REVEALED! My 200-Step 40-Year-Old Skincare Routine That Makes Me Look 27
40, flawless, and feral in Mexico
Hey everyone,
First, shout out to legendary American actor and comedian Jim Belushi for these Majical Ice Teaz, a low-calorie, Delta-9 THC-infused drink in collaboration with HighBridge Premium. Seems kind of appropriate that I’m drinking the “Chai-cago” chai black tea blend, seeing as it’s my old stomping grounds and the brand is on its way to launching in both Illinois and New York very soon, as well as about a dozen other states that could probably chill the fuck out right now.
I’ve actually been stone cold sober the past week recovering from some kind of mystery illness that is not COVID, SARS, RSV, the flu, or hepatitis. Maybe it’s a common cold, maybe some other unknown pathogen. Whatever it is packed a punch, so I’ve been horizontal and out of commission. I mean, how many plagues must we realistically endure? This is relentless! Let me live! (Coincidentally, Passover ends on 4/20 this year! We got stuck with a bad pharoah!).
But let’s get to why we’re really here: to discuss my 200-step skincare routine that keeps this freshly-turned 40-year-old body looking like a glowed-up 27-year-old playing a high school student on 90210. And no, it’s not just the monthly blood sacrifices—there’s a little Sephora and CVS involved, too.
After spending the past year stuck in existential crisis, I finally accepted last month that I am 40. Celebrated it, even. Insisted people acknowledge it, look it in the face, and say: “Holy shit. Millennials are middle-aged. It even happened to Carly—can you believe it? What does that say about me?”
Gen Z is about to struggle with their own ageism as they get edged out in their 30s, while Millennials are too busy freaking out about perimenopause. (I won’t speak to Gen X’s struggles out of respect for my elders.) No one is going to have Social Security, and none of us can afford to retire, so what even is middle age? We’re two unneeded reboots of ‘90s teen movies away from getting thrown in a pit marked Millennials and old iPhones and erased from existence. Happy birthday!
Good news: once you hit 40, you stop caring. Yes, you’re now the go-to advice person for people younger than you, but the existential dread fades into a sort of bemused acceptance. How lucky to be alive!
I thought about hosting a birthday party for myself for this incredible milestone, but was too stricken with the fear that no one would show up like a bad dream, or that it just would be too fucking depressing given that the first three months of 2025 have been such a suckfest. No, this wasn’t going to be a repeat of my 21st birthday at Auschwitz1, damn it! This wasn’t even going to be a repeat of the only time I went to Maui and it happened to be during Brett Kavanaugh’s trial while I was surrounded entirely by white Christian cattlemen conducting prayer service before their surf-and-turf dinner2. No! I was going to have A GOOD FUCKING TIME because there is never “a good time.” So, I did the logical thing and went to Mexico because America is ghetto.
I met up with my childhood friend in Puerto Vallarta, a dumpy little gay beach town everyone forgets about unless they’re a leather mommy with a timeshare. Vallarta lacks the cultural cachet of Mexico City, the culinary clout of Oaxaca, or the Instagram buzz of Tulum and Cabo, and maybe that’s why I liked it. It’s non-problematically problematic. It doesn’t try to be more than it is—even though it has its own hidden gems, history, and struggles with identity and sustainability like everywhere else.
This would be hard enough without the Trump administration sullying our global relationships, but I did my part: I bought a Fuck Trump—From, Puerto Vallarta t-shirt. Consider it a gesture of goodwill toward diplomatic relations.
I thought about telling everyone I was an Italian-Canadian, but the only person who asked me if “Jewish or Lebanese” was a borderline unhoused South African eccentric expat I met in Yelapa at Sirena Morena who told me he’s going to become President of the World and King of the Drugs.“Do you think I’m crazy?” he asked. “I mean, I guess it’s ambitious.” He asked me on a date and promised he would shave. (I politely declined.) The untouched indigenous pre-Spanish colonial paradise is only accessible by boat ride about an hour outside Vallarta, so the majority of local characters include conspiracy theorists, people living under new assumed identities, and people who still engage in cock fights.
