Consumer CultureSocial MediaChild Development

Why Are 10-Year-Olds Buying Anti-Aging Serums?

Inside the Sephora Kids phenomenon and what it says about where childhood disappeared to

Marcus Thompson
••9 min read
Interior of modern beauty retail store with bright product displays

Walk into any Sephora on a Saturday afternoon and you'll see them: packs of pre-teens testing $68 retinol creams, debating which vitamin C serum to buy, filming TikToks in front of the Drunk Elephant display. They're not playing dress-up. They're genuinely worried about aging. At age 10.

Why Are 10-Year-Olds Buying Anti-Aging Serums?

Walk into any Sephora on a Saturday afternoon and you'll see them.

Packs of pre-teens. Nine, ten, maybe eleven years old. Testing $68 retinol creams. Debating which vitamin C serum to buy. Filming TikToks in front of the Drunk Elephant display.

They're not playing dress-up.

They're genuinely worried about aging.

At age 10.

Retail workers have dubbed them 'Sephora Kids,' and they've become such a disruptive force that some stores have started age-restricting who can shop alone. Not because they're shoplifting. Because they're rude, messy, and buying products that are chemically burning their skin.

So how did we get here?

The Mall is Dead. Long Live Sephora.

Here's the thing: kids have always needed a 'third place.' Somewhere that's not home, not school. Somewhere to just exist with friends.

For Gen X, it was the mall. Food courts, arcade, the music store. You'd wander for hours, spending maybe $10 total.

For Millennials, it was coffee shops, bookstores, maybe the skate park.

For Gen Alpha? Those spaces don't exist anymore.

Malls are dying. Parks feel unsafe (or parents think they are). Coffee shops don't want loitering teenagers. Everything costs money, requires supervision, or exists online.

So where do they go?

Sephora. Ulta. Any beauty store with bright lights, samples, and no purchase requirement to browse.

It's become the default hangout. The last free playground.

Except it's not free. And it's not a playground. It's a retail environment designed to sell products to adults with disposable income and skin that actually needs intervention.

Not to kids whose biggest skincare concern should be sunscreen after soccer practice.

The Algorithm Made Them Do It

But why skincare? Why not clothes, or candy, or literally anything else?

Because TikTok told them to.

The 'Get Ready With Me' (GRWM) video format has normalized elaborate, multi-step skincare routines for children who haven't even hit puberty.

Young influencers (and let's be honest, some very irresponsible adult ones) film themselves layering seven different products. Retinol. Glycolic acid. Peptide serums. They use words like 'anti-aging' and 'preventative care.'

And kids watch. Then they want.

A recent study analyzed tween skincare routines posted on social media. The average routine contained 11 active ingredients. Eleven.

Adult dermatologists use maybe three or four in a comprehensive anti-aging protocol.

These kids are layering acids on top of retinol on top of vitamin C, creating chemical reactions that are literally burning their skin.

Pediatric dermatologists are seeing a surge in cases. Contact dermatitis. Chemical burns. Compromised skin barriers.

One doctor told me she's seeing 10-year-olds with skin damage that typically appears in adults who've over-exfoliated for years.

The Fear of Aging Before You're Done Growing

Let's talk about the psychological nightmare of this.

These kids are being sold the idea that aging is something to fear and prevent. Before they're finished aging into their adult faces.

Their skin is still developing. It's thinner, more sensitive, more reactive than adult skin.

And they're treating it like it's already failing them.

The message is clear: your natural face isn't good enough. You need products. You need intervention. You need to fight against your own biology.

And this message is landing on kids who are already navigating puberty, social media comparison, and the general hell of middle school.

One mother told me her daughter cried because she noticed a freckle. Not a mole. A freckle.

She wanted to know what product would remove it.

She's 9.

The $68 Placebo

Here's the other insane part: these products don't even work on kids.

Retinol is designed for skin that's lost collagen. Kids have all the collagen. Their skin is literally in its prime.

Vitamin C serums target sun damage and hyperpigmentation from years of exposure. Kids haven't had years of exposure.

They're buying solutions to problems they don't have.

But the placebo effect is powerful. If a $68 cream makes you feel like you're taking care of yourself, it works. Even if chemically, it's doing nothing (or worse, causing harm).

The beauty industry knows this. They're not marketing to kids directly (that would be illegal in many cases). But they're not stopping the algorithm from doing it for them.

What Parents Are Up Against

I talked to a mom who's been fighting this battle for months.

Her daughter, age 11, has been begging for a skincare routine 'like everyone at school has.'

The mom bought gentle cleanser, moisturizer, sunscreen. The basics.

