The Daily Moisturiser: A Midlife Revelation

There was a time — not all that long ago — when the idea of a man using face moisturiser would have caused as much laughter as someone ordering a salad at a truck stop.

Moisturiser? For men? Unthinkable! We had soap, water, and if you were really fancy, a bit of aftershave that burned your face off and made you smell like a pine forest in a heatwave.

Fast-forward thirty years, and here I am — standing at the bathroom mirror, dabbing something called hydrating facial balm onto my cheeks like I’m auditioning for a skincare commercial. And do you know what? I love it. I absolutely love it.

Now, before you start imagining I’ve gone completely soft, let me be clear — this wasn’t a spontaneous decision. It started innocently enough: I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror one morning and thought, Good grief, when did I start resembling a weathered leather armchair? The kind that looks comfortable but might also be hiding loose change from the 1980s.

I decided it was time to take action. I went to the chemist — a place that, in my youth, I only entered for things that rattled in bottles or required a prescription. Now, I found myself in an aisle lined with sleek little tubs and tubes, all promising to “revitalise,” “rejuvenate,” or “restore your youthful glow.”

“Excuse me,” I said to the young assistant, who couldn’t have been more than 22 and looked like his skin had never encountered a pore in its life. “I’m looking for something for... well, this.” I gestured vaguely at my face, which at that moment probably looked like a relief map of the Yorkshire Dales.

He handed me a small tube with the confidence of a man who’s never spent a winter defrosting his car at 6 a.m. “This one’s great for mature skin,” he said. Mature skin! I wanted to correct him, but I couldn’t — the mirror doesn’t lie.

So I took it home, and that evening, I began my new ritual. Wash face. Pat dry (apparently, rubbing is frowned upon). Then, apply moisturiser in small, upward circles. Upward circles! Who knew? I felt ridiculous at first, but by day three, something strange happened — I started to look forward to it.

There’s something quietly luxurious about taking those two minutes for yourself. It’s not just about the cream, really — it’s about the pause. The moment when you’re not checking your phone, not thinking about work or the news or whether the dog’s been fed. It’s just you, your reflection, and the faint scent of aloe vera.

And here’s the kicker: it works. My skin feels softer, my face looks a little less like it’s been sandblasted, and I swear people have started saying I “look well.” That’s the over-50s version of “You look great,” by the way — subtle, polite, but meaningful.

I won’t lie, there’s a mental shift too. Somewhere between the first dab and the last, I realised this isn’t vanity — it’s self-care. Something we men of a certain age have never been very good at admitting we need. We were raised in an era when you only saw a doctor if something had fallen off, and you definitely didn’t talk about “hydration levels” unless it involved beer.

But times have changed, thank goodness. These days, taking care of yourself isn’t just acceptable — it’s admirable. And if that means I’ve joined the ranks of the moisturised, so be it.

Just don’t tell anyone at the pub. I’ve got a rugged reputation to maintain.