My skin today is the best it has ever been. More radiant than my 40s. More comfortable than my 30s. Completely Botox-free. And the secret isn't a $300 serum — it's two remarkably affordable K-beauty products and a method I wish someone had told me about twenty years ago.

I've tried everything — every natural remedy, every research rabbit hole, including an ill-fated midnight peel situation I won't dwell on. I even launched my own small-batch cleansing oil business in 2015. So when I recommend something, I mean it.

Grief is not always straightforward. Sometimes you are grieving the person who died. And sometimes you are grieving the relationship you always wanted but never quite had. When it's both at once — that's when it gets complicated.

My mum passed away suddenly and unexpectedly, and on the 8th of May this year it will be eight years since she left. Eight years. And I still catch myself reaching for the phone sometimes. Still smell her perfume when she's nowhere near. Still ask her questions I don't have answers to.

People have a picture of what a toxic relationship looks like. Shouting. Obvious cruelty. Dramatic scenes. And sometimes it is that. But often — and this is the version nobody warns you about — it's quiet. It's a raised eyebrow when you share an opinion. It's being made to feel that your experiences don't quite measure up. It's the subtle, persistent message that you are being done a favour simply by being included.

The biggest lesson I've learned? Skincare after 50 isn't about trying to look 30 again—it's about having healthy, radiant skin that makes you feel confident at any age.

Our skin's needs change as we mature, and our routines should evolve too. By correcting these five mistakes, I've been able to turn back the clock a bit and, more importantly, feel great in my own skin.

About fifteen years ago a friend asked if I'd be a hair model for a hairdresser she knew who was doing a trial for a job. Free highlights, a fresh cut — I said yes immediately. Why wouldn't I?

The hairdresser was in her mid to late 20s. As we were chatting we realised I was the same age as her mum. I was in my mid 40s at the time — and I looked like I was in my mid 30s. Ageing didn't really kick in for me until after menopause. But I could see it happen in real time. The look on her face. The shift in her body language. She had clocked my age and made a decision about me before she'd even picked up the scissors

Somewhere along the way, the shine dulls. We start dressing like each other. We mute our vibe, blend into the background, and become — dare I say it — generic. And a little bit invisible.

In our 20s and 30s we embraced our own unique style. We were bold, experimental, unapologetically ourselves. Then, often somewhere around menopause, something shifts. We start dressing like our mums. And look — I love our mums. But we are not them.

Here's what I believe: dressing well is a spell. It's self-expression. It's how we tell the world who we are. Leaning into your own unique style is casting a spell that says — hey world, I'm the main character in my own life. And it's about time.

Something happens regularly that I will never get tired of. People find out how old I am, and their face does a thing!

Just recently, a new colleague assumed I was in my late 40s. When I told her I was 60 her jaw genuinely dropped. "What are you doing to your skin?" she asked. And I thought — where do I even start?

The honest answer is: a lot. But not in a complicated, overwhelming, hundred-product way. In a consistent, intentional, I-actually-understand-what-my-skin-needs way. That took time to figure out. It took Martine — my esthetician and the woman I credit with transforming my skin — and it took years of my own trial, error, research and the occasional burned face. But I got there. And this is what it actually looks like, day to day.