What’s Been Up
We got Nayanthara to spill the beans on her new skincare brand
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Luxury skincare is something I’ve always approached with curiosity—as well as with scepticism. After all, so much of the conversation around high-end beauty is shrouded in glamour that it’s hard to discern where genuine efficacy ends and clever marketing begins. La Mer, for as long as I can remember, has occupied a special spot in this space. And like any beauty enthusiast, I had long wondered if the brand actually lives up to its iconic status.
But it wasn't until very recently that I spotted the brand at Mumbai’s Jio World Plaza. There was the Genaissance collection, a range I had only heard about in passing. However, what really drew me in weren’t the gold bottles but something else entirely—a small jar of Crème de la Mer. And why not? Isn’t it often the quietest of products that hold the most promise?
After hearing icons from around the world sing praises about this little product, I was of course eager to try it. As I applied it to my skin, the texture felt light, but substantial. There was an immediate sense of balance—hydration without heaviness, luxury without ostentation. It didn't announce itself but rather worked quietly, leaving my skin feeling soft and plump.
Over the following days, my skin seemed to look and feel more supple, with a natural glow. There was something almost ritualistic about it—from the slow absorption to the delicate scent. The heart of this experience, as I would later learn, lies in the brand's Miracle Broth.
Harvested from the sea, the Miracle Broth is based on sea kelp, an ingredient known for its regenerative properties. But La Mer’s process is anything but straightforward. This kelp undergoes months of fermentation, a painstaking process designed to amplify its rejuvenating benefits. The result is a nutrient-dense, bioactive blend that’s said to soothe and renew the skin at a cellular level.
This might explain why users swear by it, years after their first application.
For me, Crème de la Mer felt less like an instant fix and more like a quiet dialogue with my skin—a gentle nudging towards balance and improved skin texture.
The story of La Mer has been retold many times, but its details still feel oddly personal. It begins with Dr Max Huber, an aerospace physicist who suffered severe burns during an experiment. Frustrated with conventional treatments, he turned to the ocean, believing it could be the key to healing his own skin. After 12 years of experiments and 6000 formulations, Dr Huber created what would become the Miracle Broth and, in turn, La Mer was born.
Huber’s creation wasn’t just a skincare product; it was a personal journey, one that ultimately shaped the luxury skincare landscape in ways that are still felt today.
As I continue to reach for Crème de la Mer each morning, I can’t help but conclude that it’s not the immediate transformation or the promise of 'eternal youth' that stands out in a skincare product. Instead, it’s the ritual—the mindful, meditative act of applying something that feels carefully considered, both in terms of its formulation and its effect. There’s a comfort in knowing that behind the creamy texture and soothing scent, lies innovation, patience and hard work—something that also explains the high price point, perhaps.
For all its reputation as a luxury product, La Mer doesn’t feel like something that exists to simply display on a vanity. It’s a brand that quietly works with your skin, as though responding to its specific needs without imposing itself too strongly. I think that’s why it feels so satisfying to use. It doesn’t promise perfection; instead, it offers something more nuanced—skin that feels like the best version of itself.
In the end, La Mer may not be for everyone; and I still understand the scepticism that surrounds it. But for those who are drawn to the quietest of formulations, the ritual becomes as important as the result. That’s what stays with me the most—that a jar of cream could, in its own small way, invite me to pause, indulge and take a moment for myself. And that’s perhaps the greatest luxury of all.
Harvested from the sea, the Miracle Broth is based on sea kelp, an ingredient known for its regenerative properties. But La Mer’s process is anything but straightforward. This kelp undergoes months of fermentation, a painstaking process designed to amplify its rejuvenating benefits. The result is a nutrient-dense, bioactive blend that’s said to soothe and renew the skin at a cellular level.
This might explain why users swear by it, years after their first application.
For me, Crème de la Mer felt less like an instant fix and more like a quiet dialogue with my skin—a gentle nudging towards balance and improved skin texture.
The story of La Mer has been retold many times, but its details still feel oddly personal. It begins with Dr Max Huber, an aerospace physicist who suffered severe burns during an experiment. Frustrated with conventional treatments, he turned to the ocean, believing it could be the key to healing his own skin. After 12 years of experiments and 6000 formulations, Dr Huber created what would become the Miracle Broth and, in turn, La Mer was born.
Huber’s creation wasn’t just a skincare product; it was a personal journey, one that ultimately shaped the luxury skincare landscape in ways that are still felt today.
As I continue to reach for Crème de la Mer each morning, I can’t help but conclude that it’s not the immediate transformation or the promise of 'eternal youth' that stands out in a skincare product. Instead, it’s the ritual—the mindful, meditative act of applying something that feels carefully considered, both in terms of its formulation and its effect. There’s a comfort in knowing that behind the creamy texture and soothing scent, lies innovation, patience and hard work—something that also explains the high price point, perhaps.
For all its reputation as a luxury product, La Mer doesn’t feel like something that exists to simply display on a vanity. It’s a brand that quietly works with your skin, as though responding to its specific needs without imposing itself too strongly. I think that’s why it feels so satisfying to use. It doesn’t promise perfection; instead, it offers something more nuanced—skin that feels like the best version of itself.
In the end, La Mer may not be for everyone; and I still understand the scepticism that surrounds it. But for those who are drawn to the quietest of formulations, the ritual becomes as important as the result. That’s what stays with me the most—that a jar of cream could, in its own small way, invite me to pause, indulge and take a moment for myself. And that’s perhaps the greatest luxury of all.
Harvested from the sea, the Miracle Broth is based on sea kelp, an ingredient known for its regenerative properties. But La Mer’s process is anything but straightforward. This kelp undergoes months of fermentation, a painstaking process designed to amplify its rejuvenating benefits. The result is a nutrient-dense, bioactive blend that’s said to soothe and renew the skin at a cellular level.
This might explain why users swear by it, years after their first application.
For me, Crème de la Mer felt less like an instant fix and more like a quiet dialogue with my skin—a gentle nudging towards balance and improved skin texture.
The story of La Mer has been retold many times, but its details still feel oddly personal. It begins with Dr Max Huber, an aerospace physicist who suffered severe burns during an experiment. Frustrated with conventional treatments, he turned to the ocean, believing it could be the key to healing his own skin. After 12 years of experiments and 6000 formulations, Dr Huber created what would become the Miracle Broth and, in turn, La Mer was born.
Huber’s creation wasn’t just a skincare product; it was a personal journey, one that ultimately shaped the luxury skincare landscape in ways that are still felt today.
As I continue to reach for Crème de la Mer each morning, I can’t help but conclude that it’s not the immediate transformation or the promise of 'eternal youth' that stands out in a skincare product. Instead, it’s the ritual—the mindful, meditative act of applying something that feels carefully considered, both in terms of its formulation and its effect. There’s a comfort in knowing that behind the creamy texture and soothing scent, lies innovation, patience and hard work—something that also explains the high price point, perhaps.
For all its reputation as a luxury product, La Mer doesn’t feel like something that exists to simply display on a vanity. It’s a brand that quietly works with your skin, as though responding to its specific needs without imposing itself too strongly. I think that’s why it feels so satisfying to use. It doesn’t promise perfection; instead, it offers something more nuanced—skin that feels like the best version of itself.
In the end, La Mer may not be for everyone; and I still understand the scepticism that surrounds it. But for those who are drawn to the quietest of formulations, the ritual becomes as important as the result. That’s what stays with me the most—that a jar of cream could, in its own small way, invite me to pause, indulge and take a moment for myself. And that’s perhaps the greatest luxury of all.
