The sunscreen I wish I had started at 25

I did not wear sunscreen in my twenties. Not on the boat, not at the outdoor job I had for two summers, not on a memorable spring break I still have photographic evidence of. I want to be honest about that before I tell anyone what to do.

I started wearing it every day at forty, after a dermatologist froze something off my shoulder and said, kindly and without any drama, “let’s not do that again.” Six years now. Every single day.

What actually made it stick

Not willpower. Two boring logistical things:

• I found a formula I don’t hate. That’s the whole game. I tried maybe eleven before I found a fluid one that doesn’t pill under makeup or leave me looking like a ghost in photos.
• I keep it next to the moisturizer, and I do them in the same motion. It’s not a separate decision anymore, so I can’t talk myself out of it.

The best sunscreen is genuinely the one you will put on when you’re tired and running late.

The part I can’t fix

There’s a scattering of sun damage across my cheekbones that has been slowly getting more visible since I turned forty-three. No serum has touched it. I’ve mostly stopped trying — I wear a slightly heavier tinted balm on days when it bothers me and I let it go on the days it doesn’t.

I can’t undo the twenties. I can prevent the next twenty years of it, and it takes eleven seconds, and I’d rather spend the eleven seconds than the regret.

If you have a daughter, put it on her face at the same time you put it on yours. That’s the only parenting advice in this entire post.