Derms have been recommending this vibrating, rechargeable, pore-cleaning brush in magazine articles and during office appointments since the dinos roamed the earth. Seriously, even Wilma Flintstone keyed Betty Rubble into its gorgeous skin results way back when. I tried to block out all the talk and labeled the Clarisonic brush as nothing but hype—make that expensive hype, since a Clarisonic Brush costs around $200. I’m, sadly, not s**ting you. And mostly, up until about a month ago, the price was what held me back from proving all the hype wrong. But, in a moment of total insanity, I took my debit card to Sephora, snatched a Clarisonic kit off the shelf, paid super quick so I wouldn’t come to my senses and ran out. (But not before the register lady gushed about, what else, the Clarisonic brush. No, really, does Clarisonic pay off 90 percent of the retail and beauty industry?) Well, as I found out …If you’re thinking I’m going to devote a whole paragraph to slamming the sonic face brush, think again. Sorry to disappoint, but in this (rare) case, the hype is actually legit. I love my Clarisonic. L-O-V-E. My skin is way smoother; I no longer overscrub in the hopes of baby bottom soft skin (and end up causing breakouts); and there’s just something about the way my face feels after a one-minute Clarisonic session.
So yeah, no surprise. But I think the real debate surrounding the Clarisonic is whether smoother skin (and all the other things I love about the brush) is worth 200 bucks. That’s one huge chunk of change, folks. For me I’d spend double that price, but I could be a special case. My problem was always standing there at the sink, exhausted as all hell after a long day, and sucking it up to wash my face for any longer than 20 seconds. I’d splash some H2O, throw on some sort of soap (hey, Dial hand soap qualified as face soap for a lazy while), and rinse, vaguely. Clarisonic forces me to actually wash my face and for a full minute. A huge deal in my beauty routine.
Now, I’m not going to sign off on this review without offering up one potential dealbreaker on the Clarisonic: Since it washes your skin like never before, your skin may freak out a bit. Have to admit, I did break out about five days after I first started using the brush. Was it all those eventual zittles, unearthed and rearing their fugly heads? Could be. I’m no derm, but I can say that my skin did go through a bit of a revolt. I pushed on though and things cleared up nicely.
So, at the end of the day, here’s my Clarisonic advice for you: If you’ve got the dough and want something to stroke your skin ego and make you actually feel really good about washing your face, buy it. If you’re already happy with your skin, skip it. In the latter case, you’re clearly in need of no help — and a Clarisonic would just be too many cooks in the beauty kitchen.