On the north end of the bay is Punta Mita—a private peninsula home to gated luxury resorts from the St. Regis, Four Seasons, and Conrad Hilton. Since this was a milestone occasion, my friend and I agreed to do a fancy stay at the W Punta de Mita, a stunning beachside property with oceanside villas and jungle bungalows featuring amenities like private plunge pools, sundecks, and two-seater bathtubs. Some places claim to be “luxury” but aren’t—this hotel is worth every penny (and there are a lot of them because this is a very expensive resort).
The hotel generously gave us a media rate that afforded us the opportunity to extend our stay a couple nights and upgraded accommodations, including one of the best meals I’ve ever had in my whole life at Rubra—the buzzy new restaurant from Chef Daniela Soto-Innes, the youngest female chef ever awarded The World’s 50 Best. (The fact she was given Best Female Chef instead of just Best Chef is an injustice, but we’ll get into that another time.)
Channeling the fierce bitch energy of Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, I strutted into that resort letting everyone know I was 40. “I’m 40. Did you hear? I’m 40. Today. Yep! 4-0! Over 40 and feelin’ foxy!” No one believed me. “Girl, you don’t need to tell anyone.” “Wait, what’s your skincare routine and why do you look 27?” Maybe she is born with it!
As a woman living in a society that has trained her since birth that she is never going to be enough and always needs some kind of product or surgery or person to make it a little bit better, I’ve spent most of my life under the assumption that I’ll never win—so what’s the point in getting hung up about it? But I also work within the lifestyle industry, so I’ve become accustomed to the joys of self-care and treating my body like a temple after so many years of treating it like a human guinea pig. I tasted all the wines, tried all the skincare products, bought 10 different shades of red lipstick because there was always some magazine selling me something new and must-have until eventually figuring out what I like and just sticking to it. Consistency really is key.
I don’t have kids or a man, and prioritize my mental health after years of chaos. Any interest in sloppy bar hopping or reckless behavior died in the pandemic, and miraculously, I lost weight and my skin improved. Voilà.
I don’t put a number on success anymore. Managing stress is the greatest flex you can have. That includes making just enough money that no one is mad at me about it because mo’ money, mo’ problems. And these are stressful times. “Not being stressed out” is actually a lot of work, particularly when you live in New York City—the global capital of stress.
It’s not just about creating boundaries with other people; it’s about creating them with yourself. Some people genuinely don’t know how to relax, even when they’re paying a small fortune for help—be it a therapist, a wellness retreat, or a five-star resort staffed with hospitality professionals. (See also: the entire premise of all three seasons of The White Lotus.) Have you ever tried to relax, on purpose?
So, how does she do it? Even with all the variables working in my favor, I do have a skincare routine. Part of that is what I put inside my body. I eat a mostly consciously omnivorous diet and regularly exercise. I cook at home but keep it simple—no dishwasher, a tiny fridge, and no interest in five-hour cooking and cleaning for one. I live alone, buy what I need, and prioritize whole foods based on cost, freshness, and convenience. I try to drink enough water, but probably don’t. I lean toward collagen-rich foods, avoid processed junk, and take vitamins when I remember. I take melatonin gummies and aim for eight hours of sleep. It’s habitual, so it doesn’t feel stressful.
When you have no one to worry about except yourself—but you’re also mature enough to avoid the self-destructive tendencies of a self-involved teenager—it’s much easier to achieve the look of a woman who is completely unbothered. It’s a privilege, sure, but one I worked very, very hard for. I’m just sharing the wealth of knowledge on achieving the fountain of youth (even on a budget). Here’s what
Morning Skincare Routine
Wash face with water (no soap, unless I’m going to the gym)
Apply sunscreen (if heading out within the hour)
Drink coffee and go about my day
*If I go to the gym:
Wash face using either Trader Joe’s Spa Face Wash with Tea Tree Oil or Elemis Pro-Collagen Energising Marine Cleanser. 9 out of 10 times, I’ll use the former rather than the latter, and the only reason I have it is because I got it on sample sale, otherwise I wouldn’t have paid full price. It’s not that it’s not good, I just don’t like spending $68 on product going down the drain.
