A new and troubling trend is sweeping across Britain, and it has nothing to do with inflation or gilt yields. Doctors are raising the alarm over what they term ‘cosmeticorexia’: an obsessive fixation on skincare routines among young girls, often involving products designed for adult skin. This is not a trivial matter of teenage vanity. It is a public health concern with real economic and social implications.
Let us be clear. The market for skincare has exploded. Global sales of facial cleansers, serums, and moisturisers have risen by double digits annually, driven by social media influencers and a culture of perfectionism. In the UK, the average teenager now spends over £30 per month on skincare products, a figure that would have been unthinkable a decade ago. This is money that could be saved, invested, or spent on more productive pursuits. Instead, it is being pumped into an industry that preys on insecurity.
The medical establishment is rightly concerned. Dermatologists report a surge in contact dermatitis, allergic reactions, and even chemical burns among girls as young as 11. These children are using retinoids, alpha-hydroxy acids, and other potent ingredients designed for mature skin. The result is damaged skin barriers, increased sensitivity, and long-term scarring. This is not beauty. This is capital flight from common sense.
The root cause? A failure of fiscal responsibility in the home. Parents are either unaware of what their children are buying or are caving to peer pressure. The government, too, has a role. Regulation of the cosmetics industry remains lax. There are no age restrictions on the purchase of high-potency skincare products, unlike cigarettes or alcohol. This is a market failure that demands intervention.
Some may argue that this is a private matter. But when the NHS is forced to treat preventable skin conditions, the taxpayer foots the bill. We are seeing a new form of public expenditure: the cost of cosmeticorexia. Let us not forget that the Bank of England is already grappling with inflationary pressures. The last thing we need is additional strain on healthcare resources.
What is to be done? First, education. Schools should teach financial literacy and self-esteem, not just maths and English. Second, regulation. The government should consider age restrictions on certain skincare ingredients, much like it does for alcohol and gambling. Third, parental involvement. This is a call to action for mothers and fathers to monitor their children’s spending and habits.
In the meantime, the markets will continue to see volatility in the beauty sector. Share prices of companies like The Ordinary and Drunk Elephant have soared. But beware. This bubble is built on the fragile shoulders of teenage girls. When the regulatory hammer falls, or when parents finally wise up, these valuations will be tested.
The bottom line? Cosmeticorexia is a symptom of a deeper malaise: a society that values appearance over substance, consumption over saving. Until we address this, we will continue to see our capital, and our children, wasted on frivolous pursuits. The Bank of England cannot fix this. Only we can.
