I was 13, and I stole my mother's magazine. There was an article about how to make strawberry masks. I didn't know why it was necessary, but I did it. My skin was red afterwards, but I felt beautiful.

That's how it all started. Not with expensive jars, not with salons. With the desire to feel beautiful — even if no one was looking.

At first, I tried everything. I made strange masks, read forums, tried Korean essences and made mistakes. Sometimes my face "burned", sometimes it blossomed.
And I realized: beauty is not a product. It's a habit. Care. Tenderness to yourself.

Now I have a favorite cream that smells like summer. And a thin peeling that I do once a week - with music, candles and a glass of white.
This is my ritual. Not for someone else. For myself.

I love my skin. And even if it is not perfect - it is mine.
And taking care of it is like taking care of your inner world. Quietly. With love. With respect for every line and wrinkle.