You know what’s really glamorous? Not having a rash. I discovered this recently when my teenage daughter, eyes swollen like a Victorian heroine with consumption, reacted brilliantly (read: horrifyingly) to yet another artisanal eye makeup remover. Made with “essences of moonlight and tears of Peruvian virgins”, no doubt. Hypoallergenic, they said. Dermatologically tested, they claimed. I’d like to meet that dermatologist and test their ethics.

Enter: neutral coconut oil. Unscented. Unbothered. Unbelievably effective. One swipe and off comes the mascara – even the waterproof kind designed to survive both childbirth and the apocalypse. No stinging. No eczema. No £40 price tag. Just a humble jar from the cupboard and a flannel that’s seen things.

And this, dear reader, was my awakening.

When did we all get hypnotised into thinking life had to be so bloody complicated?
That beauty requires a subscription box, a personal algorithm, and a skincare regime that rivals NASA’s mission prep? That one needs three different types of moisturiser depending on the moon phase and one’s menstrual alignment?

Let me say it plainly: we are being hustled.
And not even by good hustlers – just very persistent ones with excellent branding and slightly too much beige in their packaging.

Because here’s the truth: we don’t need most of what we buy.
We VILLHÖVER it. A glorious Swedish word for that slippery slope between need and want. “Behöver” is what you actually require. Food. Shelter. A functioning immune system. Possibly a half-decent cup of coffee. “Villhöver” is everything else: rose quartz face mists, collagen-infused gummies, scented panty liners (yes, they exist), and yes – twenty types of mascara remover, none of which work as well as a dab of coconut fat and a little scepticism.

It’s not just in our bathrooms, either.

Let’s talk food. No, wait – let’s talk science food. Engineered to be addictive, crunchy in that just-right way, salty-sweet-and-fatty in a flavour profile designed by someone who probably owns a patent on “mouthfeel.” These Franken-snacks don’t nourish – they trigger. You eat, you want more. Not because you’re hungry – but because you’re being chemically seduced.

And then? You gain weight.
And then? You’re told you don’t fit. Not just in your jeans – in the world.

But wait! Hope is at hand – for only £199.99/month, you too can join our gut-reset-glow-up-whole-body-bootcamp with free downloadable mantras and a branded water bottle the size of your torso.

It’s a trap. A brilliant, lucrative trap.
And we walk right into it every time, wallets open and confidence closed.

So what do we actually need?

Less.
We need less.

Less stuff. Less noise. Less obligation to look like someone who has no hobbies beyond exfoliation.

And more of what’s quietly magnificent: fresh air. Movement. Real food with actual nutrients. Sleep that isn’t bought in gummy form. Friends who tell you when you have spinach in your teeth and love you anyway.

Oh, and coconut oil. Obviously.

I’m not saying we should go full feral and start making our own toothpaste out of baking soda and regret – but maybe, just maybe, we could stop believing the people who profit from our insecurity.

Simplicity isn’t lazy. It’s revolutionary.
It’s saying: I see your marketing, and I raise you a functioning bullshit radar.

So here’s to neutral coconut oil – the unsung hero of the medicine cabinet. And here’s to remembering that sometimes the best solutions aren’t the shiniest. They’re the ones that don’t burn your eyelids off.

I have soul-syrup (aka coffee) to sip and stuff to get sorted.

Until later!

/L