Véronique

The gap between Korean and American sunscreen is not marketing. It is regulation. In the United States, sunscreen is classified as an over-the-counter drug, which means every UV filter must clear a drug-approval pathway. The practical result is that the last new filter approved for general use in the US arrived in the 1990s. In South Korea, sunscreen is regulated as a cosmetic, and Korean formulators have had access to modern filters — Tinosorb S, Tinosorb M, Uvinul A Plus — for two decades. Those filters matter for reasons that have nothing to do with brand loyalty. Older chemical filters like avobenzone degrade in sunlight and need stabilizers to keep working through an afternoon. Modern filters are photostable, cover a wider slice of the UVA spectrum, and — this is the part people actually notice — feel like nothing. There is no white cast, no greasy film, no stinging when it migrates toward the eyes. A sunscreen you enjoy applying is a sunscreen you reapply, and reapplication is where most sun protection actually fails. A word on the labels. Korean sunscreens carry both an SPF number and a PA rating. SPF measures UVB protection, the wavelength responsible for burning. PA, expressed in plus signs, measures UVA protection — the wavelength responsible for photoaging and much of the pigment change people spend serious money trying to reverse. PA++++ is the top of the scale, and it is common on Korean shelves and rare on American ones. We wore these six through a summer of commuting, hiking, and a week on the Andalusian coast. Each one was applied at the recommended two-finger quantity, reapplied every two to three hours outdoors, and evaluated on finish, pilling under makeup, eye sting, and how it behaved after sweating. Beauty of Joseon Relief Sun: Rice + Probiotics SPF 50+ PA++++ remains the one to beat. It is an organic filter formula that finishes like a light moisturizer, sits under foundation without pilling, and costs a fraction of comparable Western essences. If you buy one bottle, buy this one. Round Lab Birch Juice Moisturizing Sunscreen SPF 50+ PA++++ is the choice for dry or winter skin. It is heavier than the Joseon, closer to a proper cream, and it holds hydration through a cold, dry day without ever going tacky.

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COSRX Aloe Soothing Sun Cream SPF 50 PA+++ is the reactive-skin pick. Minimal fragrance, aloe-forward, forgiving on skin that is mid-retinoid or post-procedure. Slightly more visible on deeper skin tones than the others here. Missha All Around Safe Block Essence Sun SPF 45 PA+++ is the lightest formula in the group — genuinely watery, absorbs in seconds, and the best option for oily skin or humid climates where anything richer slides off by noon. Innisfree Daily UV Defense Sunscreen SPF 36 PA+++ is the everyday, low-commitment bottle. Lower SPF, but a pleasant matte finish and a price that makes generous application painless, which matters more than the number on the tube. Etude House Sunprise Mild Airy Finish SPF 50+ PA+++ finishes drier than the rest and works as a makeup base on its own. It is the one to pack if you hate the feeling of sunscreen entirely. Two cautions. First, buy from authorized retailers; grey-market sunscreen is a real problem and heat-damaged stock does not protect properly. Second, none of these are FDA-approved products, which means they are legally imported for personal use rather than sold as US drugs. That distinction is regulatory, not a statement about efficacy — Korean sunscreens are tested to ISO standards used across Europe and Asia. The broader point is worth sitting with. Sun protection is the single highest-return step in any skincare routine, ahead of every serum and every acid. The reason most people underapply is that most sunscreen is unpleasant. Korea solved the unpleasantness problem twenty years ago. The rest of us are still catching up.