Her daughter cried. 'That's not a routine. That's baby stuff.'

Baby stuff. For an 11-year-old.

The mom held firm. But she told me it's exhausting. Every day, there's a new TikTok, a new product, a new fear her daughter has absorbed from a 16-year-old influencer.

'I'm not just fighting marketing,' she said. 'I'm fighting her entire peer group.'

Because here's the thing: if all your friends have a routine, and you don't, you're the weird one.

Never mind that your friends are chemically burning their faces. You're missing out.

What The Industry Could Do (But Won't)

Some critics are calling for age restrictions on active ingredients. Retinol, chemical exfoliants, anything beyond gentle cleansers and moisturizers.

It would work.

But it won't happen.

Because the beauty industry just discovered a whole new market: kids with birthday money and fear-based motivation.

Why would they voluntarily walk away from that?

A few brands have started putting 'not recommended for children' labels on products. It's a start. But it's not enough.

The algorithm doesn't care about labels.

What Actually Works

I spoke with Dr. Lisa Chen, a pediatric dermatologist who's been treating the Sephora Kid fallout.

Her advice:

For kids under 13:

  • Gentle cleanser (if they want to feel grown-up)
  • Moisturizer
  • Sunscreen (this is the only anti-aging product anyone under 25 needs)

That's it.

'Their skin is perfect,' she said. 'They don't need products. They need to be protected from products.'

She's started running 'dermatology literacy' workshops for parents and kids together. Teaching them how skin actually works. What ingredients do. Why more isn't better.

One kid asked her, 'But what about my pores?'

She's 10.

Dr. Chen told her, 'Your pores are perfect. They're supposed to be there. Anyone telling you to shrink them is lying to you to sell you something.'

The kid looked skeptical.

The Real Problem

This isn't really about skincare.

It's about the fact that kids have nowhere to go.

It's about algorithms that feed them insecurity.

It's about the loss of childhood as a protected space where you're allowed to just be a kid, with kid skin, kid interests, kid problems.

Instead, we've monetized their insecurity before they're old enough to understand they're being sold to.

The Sephora Kids aren't the problem.

They're the symptom.

What We Can Do

If you're a parent dealing with this:

Teach media literacy. Help your kid understand that influencers are salespeople. That ring light makes everyone's skin look flawless. That the products they're pushing are paid promotions.

Validate their feelings, not their purchases. 'You want to feel grown-up. That makes sense. But grown-ups also know that most of this is marketing.'

Find them a third place. Youth groups, sports, art classes, anywhere they can hang out with friends that isn't a retail environment.

Talk about how skin actually works. Knowledge is power. If they understand that retinol is for wrinkles they don't have, it's easier to resist.

Model healthy behavior. If you're obsessed with anti-aging, they'll absorb that. If you talk about your body with criticism, they're listening.

One mom I talked to started a 'skincare club' at her house. Once a month, her daughter invites friends over. They do face masks (the gentle, fun kind). Paint nails. Talk.

No products allowed. Just hanging out.

The kids love it.

Because at the end of the day, they don't actually want complicated routines.

They want somewhere to belong.

The Bigger Picture

Last week, I watched a TikTok from a 13-year-old talking about her 'anti-aging journey.'

Anti-aging journey.

At 13.

The comments were full of other kids sharing their routines, asking for advice, worried about lines that don't exist yet.

And I realized: we've taught kids to fear their own faces.

Not just to enhance them, or play with makeup for fun.

To fear them.

To see their own reflection as something that needs intervention, correction, prevention.

Before they've even finished growing into themselves.

That's the real crisis.

Not that kids are at Sephora.

But that they think they need to be.


Quick Guide: What Kids Actually Need for Skin

Ages 5-12:

  • Water (seriously, that's it for most kids)
  • Gentle soap if they're getting dirty/sweaty
  • Sunscreen when outside
  • Moisturizer if skin feels dry (usually winter only)

Ages 13-18:

  • Gentle cleanser (morning and night)
  • Spot treatment for acne (if needed, ask a dermatologist)
  • Moisturizer
  • Sunscreen

What they DON'T need:

  • Retinol
  • Chemical exfoliants (AHA/BHA)
  • Anti-aging anything
  • Toners
  • Serums
  • $68 creams

When to see a dermatologist:

  • Persistent acne
  • Rashes that don't resolve
  • Actual skin concerns (not TikTok-induced fears)

Your kid's skin is already doing exactly what it's supposed to do.

Let it.

Marcus Thompson

Investigative journalist covering consumer culture and the ways algorithms shape childhood.