This summer, our Year 5 girls travelled to the Lake District on their residential. After a very busy day outdoors, their teacher asked them to brush their teeth and head to bed. Instead, three or four of them asked, very politely, (because our girls are always polite), when could they fit in their beauty routine? With them they had vanity cases full of skincare products.
The British Beauty Council valued the UK beauty industry at £27 billion in 2023 (around $500 billion globally). Though only half the size of fashion, beauty is one of the fastest-growing consumer industries, resilient, despite economic challenges, and driven by online purchasing, wellness culture, and the exponential rise of beauty influencers.
Platforms like YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok flood feeds with influencers showing off radiant, “perfect” skin. For tweens (mainly girls) between eight and twelve, it seems that they are being indoctrinated by the sheer volume of posts into thinking that without these products they will not be able to ward off the ageing process. At a stage when identity and self-worth are still forming, they are exposed to the idea that they must start fighting ageing before it even begins. Filters, editing, and relentless ‘influencing’ fuel an unattainable cycle of comparison. They are at an age when they are transitioning from childhood to adolescence, a particularly vulnerable stage in how they see themselves.
We adults know how social media works: it creates a problem before selling us the solution: You should look like this. You should be this lean. Buy these products. Follow this fitness regime. Do these things and you will be happier, you will be healthier, people will like you more, and you will have more friends.
As adults, we might think we see through it, but even we are part of the system. Our online interactions generate valuable data that fuels these industries. Seeing ourselves as products in this supply chain might be a perspective we have not considered before and seeing how our children are being manipulated in this way is a sobering thought. As Kaitlyn Regehr argues in Smartphone Nation, understanding how our data is used, and teaching our children to do the same, is key to reclaiming control over our digital lives.
To see how this plays out in practice, I downloaded TikTok this summer. Within minutes of searching for young beauty influencers my feed was saturated with “Get Ready With Me” (GRWM) videos—young girls, some of them as young as 4 or 5 showing off skincare routines built around brands like Drunk Elephant, “to stop the wrinkles- like the old people have”. Some of these girls speak to the camera and showcase their routines like professionals! Perhaps the most concerning of all was a three-year-old who repeatedly parroted the word “skincare” while her mother sat behind her and explained how she goes about her beauty routine. At the other end of the spectrum, teenagers parody younger children, poking fun at their videos, or carefully made-up dermatologists warn against using these products (some of which contain retinol) while simultaneously recommending a whole host of “safer” products. It truly feels like the wild west. It worries me that when the wrinkles do inevitably come, there will be all manner of new influencers showing them how to deal with this – non-surgical ‘tweaks’ before the inevitability of other invasive techniques.
The routines are elaborate. Cleansers, serums, treatments, moisturisers, eye creams, lip balms, bronzers, sunscreen—seven steps or more, night and day. It feels very much like a cult where loyalty develops through playful product names such as “O-Bloos Rosi Drops” and “Pekee Bar,” creating an in-group language that excludes adults and bonds children. Indeed, Chloe Combi the co-founder of the Respect Project and expert on Gen A-Z calls this, “The Church of Drunk Elephant, where only the truly faithful are welcome.”
Add to this the financial cost which is eye-watering. A single Drunk Elephant “Babyfacial” sells for around £65. Girls now ask for skincare instead of traditional birthday or Christmas presents, hoping to expand their collections. In schools, children compare products and share photos of their curated ranges. Even those not on TikTok are aware of the trend because the virtual world has a habit of bleeding into the playground. The rise of “Sephora Girls”, tweens obsessed with skincare shopping trips, shows how retailers now deliberately target ever-younger audiences with immersive, sweet-shop-style environments, where children can try products before they buy them.
Of course, these products and routines are unnecessary. Children don’t have wrinkles, blemishes, or enlarged pores. Dermatologists agree that a simple, inexpensive cleanser, moisturiser, and sunscreen are all they need. Yet, despite this, the marketing and the ‘influencing’ works. My eight-year-old niece told me she loves Drunk Elephant because her friends have it, it looks nice, and it makes her skin “healthy.” Her fifteen-year-old cousin is more dismissive; her peer group has moved on to simple skincare but are much more into makeup. For the younger girls, though, branding and belonging are powerful forces. Perhaps for my 15 niece the cycle begins again with make-up.
Why does this matter? Superficially these are young girls having fun. However, they could actually be causing damage to their skin. Exposure to unrealistic beauty standards over time can have profound consequences: low self-esteem, dissatisfaction, anxiety, disordered eating, and depression. Constant comparison erodes self-acceptance and resilience, and it is starting younger and younger.
If we, the adults in the room, are to empower our girls, tool them up for the future and mitigate the effects of this phenomenon we must talk to girls about self-acceptance, authenticity, and the difference between marketing and reality. This experience has further compounded by view that delaying social media access until the teenage years is vital. Otherwise, children are handed a digital world they are not yet equipped to navigate.
This is not just speculation. A recent BBC News piece reported that while girls still outperform boys at GCSEs, the gap is narrowing, with girls’ overall performance declining since Covid. The Education Policy Institute linked this to worsening mental health, poor sleep, and social media exposure. The Smartphone Free Childhood movement argues persuasively that delaying phone use protects children’s wellbeing and now influential celebrities such as Robbie Williams and Kate Winslet have pledged to hold out as long as possible before giving their children smartphones. In the Preparatory School, we advocate the same principles.
Having dived into TikTok myself, I saw just how relentless the stream of “beauty” content is.
In the Prep School, we are already taking active steps to counter the effects of online pressures. We proudly support the Smartphone Free Childhood movement and fully support the principles which underpin the movement. We are very screen aware. Tablets and laptops are used judiciously and we continue to keep parents informed through thought leadership pieces and curated links in the Bulletin. Within school, we actively promote engagement in rich offline experiences – from sport, music and art to the Discovery Passport and the joy of being outdoors – ensuring our girls develop a strong sense of identity beyond the screen. And yet, we are conscious there is always more we can do.
Ultimately, the most powerful message we can give our girls is that beauty lies not in filters, followers, or fleeting trends, but in authenticity and self-acceptance. By equipping them with the tools to question curated images, understand the difference between marketing and reality, and see through the illusion of perfection, we help them embrace their individuality with confidence. The wrinkles, imperfections, and laughter lines that will one day appear are not flaws to be erased but symbols of joy, wisdom, and a life well lived. True beauty rests in being unapologetically oneself – and that is a message worth celebrating.
