Ah, beef tallow. If you’re suitably brain-rotted, you’ll know that beef tallow – as in, animal fat from a cow – has been touted as the latest viral skincare trend. (I say “latest” – cave people probably slathered themselves in the stuff. But they also slept in caves, so why would we look to them for lifestyle advice?) The skincare trend, which a lot of us first came across when Nara Smith used it as the basis for her homemade moisturiser, and which has since been peddled by reams of skinfluencers on TikTok, apparently does wonders for the skin. It protects the skin barrier, they say, and can also sometimes help with acne (it’s an anti-inflammatory). Truly, what can’t beef tallow do?
As someone who doesn’t believe in a fad until I experience it first hand (see also: drinking 2.5 litres of water daily, mainlining bone broth, cutting out ultra-processed foods), I decided to try this one out for myself. I’ve always had acne-prone skin, and love to experiment with a new product, so I was genuinely looking forward to smearing my face in what is essentially cow lard. Besides, it’s a natural product, so how much harm can a bit of beef suet to the face actually do?
And so, just like my cave-dwelling ancestors before me would have done (minus the internet), I tracked down some 100 per cent organic grass-fed pure beef tallow, the kind often used for animal food, and commenced my interesting new skincare regime.
Days one to three
The first few days were easy. Wake, slather, slather, sleep, rinse and repeat (I just swapped it out in place of my usual CeraVe moisturising lotion). The tallow itself had a thick, balmy quality, not dissimilar to coconut oil, which felt a bit strange when it came to rubbing it all over my face. I very quickly developed a slick, greasy sheen – like a baby that’d just been born, but creepier.
The tallow also has a faintly fatty, beefy scent, which isn’t the most appealing to be around. My wife began checking whether I’d put my beef tallow on before approaching me and the one time she forgot, she recoiled in horror, disgusted. Aside from all that, the experiment was from the outset fairly breezy.
Days three to five
This was when I started experiencing beef tallow fatigue. The scent, which at first was sort of fine, very quickly became genuinely repulsive. The greasiness was also an issue. Everyday, I smeared beef fat on my face, followed by make-up, and then took the Underground to work, which for someone with acne-prone skin felt incredibly counterintuitive. Still, no one else seemed to notice that I was engaged in my own private hell. When I asked my colleague Hannah how my skin looked, she said “good” (this could have been a lie).
