The Social Life of “Good Skin”

Rachelle Taylor, SYBA

The Social Life of “Good Skin”

“Aap na ye wala facial karwado, saara tanning aur daag-waag nikal jaayega” (You should do this facial, all the tan and marks will come out) – the number of times I have heard this statement in salons ! Every visit I come to know something new about me or another person that needs fixing. Every Insta-scrolling session gives me remedies and makeup tricks to fix and conceal things that I didn’t know needed fixing in the first place. Since when has skin care stopped being optional and something that is a daily must do – other than eating and sleeping? From teenage acne scars to anti-aging serums marketed to people in their early twenties, the pressure to maintain “good skin” is everywhere – dermatology clinics, Instagram reels, beauty advertisements and even casual conversations among friends. Skin is no longer a biological surface, rather it has become a social project, constantly monitored, corrected and displayed. A breakout is treated as a failure, while clear good skin is praised as discipline and self-care. This constant everyday evaluation may seem harmless but it reveals how power shapes the way bodies are judged and valued.

Imagine a young adolescent going to visit a dermatologist for the first time because she was ridiculed for having these marks on her face – marks that she has no idea where it came from in the first place, just that everyday a new one would be there and it was really painful. Now imagine her walking out of the doctor’s clinic with a long list of medicines and topical treatments and a long list of dos and don’ts. Thus, forming a ‘problem’ she has to work on. 

Michel Foucault’s idea of the medical gaze talks about how the body is seen as a set of broken fragments that is in need of constant repair and correction rather than looking at it as a part of a whole human being. The skin becomes a site where normal developmental conditions like acne are medicalized and treated as a deviation from the normal and acne scars are seen as the body's failure to heal properly.

In his work, ‘The body and social theory’ Chris Shilling points out that the skin is not just a biological surface but also a social surface, one that is shaped by social expectations and evaluated through cultural standards. This means that our idea of good skin is shaped by cultural expectations.

Erving Goffman’s theory of stigma and spoiled identity defines a stigma as an attribute that deeply discredits a person in the eyes of the other. It reduces them from “a whole and usual person” to someone who has been tainted, discounted and inferior. Many bodily scars become stigmatized within the dominant beauty norms. Stretch marks, acne scars, hyperpigmentation are not just biological marks, they carry social meanings attached to weight, puberty, pregnancy or perceived neglect. These function as what Goffman calls spoiled identity, an identity that is now tainted with societal expectations and judgements, influencing who they are without actually knowing them. To simplify, a person wearing something that shows off their stretch marks is seen as someone who is struggling with their weight as a result of an unhealthy lifestyle and made conscious of this judgment, not taking into consideration the other factors that could have been the reason behind these marks and weight.  Or someone with acne may be labelled as unhygienic or careless, even when such assumptions are medically inaccurate.

Goffman’s concept of impression management can be applied to how individuals try to control how their skin is perceived. Makeup, lighting, filters, editing tools, etc. all act as tools to stage a publicly acceptable face. Instagram filters that blur true skin texture or tutorials promising ‘how to get flawless skin in 5 minutes using 3 products’ demonstrate how appearance is curated to avoid stigma. Here, the digital self becomes a carefully crafted extension of the physical self, reinforcing the idea the visible imperfection is risky.

Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of cultural capital tells us how skincare practices are shaped by unequal access to resources. Clear skin is seen as a sign of good health, discipline and knowledge, but clear skin also comes from access to resources. Dermatological and cosmetic procedures, prescribed medication and most importantly the time it takes to maintain what is considered healthy glowing skin is not equally accessible. The ability to invest in appearance becomes a form of embodied capital, a visible sign of class disguised as natural beauty. Scholars who extend Bourdieu’s work call this aesthetic capital – wherein attractiveness functions like social currency.

The expectation of having and maintaining flawless skin is embedded in everyday norms. Women are praised for looking ‘fresh’ and criticised for looking ‘pale’ and ‘tired’. And in order to keep away from this criticism, they are expected to constantly put in time and resources. Men too face appearance pressures, but the intensity of this expectation directed towards women tilts the scale. Unbearable weight by Susan Bordo  highlights the emotional burden that comes with this need to constantly be on the mend. A person is made to feel ashamed and frustrated for their body’s failure to be bright and spotless which then adds an emotional burden onto them to put in the work and fix it. Failure to maintain appearances in line with society’s standards is considered to be a failure of femininity. We see this in the monthly-bimonthly visits to salons women make where they receive unasked for comments and taunts and are made to feel insecure in order to get sales.

The capitalist market sustains and profits from these insecurities. The skincare industry is built on manufacturing dissatisfaction and promising transformation. Every advertisement and marketing gimmick does not sell satisfaction, it sells inadequacy. Influencer sponsorships blur the boundaries between authenticity and marketing, making consumption appear personal. The message? Improvement is always possible, stopping is irresponsible. Skincare becomes more about participating in a consumer identity rather than health.

What begins as a simple skincare routine reveals itself to be much more than a personal habit. The constant monitoring of pores, textures and imperfections reflect a culture that teaches people how to see their bodies as projects requiring endless correction. Skincare culture promises empowerment and self-care, but it also reinforces class privilege, gendered labour and consumer dependence. The pursuit of flawless skin is less about achieving health and more about managing visibility in a society that rewards one body over another. Recognising this does not mean rejecting skin care altogether; rather it invites a more critical awareness of how societal expectations shape what feels like personal choice.