Fashion and beauty historian Laura Fitzachary writes about sounding the death knell for 'clean girl' beauty, and what its life cycle as a trend tells us about makeup history.
With a focus on health, natural beauty and minimalism (albeit through the skewed lens of Western beauty standards...), the 'clean girl aesthetic' appeared in 2020, becoming a lifestyle trend enthusiastically endorsed and proliferated on social media, particularly TikTok.
You'll no doubt have seen versions of it: the dewy skin, the glossy blush, the barely there mascara and impeccably groomed brows, all topped off with a shiny slicked-back bun.
It's a look embodied by 'it girls' of the moment like Hailey Bieber, Sofia Richie Grainge and more.
The trend grew alongside a global pandemic and the socio-economic upheaval that ensued, the effects of which we are still feeling to this day. But what kind of message is conveyed through such a trend, such an 'aesthetic'? Why do we love a 'clean girl' and her beauty habits?
'Clean girl' is, often, as 'clean girl' does, and there is an expansive lifestyle ethos to go with this aesthetic: lengthy skincare and exercise routines, co-ordinated neutrals leading to a minimal, overly polished look that does not leave room for individual expression.
Perhaps it can be argued that the uniformity of the 'clean girl' aesthetic is a reflection of having the luxury of time and resources to be able to carry it out.
However, a shift is coming. Earlier this month, Reddit released The People's Beauty Index, its first-ever beauty report, revealing that as prescriptive beauty standards begin to wane in popularity, "Beauty is getting personal again".
More than this, Reddit claims that "taste is no longer passed down by a single ideal; it is built through conversation, experimentation, and shared experience. Instead of focusing on correction, people are celebrating individuality, turning everyday discoveries and lessons learned into a collective understanding of what beauty can look like".
People using Reddit, it reported, were incredibly interested in experimenting with makeup, with searches for 'playing' with makeup up 400%. In contrast, posts that mentioned 'fix,' 'hide,' 'cover,' 'correct', and 'conceal' decreased by 32% over the last year, and ones about 'no-makeup makeup' decreased 81%.
Is the 'clean girl' going out of style, and if so, why?
To understand the 'clean girls' of today, it can be worth looking to the 'clean girls' of the past. Historically speaking, the application of makeup and access to products that served both hygienic and decorative purposes were reserved for the elite of society, and this was the case in Ireland too.
As far back as the 18th century, an extensive silver set commissioned for Mary Fitzgerald (neé O’Brien) by her husband Robert Fitzgerald (19th Earl of Kildare) in 1720-22 was purchased by the Ulster Museum in 1995 for £470,000 from Sotheby’s of London and took two years to complete.
Comprising of 28 pieces and created by London-based Huguenot silversmith David Willaume, the Earl of Kildare’s commission to mark the birth of their third child makes it one of the largest surviving silver toilet sets in the world, and it includes: hairbrushes, a pair of silver-gilt scent flasks, a silver-gilt ewer and basin and a pair of silver-gilt pomade pots to hold cosmetics.
Makeup in this era was a decidedly elaborate affair, and far from what we would consider minimal.
One recipe for face wash from 'A Toilet of Flora' (1772) consisted of: '...two pounds of rice powder, half a pound of ceruss, powder of dried bones, frankincense, gum mastic and gum Arabic of each two ounces. Dissolve the whole in a sufficient quantity of rose-water, and wash the face with this fluid.'
With pomade or pomatum jars used to hold lead-based and perfumed powders, the paints consisted of suet (animal fat) mixed with ground white lead, rice powder (alternatives included wheat flour or bran flour) and carminic acid added to rice powder as a pigment for rouge.
Depending on certain recipes, the lead-based content of cosmetic formulas varied and thus so did too level of effects it had on the wearer’s health. But that did not stop satirical prints being made targeting women who donned cosmetics.
Labelled an ‘Irish beauty’ Maria Gunning became a poster girl for heavy cosmetic use in the mid-18th century and though born in Huntingdonshire, England, to Col. John Gunning of Castle Coote, Co. Roscommon, and Bridget, the daughter of Theobald Bourke, 6th Viscount Mayo, her childhood was spent in Ireland after her father inherited the family estates.
After debuting in Dublin, Gunning quickly moved to London becoming the Countess of Coventry by 1752. It is alleged that her new husband held much disdain for her cosmetic use and even attempted to remove it from her face.
Her contemporaries, such as George Selwyn writing in 1759, noted that by then she donned red and white paints ‘ad libitum’ so that she ‘could conceal the ravages her fatal illness had already made on her bright loveliness … she looked old, faded, a ghost of her former self …’
This suggests that the cosmetics themselves caused her illness and an early death, aged just 28. But if that was the case, why insist on wearing it? And why was it worn by women throughout the 18th century? What if the act of wearing makeup in a more vibrant or expressive way was also a source of social contempt?
Some years later, the taste for heavy makeup soured. Later commentators on 18th-century makeup-wearing women, such as Limerick native Lola Montez, have added to the assertion that ‘heavy cosmetic use’ was not something to aspire to.
By 1858, her published work (‘The Arts of Beauty: or, secrets of a lady’s toilet with hints to gentlemen on the art of fascinating’) serves as hindsight to denounce cosmetic use in the last century but also refers to cleanliness and brightness.
In her part-parody-part-beauty-manual, Montez (an Irish dancer and actress who subsequently became a courtesan and mistress to King Ludwig I of Bavaria) notes ‘that brightness is the finishing touch and final polish of a beautiful lady’ and to avoid paints and pomades á la the 18th-century women as it leads to certain death.
She further notes that if you possess a dull complexion or coarse skin, there is ‘no charm’, and that the goal of this 19th-century advice was to ‘attract a man of taste.’
So how does a 19th-century woman look her best? For Montez, her advice was: temperance, exercise and cleanliness. Arguably the core tenets of ‘clean girl aesthetic.’
Three hundred years later and the privilege of owning an elaborate toilet set - and the staff, time and resources to use it - could be mirrored today by having the time to carry out elaborate skincare routines, exercise and convey youthful femininity through natural beauty.
Note how it is always ‘clean girl’, not ‘clean woman.’
Though the products themselves have changed, historic commentary on women’s appearance and virtuous approaches to not wearing so much makeup remains relevant today. By leaving no room for individuality through diversity, vibrancy and expression, the ‘clean girl aesthetic’ coming to an end is not surprising to the beauty historian.
But I don’t think (despite nostalgia earlier in the year) we will see a return to ‘2016 makeup’ which still
involved a lot of technique and precision.
Instead, a move towards self-expression ‘ad libitum’ if you will, to celebrate all faces, their textures and character to counteract a ‘euro-centric’ homogenous beauty ideal.
In the words of writer Violet Nygugen, "The Clean Girl aesthetic is a destructive ideology that reinforces classism, consumerism, and sexism disguised as self-care."
Many might be glad to see the back of it.
The views expressed here are those of the author and do not represent or reflect the views of RTÉ