Serum: Lancome Advanced Génifique Radiance-Boosting Hydrating Serum OR Caudalie Vinoperfect Brightening Dark Spot Serum Vitamin C Alternative
Moisturizer: Either Elemis Pro-Collagen Marine Cream Day Cream OR Solawave’s Solabiome Nourishing Moisturizer with a sunscreen like:
Sunscreen: Any of the following are fine: Murad Correct & Protect Face Sunscreen Broad Spectrum SPF 45, Supergoop! Unseen Sunscreen Invisible Broad Spectrum SPF 50, Paula’s Choice RESIST Youth-Extending Daily Hydrating Fluid SPF 50, Shiseido Urban Environment Oil-Free SPF 42 Face Sunscreen w/ Hyaluronic Acid, or Dermalogica Dynamic Skin Recovery Moisturizer Sunscreen SPF 50.
Evening Skincare Routine
After spending several hours watching TV stoned on the couch while quadruple-tasking a game of Palia on my Nintendo Switch, maintaining my Duolingo streak, finishing the New York Times crossword, and screaming at strangers on the internet, I remember that I should probably wash my face, pop a mood stabilizer, and go to bed.
Face wash/Micellar water: Usually I’d start with removing my makeup using micellar water (Bioderma Sensibio H2O Micellar Water) followed by face wash (Cetaphil Gentle Skin Cleanser), but recently I’ve been doing the reverse of ending with micellar water (which does not need to be washed off) and it’s somehow been removing my makeup better than the other way around. I also recommend investing in some reusable makeup remover pads, which can be thrown in the wash and help reduce financial and physical waste.
Serum/Exfoliant: This where I start cycling products and gets a little complicated. I never use all three of these together, but will use one of these per day. Paula’s Choice 2% BHA Lotion Exfoliant, CeraVe Skin Renewing Retinol Serum, Anti-Aging Face Serum for All Skin Types, Lancome Advanced Génifique Radiance-Boosting Hydrating Serum OR Caudalie Vinoperfect Brightening Dark Spot Serum Vitamin C Alternative.
Nightcream: Elemis Pro-Collagen Definition Night Cream (got it on sample sale) or Elizabeth Arden Good Night Sleep Face Cream.
This is my New York City, at home, skincare routine—and it’s always subject to change based on when I run out of something or something is on sale. Neutrogena Triple Age Repair Anti-Aging Moisturizer and Hydro Boost Water Cream Fragrance Free are both excellent drugstore daycream options, as well as L'Oreal Paris Revitalift Triple Power Anti-Aging Cream for night cream. When I travel, the water and air quality will dictate how I adjust the routine—but honestly, I’m usually less fussy about it anyway and just using whatever stockpile of skincare samples I have on hand.
Aging isn’t a curse; it’s a flex. I don’t know what 40 is supposed to look like, but I do know I’m living my own version of it. My hair still isn’t gray, but someday it will be. The lines in my face will deepen, but that’s just proof of a life lived. Maybe I’ll fight it, maybe I won’t. For now, I gave myself the gift of a vacation where I left my emotional baggage at home and let myself be fully present. That, more than anything, might just be the best beauty secret of all.
Anyway, send me your best I can’t believe I’m X years old crisis stories. Or your favorite drugstore skincare recs. Or whatever’s keeping you looking suspiciously youthful these days.
That actually happened though on my first 21st birthday. It’s a long story, but I do not recommend.
This also actually happened and ruined a good time in paradise.
what a great, fun post. you have a wonderfully authentic writing 'voice'.