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Beauty · By Priya Anand

The Quiet Glow: Minimalism Returns to the Makeup Counter

The last ten years of mainstream makeup, filtered through Instagram tutorials and drag-adjacent contouring, taught an entire generation that a finished face required roughly fourteen products, three brushes, and a setting spray. The current moment is doing something quieter and, for many people, much more useful. Skin is being allowed to look like skin again. Call it the quiet glow. The category name is imperfect, but the tell is consistent: tinted balms instead of full-coverage foundation, a wash of cream blush pressed in with fingers, a dab of clear lip oil, and — if you are feeling formal — a single sweep of mascara. That is the whole face. It takes ninety seconds. It photographs well in daylight and, more importantly, it photographs well in the kind of overhead office lighting that used to make heavy makeup look like a mask. The formulation science that makes this possible is genuinely new. The last three years have seen a wave of hybrid products — 'skin tints' with SPF and hyaluronic acid, cream blushes stabilized with squalane, lip balms tinted with mineral pigments rather than dye — that behave more like skincare than cosmetics. They sit on the face without settling into fine lines, they last through a normal day without touch-ups, and they come off with a splash of water. The tradeoff, which the industry does not always advertise, is that they demand skin that is reasonably healthy to begin with. Which is precisely why the barrier-repair skincare movement and the quiet-glow makeup movement are the same story told from two directions. Our beauty desk tested the trend across six skin tones and three climates over eight weeks. The consistent finding was that the products designed for this aesthetic — we are being deliberately vague about brands here because the specific SKUs turn over quickly — work remarkably well on darker skin, where heavy foundation has historically been the most punishing to blend. A well-formulated tint in the right undertone reads as skin, not as coverage, across the entire Fitzpatrick range. That is not something the previous generation of 'natural' makeup could honestly claim. There is a cultural piece here too, and it is worth stating plainly. The quiet glow is inclusive by design because it does not ask its wearer to hide anything. Freckles, pores, texture, the small asymmetries of a real face — all of it stays visible. For anyone who spent years being told, implicitly or explicitly, that their unedited face was a problem, that is not a trivial shift. What we are watching is not a rejection of makeup. It is a rejection of the idea that makeup is a corrective procedure. The counter is still full. The palette is still enormous. The technique is simply lighter, faster, and more forgiving. That is a better relationship for most people to have with the mirror. Quiet, in this context, is not the opposite of loud. It is the opposite of anxious.

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Beauty · By Noah Pierce

The New Men's Fragrance Wardrobe

The fragrance shelf, more than almost any other corner of the beauty industry, has spent the last century enforcing a gender binary that never made chemical sense. Rose is not a feminine molecule. Oud is not a masculine molecule. Vetiver, iris, sandalwood, jasmine, ambergris — these are ingredients, not identity claims. The current generation of perfumers, and increasingly the customers buying their work, are treating them accordingly. The pivot has been most visible in niche perfumery. Houses based in Grasse, Dubai, Berlin, and Los Angeles have been releasing fragrances without gender designation for a decade, and the mainstream is following. Chanel, Dior, and Byredo have all quietly moved their newer launches away from strict pink-or-blue marketing. The bottles look the same for everyone. The advertising features whoever fits the mood of the scent. And the customers, given the option, are choosing what they actually like to smell rather than what they were told they were supposed to wear. The notes worth building a wardrobe around, in 2026, are a specific short list. Neroli — the oil pressed from bitter orange blossom — has emerged as the daylight scent of choice: bright, slightly bitter, uncomplicated, and universally flattering. Clean musks, particularly the newer synthetic muscones that read as skin rather than laundry, are doing the work of a base note without the powdery weight of the older aldehyde-heavy musks. Oud, once a specialist Middle Eastern note, is now mainstream in both raw and reconstituted forms, and it is being worn as a serious evening scent by people of every gender. Smoked vetiver — vetiver grass processed to bring out its darker, almost tar-like facets — is the current cool-weather signature. The wardrobe idea is worth taking seriously. The old model of one signature scent, worn every day, is being replaced by a small rotation — three or four fragrances organized by weather, time of day, and social context rather than by season. A neroli or bergamot for morning and outdoor daylight. A clean musk or iris for office and indoor daytime. An oud, amber, or vetiver for evening. A stranger, more idiosyncratic scent — something with immortelle, ambergris, or a specific incense — for the days when you want to be recognized by the way a room smells after you leave it. The perfumers we interviewed for this piece were, almost to a person, exhausted by the gender question. Four of them told us they had stopped labeling their bottles at all in the last three years and had seen no drop in sales. One, based in Grasse, said the only demographic still asking for explicitly 'masculine' fragrances was, in her words, 'men over seventy and marketing executives.' Everyone else was choosing by nose. What this adds up to, for someone building a personal scent wardrobe now, is a genuinely wider menu. The good news is that the notes have never been more available or better formulated. The better news is that no one is checking what you are wearing against what you are supposed to wear. The bottle is on the shelf. If you like how it smells on your skin, it is yours. Scent, at its best, has always been personal. It is finally being allowed to be.

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