It started innocently. A casual tap on the Nykaa app during a lunch break, a harmless scroll before bedtime — nothing out of the ordinary in today’s world of infinite online shopping. But somewhere between browsing sheet masks and reading reviews on hyaluronic acid serums, I realised something: Nykaa had quietly become my new coping mechanism.
It wasn’t planned. I didn’t set out to seek emotional refuge in a beauty app. Yet, recently, I noticed a strange pattern — I was opening Nykaa at least once a day. Not necessarily to buy anything, but simply to scroll, to add items to my cart, and then… forget about them. It became a ritual. A small escape from deadlines, from the noise of the world, from the endless to-do lists.
Currently, I am in what you could call a skincare obsession phase. And honestly, Instagram Reels are largely to blame. Perfectly curated AM/PM routines, aesthetically pleasing flat-lays of serums, toners, and sunscreens arranged on marble counters — it’s hypnotic. You watch one reel, then another, and before you know it, you’re convinced you need a five-step morning routine and a seven-step night routine to fix your life. Suddenly, the thought of a new moisturizer isn’t just about hydrated skin; it’s about hope, renewal, control.
Everywhere I scroll, it’s the same story —
“Wake up at five, hit the gym, eat your berry, drink your water, walk in the sun,
then glide into your AM skincare fun —
five steps long, with brands that cost a ton!”
These motivational reels have become their own genre — snippets of perfect lives where people rise with the sun, blend green smoothies, and religiously sip from their gallon water bottles. Then they move onto skincare rituals involving serums whose names I can barely pronounce. Watching them makes you feel like you’re just one expensive toner away from having your life together.
You won’t believe this, but it has genuinely become a way to distract myself. Whenever I feel overwhelmed, stuck, or simply bored, my fingers automatically drift toward that familiar pink icon. Scrolling through new launches, checking out limited edition collaborations, comparing prices of niacinamide serums — it soothes me. It’s like walking into a mall in your pajamas, no judgment, no real consequences.
And speaking of obsessions, how could I ignore the recent Korean skincare craze? The 10-step routines, the dreamy packaging, the promise of “glass skin” — it’s everywhere. From snail mucin serums to rice water toners, I find myself adding these exotic products into my cart, even though deep down I know I’ll probably never use them all consistently. There’s something magical in believing that a little bottle from halfway across the world can change your skin — and maybe, your mood too.
But why? Why do we impulsively add products to our cart with no intention of checking out? And why does it feel so satisfying?
Psychologists suggest that the act of online window-shopping triggers the brain’s reward system. Just the possibility of owning something new floods our system with dopamine — the feel-good chemical. Even if we don’t complete the purchase, the mere action of browsing and fantasizing about owning that perfect lipstick or that miracle face oil creates a fleeting sense of pleasure. It’s not about the product itself; it’s about the idea of transformation and the small burst of control it offers when everything else feels unpredictable.
Nykaa, and apps like it, have mastered the art of tapping into this psychology. The endless scroll, the “only 3 left!” nudges, the “people who bought this also bought…” suggestions — it’s a well-designed labyrinth of emotional nudges. The interface is sleek, the product descriptions are persuasive, and the curated collections (“Glow Like a Goddess!”, “AM Routine Must-Haves!”) tap directly into our aspirations and insecurities.
For me, the appeal lies partly in the possibilities. Every serum promises brighter skin, every toner claims to soothe, every new SPF hints at a better, more put-together version of myself. Each item added to my cart represents a little hope: maybe this is the thing that will finally fix my uneven skin tone, my tired eyes, my lack of motivation.
And so, the ritual continues. Scroll. Add. Forget.
There’s something paradoxically comforting about filling up a cart with serums, cleansers, and sheet masks only to abandon it. It’s like telling myself, “You could have this, but you don’t need it right now.” It gives a sense of agency — I’m not giving in to every impulse, but I’m also allowing myself to dream.
Interestingly, I’m not alone in this habit. Casual conversations with friends revealed similar patterns. One friend confessed she regularly fills up her cart during work calls as a form of stress relief. Another admitted she has six different carts saved across various apps — her secret escape hatches when life gets overwhelming.
Of course, there’s a line where harmless coping can turn into compulsive behavior. The danger lies in letting these small dopamine hits replace healthier coping mechanisms, or worse, in overspending as a form of emotional regulation. It’s something I try to stay aware of. Setting a strict “wishlist only” policy helps. So does reminding myself that no product, no matter how beautifully packaged or highly rated, can truly fix an anxious mind or a tired heart.
Still, in small, conscious doses, this habit has been oddly therapeutic. There’s a simple pleasure in imagining the perfect morning skincare routine, the satisfaction of curating a cart tailored to the version of myself I aspire to be. It’s harmless fantasy — a mental reset button I press whenever reality feels a little too heavy.
Sometimes, we seek comfort in the most unexpected places. For some, it’s baking. For others, it’s binge-watching sitcoms. For me, at least for now, it’s scrolling through Nykaa, lost in the soft promises of self-care bottled in glass vials.
Will I ever buy that vitamin C serum I keep adding to my cart? Maybe. Maybe not. But in the meantime, the act of searching, selecting, and dreaming is enough.
And honestly, in a world that often feels overwhelming, sometimes “enough” is all we need.
