From jade rollers to jet-age light therapy, beauty has officially gone sci-fi. In a world of cryogenic fat-freezing, AI skin diagnostics, and freaky looking LED masks, self-care has taken a sharp turn into the cyborg. But what happens when our nightly skincare rituals start to resemble something out of Black Mirror? Model and writer Elfie Reigate plugs in, powers up, and wonders if today’s tech-obsessed beauty culture is horrifying, or kind of hot.
Last night my boyfriend came home to find me tucked up in bed, watching TV, plugged into my Shark CryoGlow LED face mask (the one that makes you look like Hannibal Lecter). He was clearly perturbed by my satanic glow, and it was only after explaining the cell-regenerating benefits of red-light therapy that it occurred to me just how far we’ve moved from ‘girlish’ tropes of self-care. Gone are the days of bubble baths and cucumber eye patches; today’s beauty regimes lean more towards cyborg-ian headgear. As I observed my boyfriend’s obvious concern from behind 160 tri-wick LED bulbs, I realised that this once-condescending vision of giggling and nail-painting had curdled into something of a transhuman nightmare…
When feminist theorist Donna Haraway published her seminal essay, The Cyborg Manifesto, I doubt she anticipated cryogenic fat freezing or lymphatic drainage tools. Still, her notion of the cyborg as the fusion of human and machine feels extremely relevant to the rapid technologization of the wellness and beauty industries. The global AI beauty market (which includes skin-scanning apps and various at-home devices) is projected to be worth $8.1 billion by 2028. You can now track your heart rate variability (HRV) to optimise meditation, recover from Pilates in an oxygen chamber, and measure the effects of alcohol on REM sleep – all before breakfast! It seems that wellness and beauty have melted into one adaptogenic, infrared-lit soup.
Spot-treat a blemish? There are AI apps that can scan your face and prescribe a serum. Want to rewind five years overnight? Inject some synthetic peptides into your eyelids and jade-roll them into submission. We are not just preening; we are syncing, scanning, and recalibrating ourselves – constantly. Nowadays, our bodies are feeling less like temples and more like science projects.
And yet, the relentless drive to enhance and optimise feels strangely familiar. From corsets to lead-based powders to “miracle” serums, there’s always been something ready to invent a flaw and pretend to offer the cure. The difference now? These technologies might actually deliver. We are becoming cyborg-ified – not just by using our devices, but through interventions that manufacture phenomena like the so-called ‘ageless generation’. Cosmetic procedures have become so precise, so identical, that we appear to be cloning ourselves. Through Instagram filters, cosmetic procedures, injectable symmetry and Ozempic-shaped silhouettes, we might quite literally be starting to look the same.
In 1985, Haraway declared she’d rather be a cyborg than a goddess – and most nights, with my face plugged into a charging station, I’m inclined to agree. But, in 2025, it seems that you don’t have to choose: cyborg and goddess – once again, women can “have it all.” We might be morphing into an army of fembots, and yet, there’s something faintly alluring about it. Should we be alarmed by this aesthetic arms race – or quietly impressed? I’ll admit, I’m often amused by the bizarre techno-jargon the beauty world has adopted. But why does my LED-lit dungeon feel less quaint than a set of hair rollers? Maybe Technophobia just feels passé in 2025.
Forest bathing and self-affirmations never quite did it for me – at least this stuff freaks out my boyfriend.