But it’s still a bit weird that 13 year-old me already looks like Full-On Adult Me.
I’ve been a 30G for about the last 25 years
Not an ad, but if they want to sponsor me, I AM WIDE OPEN
They were founded in 1995, but word took longer to get round in a largely pre-internet world
Narrow back, giant boobs
Especially at only 5ft 4; my height being another casualty of early puberty
Imagine the entitlement of the people who think it’s ok to touch a pregnant woman’s stomach, but make it sexually motivated 🤢
They are, but it shouldn’t make me a ‘better’ person.
And still at time of writing, thanks for your concern
Fuck you, Aapri, we’re going the American way
Science!
All joking aside, at times I used to exfoliate my face to the point of scabbing
I am available for hire for all your Marketing needs
cracks knuckles “In this essay, I will argue that Clinique is single-handedly responsible for TikTok Shop…”
I mean, my routine adherence was still largely chaotic, but now at least I felt as though I was failing twice as hard.
You do not need a 10-step skincare routine.
Dreadful.
The only photo I can find with the packaging that I grew-up with is this veritable rogues gallery of appalling 90s drinks. In all sincerity, I can only remember how Mad Dog tasted when I threw it back up at the end of a night. This is not a ringing endorsement of the product or my youthful exploits.
Life hack: If you don’t want your teenage daughters getting wasted and fingered (usually in that order), don’t bring them up in a small town where there’s literally nothing else to do. Like and subscribe for more parenting tips from this childless woman!
This is the thinnest I have ever been post-puberty. My parents let me stay home alone for 3 weeks when they went on holiday - a privilege that I was smart enough not to abuse. This is how thin you can get if you subsist daily on 1 tin of ravioli, 8 Budweisers and a pack and a half of marlboro lights (and are vomiting the beer up 3 nights out of 5). My mum almost fainted when she saw me on her return.
Someone may correct me on this, but I know I first heard about them then and they were still New And Exciting at that time.
Spoiler: the perfect foundation is good skincare, a glowy primer and tinted moisturiser.
I still smoked weed, but hardly ever paid for it. Because I actually was pretty hot and people were inured to the eyebrows during this decade.
I also genuinely suspect that there’s a parallel universe in which I have this exact haircut, a tongue piercing and full-body tattoos. In that life, I own a piercing studio somewhere in the north of England and I eat as much cake as I like. Hey other me! You’re killing it!
And if this doesn’t sound good to you, I’m not sure that you and I have anything further to say to one another
Either the blue or the green.
Alternate universe me is definitely getting a tattoo rn in North London, eating cake