When self-care comes for your toddler

Every now and then, a celebrity comes along and puts their foot in it so wildly, so unabashedly, you wonder what motley crew of monkeys they must have around them. The latest is Shay Mitchell of Pretty Little Liars fame. Well, that’s how I know her. While that show might only appeal to a certain pocket of millennials, one look at her socials tells you she’s carved out a seriously impressive following as an influencer-slash-entrepreneur, with a couple of acting credits sprinkled in for good measure (most notably as the friend in the first season of Netflix’s YOU who clocked early doors that Penn Badgley’s Joe was, indeed, a psycho stalker).

And for the most part, she’s been getting it right. A bag collection. Some genuinely covetable suitcases. A collaboration with Selena Gomez. Relatable motherhood content (insofar as a super-wealthy celebrity can ever be considered relatable). She’s funny, self-aware, not afraid to laugh at herself. I liked following her.

But then she launched a skincare product for actual toddlers and suddenly everyone knows her name, but for all the wrong reasons.

I don’t know who failed to point out the shitshow this would inevitably cause. Surely someone’s getting sacked. Maybe she saw the pitfalls and didn’t care; maybe she saw only a business opportunity. I do wonder sometimes if celebrities are more strategic than we give them credit for, dabbling in rage-baiting as a kind of marketing tactic, knowing full well that outrage drives clicks, and clicks drive sales. After all, what’s a viral backlash if not a prelude to a redemptive comeback (and, inevitably, a bestselling memoir)?

Look at Sydney Sweeney’s white-supremacist-jeans debacle. The internet is rightly furious, but you can bet her name recognition just spiked. When we hold celebrities accountable — as we should — is the joke ultimately on us? Are we simply galvanising their platforms, keeping them relevant when they might otherwise have slipped off the boil?

And so, to Shay’s latest misstep: sheet masks for babies. A launch that’s caused uproar and, frankly, deservedly so. Unlike Kim Kardashian’s recent bush knickers (which people can buy if they’re suckers with more money than sense and simply want in on whatever’s trending) Shay’s products are actively harmful. Unless the bush knickers cause a bikini-line rash, in which case, more fool you.

With a quick sleight of language, a switch from self-improvement or beautification to self-care, we’ve entered a new and rather sinister era: one where toddlers, specifically female toddlers, will soon look in the mirror and wonder if they’re good enough. The brand boasts that the masks contain “nothing harmful,” but when it comes to psychological harm, they might as well come with a hazard warning.

Because even if that’s not the intention — even if Shay and her team genuinely believe they’re promoting bonding time, or introducing “self-care” as a sweet little ritual — the result is the same: conditioning. Conditioning tiny humans, humans young enough to poop their pants, to see their reflection as something in need of work. To associate care with consumption and needing the latest thing. To link worth with perfection. Before they can even pronounce those words.

It’s the same tired cycle, just starting earlier and it’s happening because we’ve obviously run out of other corners of society to exploit. Teens. Tweens. Now toddlers. Next it’ll be in-vitro serums to ensure your newborn comes out with an Instagram-worthy glow, marketed as “healthy.”

Of course it’s the parents who are also being exploited, facing pressures from all angles to give their kids the ‘best’. The beauty industry has always been a master at monetising insecurity, and now, apparently, it’s not enough to target exhausted mothers. It’s time to hook their daughters too. Under the banner of empowerment and self-love, we’re still selling the same thing: the idea that there’s something wrong with you, but don’t worry, we’ve got just the product to fix it.

And if that sounds dramatic or cynical, it’s just working very well on you. While we could laugh it off as a world gone mad — and others will surely rush to Shay’s defence, saying she’s just a girl, doesn’t deserve to be attacked, only wants the best for kids, and meant no harm — we have a moral obligation to resist the direction the beauty industry is heading: younger and younger.

The argument goes that kids will dabble in their mother’s makeup bags anyway, so we may as well make it “suitable for their skin” and embrace their curiosity. But there’s a difference between emulating mummy’s red lips and interfering with a skin barrier still in its infancy (literally) setting that child up for a lifetime of linking their value to their appearance. Make no mistake: this is not skincare, it’s indoctrination.

Thankfully, influencers with any sort of moral compass have flocked to the posts promoting these sheet masks, calling them what they are: disappointing and downright terrifying. Not afraid to be seen to bash another woman because that is not what they’re meaning to do. And while part of me can’t help but empathise with the woman who should know better — but was probably surrounded by one too many Yes People, chequebooks, and flashing dollar signs, we have to draw the line somewhere. This has gone too far.

Maybe we are feeding the monster. Maybe all this outrage only increases the monetary value of the very thing we’re trying to reject — controversy as currency. Look how it’s worked for Trump. But this is one monster that needs to be stopped. Not Shay herself, but the industry at large.

And yes, I’m writing this from a salon chair, mid-hair-extension install. Of course I am. That’s the blurred line we’re all dancing on: between empowerment and the quiet urge to improve ourselves, between self-expression and self-correction. In my defense, this is less about improvement and more about satisfying one of the many personalities living inside my head. On Friday, when I get botox, I won’t have a leg to stand on. The only difference is that I’m an adult with a fully developed prefrontal cortex, just self-aware enough to question it and to know when to call bullshit on a sheet mask for babies.