Social media is teaching Gen Z to hate the skin they’re in | Canada Voices

Erika Johnson remembers exactly when her relationship with skin care changed.

For most of her life, she had clear skin – the kind people noticed right away. Friends, family and even strangers often complimented her complexion, boosting her confidence in ways she didn’t fully recognize at the time.

Then, at 25, the breakouts began.

Nothing seemed to calm the flare-ups. Her once-simple routine turned into an exhausting cycle of products, treatments and upkeep. With it, her confidence began to fade.

“On bad skin days, I don’t want to go outside. I just want to hide my face,” said Johnson, a senior account manager at Craft Public Relations.

Social media – filled with images of “glass skin” and poreless perfection – has only intensified that self-scrutiny. As Johnson approaches 30, she feels increasing pressure to add anti-aging products to her regimen.

Researchers have identified a growing anti-aging trend known as “prejuvenation‚” where younger generations – particularly Gen Z – feel pressure to treat signs of aging before they appear. For skin-care enthusiasts, social-media algorithms flood feeds with routines, warnings and endless lists of must-have products.

Beyond its broader effects on self-esteem, social media has accelerated anxiety around aging, promoting flawless skin as a marker of wellness and success.

“[Skin] can also be linked with how we feel mentally,” says Kaitlynn Mendes, a sociologist at Western University who studies social media, gender inequality and online abuse. “If you have skin that has no blemishes, it can be seen as an outward sign that you’re doing a great job taking care of yourself.”

Mendes explains that algorithms, filters and influencer culture distort perceptions of what is normal or attainable, fuelling constant comparison and unrealistic standards.

“It almost sells you on that hope or promise that if you just invest in yourself with the right products and time, then you too can achieve this. When it’s not attainable, we feel bad about ourselves.”

That cycle of comparison can be hard to escape, Mendes says, especially as beauty standards continue to shift online.

Toronto dermatologist Julia Carroll says many of these expectations do not reflect how skin naturally appears.

“Pores are normal. They’re not doors. They don’t open and close,” Carroll says. “I think we’ve been fooled by filters and makeup on social media.”

Still, consumers continue to spend heavily on products promoted through these platforms, helping transform skin care into a booming global industry.

In 2023, the average Canadian household spent $1,860 on personal care, according to Statistics Canada, with 66.2 per cent of these sales driven by consumer spending on makeup, skin care, manicure and fragrance products.

Research has also raised concerns about the effectiveness and safety of many online trends. A 2025 study by the American Academy of Pediatrics found that many skin-care solutions promoted on TikTok offer little benefit for the young audiences they target. The study also found the routines are often expensive, rarely include sunscreen and can increase the risk of irritation, allergic contact dermatitis and sun sensitivity.

Natalie Diezyn, a content marketing executive at SickBird Productions, spent much of her teenage years and early adulthood battling severe acne that resisted nearly everything she tried. Drugstore cleansers, online recommendations, prescription creams and antibiotics cycled through her regimen.

Skeptical of viral trends, Diezyn learned to treat skin care as medical management.

Eventually, multiple rounds of Accutane (also known as isotretinoin) – a strong prescription medication used to treat severe acne – brought relief.

After years of medical treatment, the fear of relapse makes chasing social-media trends feel too risky. Her routine now focuses on maintenance and prevention, not experimentation.

“This is an essential piece of my life that I will do in perpetuity,” she says. “If not, then it almost feels like I’m gonna be my insecure high-school self again.”

Diezyn works in influencer marketing and understands how beauty campaigns are constructed behind the scenes. While a product may look game-changing in an Instagram reel or a 30-second TikTok clip, she knows that’s exactly what those videos are designed to do.

On any given day, consumers and followers encounter videos showing creators applying a new skin-care product during “Get Ready with Me” or “Get Unready with Me” routines, praising it as their complexion appears instantly brighter on camera. Framed as casual routines, many posts often disguise paid partnerships as personal recommendations.

“I just feel doubtful that any of these products actually do anything,” she says.

For Diezyn, clear skin has always felt less like a beauty statement and more like relief.

“I can touch my face now and it doesn’t hurt. That’s a big win,” she says.

Dermatologists say the constant stream of viral skin-care advice has blurred the line between evidence-based treatments and marketing hype. Carroll says some trends have encouraged risky behaviour among people seeking clearer or younger-looking skin.

“When people are grabbing things out of their fridge, like beef tallow and homemade sunscreens, those kinds of things are extra hyped and probably don’t do anything,” she says.

Addressing the risks of jumping on harmful trends, she adds, “I have concerns about people that do home microneedling or are doing peels that are professional-grade products meant to be overseen by a medical professional.”

Carroll urges people to approach viral trends and products promising instant results with caution.

“It takes usually four to six weeks, at least, to see a difference with topical products. If someone’s telling you that it made a difference overnight, then I think that’s very suspicious.”

Michelle Anderson, creator of skin-care platform Rayna, says years of exposure to beauty marketing left her questioning an industry she once trusted.

Since her teens, Anderson closely followed product launches, tutorials and viral trends.

In hindsight, she realized many of her purchases offered no real results and says the beauty ecosystem feels “noisy,” with feeds flooded by excessive marketing, paid partnerships and false promises that exploit insecurities and boost sales.

Her frustration led her to create Rayna, a consumer-focused beauty platform that helps users cut through industry hype by tracking products, logging results and sharing reviews. Her goal, she says, is to help others make more informed choices.

“It’s so easy to overshop and overconsume constantly,” she says. “I’ve actively tried to ignore that stuff now and really just focus on what works for me.”

That return to simplicity may be the real shift – not the pursuit of perfect skin, but the decision to stop chasing after it.