By Vanya Lochan

Copyright vogue

Of all the adjustments one makes when moving countries, I hadn’t expected the lack of retinol to deliver the sharpest shock.
A month into Berlin, I plunged my fingers into my jar of Olay retinol night cream only to find—nothing. Missing day one of my carefully rotated five-day skin-cycling ritual felt like the start of a dermal apocalypse. What I didn’t realise then was that I was mourning more than skincare.
Amazon mocked me with imports priced at nearly four times what I’d pay in India. Google offered no salvation. My backups, global and domestic alike, were suddenly unavailable or prohibitively expensive.
Growing up in India, “global beauty” was shorthand for the American, occasionally French label (rarely made in France). My definition was shaped by my aunt’s US-returned suitcases: St Ives scrubs, Clinique, Kiehl’s, Sephora lip balms. They were impossibly chic, impossibly “international”. Add TV ads and the women’s magazine spreads I devoured at the beauty parlour, and my mental map of “global” was sealed. German skincare never figured; it was simply foreign.
And then Berlin happened. I ran out of things I relied on, perhaps, for things more than skincare.
Late one night, scrolling past Google’s glossy carousel of overpriced imports, I found it: a €5.99 (₹540) “Nachtcreme with retinol and bakuchiol” at DM Drogerie Markt. It was my first true introduction to German skincare, a category I had never considered seriously until necessity forced my hand.
German skincare struck me as clinical rather than theatrical. No ornate packaging or lofty claims. Just fragrance-free, efficient formulations with ingredients traceable to research. The EU’s stringent regulations meant every jar was already science-screened. Beauty here felt pharmacy or need-led. It was skincare without the theatre.
My bathroom in Delhi had resembled a stock exchange: creams, serums, toners, masks abandoned mid-rotation, edging towards expiry. German skincare broke that cycle. It reminded me that skincare could be less about foraging for spectacle and more about helping the body’s largest organ do its job.
The timing felt apt. Globally, beauty is reconsidering itself. Social media dermatologists are validating simpler routines, and consumers are asking whether cabinets crammed with bottles signify care or just marketing.
Berlin already held the answer: efficacy over excess, science over spectacle. German beauty’s legacy is long-established; it’s the birthplace of Nivea, a brand that feels as Indian, if not more, than the homegrown Boroline. Balea delivers on everything from serums to dry shampoo. Eucerin’s anti-pigment illuminating eye cream is my daily saviour. Elkos hand cream from Edeka, under €2 (₹180), is everywhere. Biotulin’s Supreme Skin Gel offers the famous “no-needle botox” effect. And Less’s face oil lives up to its name: understated, elegant.
Thinking back, the real revelation was not in swapping one nation’s brands for another’s, but in dismantling the myth that beauty is proportional to the number of bottles and masks on your shelf. German skincare and its philosophy stripped excess, anxiety and, on some level, insecurity out of my skincare routine and shifted my personal relationship with beauty and self-care.
The truest luxury, I have learnt, might be this: the confidence to skip a day and know that my skin, and my sense of self, will be just fine.

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