I have my mum to thank for introducing me to the world of beauty. There was the lipstick she’d let me try and I wanted so badly (a putrid shade of brown shimmer that should never be touched again), then there was my first spritz of Charlie Red (I proudly jangled around a can of the body spray version in my school rucksack). Still, of all the beauty formulas that remain tucked away as little paper memories in the filing cabinet of my brain, there is one I still habitually use today. A mere jerk of the lid and the heady lavender scent transports me back to the popsicle, sunshiny summers of my youth. A thick white, undulating paste, almost like emulsion, housed in a medicinal-looking grey tub, it’s Sudocrem. That’s right, the nappy rash cream.  It’s not sexy, nor is it a beauty luxury but I have a deep and unwavering love for it.  

Now, this is no self-indulgent beauty paean to a salubrious fragrance or particularly glamorous hairstyle (we’ve all read those.) Well, how could it be? This is a nappy cream. Sudocrem is a practical product - all my memories of it are born of that uncomfortable teenage phase, defined by spots, greasy hair and awkwardness. That thick white paste was smeared on our arses every day for the first few years of our lives and thankfully we don’t remember it that part. But for me and my siblings, it didn’t stop there. This 80 year old nappy rash cream has accompanied us all the way into our adult years. 

I was one of those eczema plagued kids, eventually having to go onto the strong stuff to control it, but for instant relief, Sudocrem did the trick. Even now, I keep it close at hand for flare-ups. On holidays, mum would doll it out for insect bites, sunburn and shaving rash. Of course, I believed this was the only cream anyone ever needed. The height of beauty indulgence for my teenage self consisted of freshly washed hair, my Body Shop sweatshirt on, Blind Date on the TV, with splotches of Sudocrem all over my face. This is no beauty witchcraft though. Its blemish clearing prowess is down to its water-repellent base which acts as a barrier to excess oil - plus it contains a weak anaesthetic to ease pain. Yet, it divides the beauty community; I love using a blob of the stuff on a greasy shiner of a pimple but others warn you off. My advice? If it works for you and your skin stick with it.

"The words ‘put some Sudocrem on it’ have rung in my head for nigh on three decades now."

Of course, I eventually branched out and would spend my monthly allowance in beauty counters prophesizing 3 step skincare routines. Failing to meet my expectations, as they always did, I’d head to the bathroom cabinet and out would come the little grey tub (which by this time was industrial size, we even used it on our pets) and it would always generate a visible improvement in whichever ailment it was faced with. So, when I ended up leaving London for the bright lights of New York two years ago, a nice big tub of the stuff came with me. Because, as soppy as it sounds - Sudocrem just smells like home to me. The words ‘put some Sudocrem on it’ have rung in my head for nigh on three decades now.

When home sickness kicks in, I’ll admit it: I reach for the thwacking great tub for a little whiff and it helps me on my way. OK, fine so I did go a little emotional about it in the end.