That Lavender Tallow Balm I Tried: My Skin Got Weirdly Happy

Okay so. Beef fat. On your face. I know. That was my exact reaction when this little jar of whipped tallow balm showed up. Lavender scent, from some shop in France. It was a Tuesday, I think. Or maybe Wednesday. The package sat on my counter for like three days because I was busy and also a little weirded out. Grass-fed beef tallow skincare? Sounded like something my great-grandma would have used, not something you order online in 2024. But my skin was doing that awful winter thing. You know the one. Tight, a little flaky near the eyebrows, just generally pissed off. And the fancy lotion from the department store? Did nothing. Felt like I was just smearing expensive water on my face. So one night, after my one beer, I figured what the hell.

I opened it. Smelled like lavender. But not the fake candle kind. More like... actual dried plants. Maybe? It’s hard to pin down. Texture was weird. Not bad weird. It looked solid in the jar but then your finger just sinks in. Cold at first. Then it melts. I don’t know how to describe it better than that. I put a tiny bit on my cheek, fully expecting to wake up with a new pimple. Went to bed.

How I Started Putting Beef Tallow on My Face

Woke up. My face wasn’t a grease slick. That was surprise number one. It just felt... normal. Not tight. Not oily. Just my skin, but calmer. I kept using it. Just at night. The whole beef tallow thing kept bugging me though. It sounds gross, right? So I fell down a Google hole one afternoon instead of working. Found some science-y stuff. Not like, textbook stuff, but enough to make me nod.

Basically, our skin makes its own oil. Sebum. Tallow from grass-fed cows is apparently really close to that. Closer than most plant oils or whatever they put in regular moisturizers. So your skin recognizes it. It absorbs. It doesn’t just sit on top playing dress-up. It actually goes in and helps. That’s the theory anyway. And people have used animal fats on skin forever. Like, centuries forever. Grandma wisdom, but for real. It’s not a new, weird trend. It’s an old, weird thing that works. My brain went, “Huh.” The cat jumped on my desk. I got distracted. But the point is, it started making a stupid kind of sense. Why fight your skin with weird chemicals when you could just... work with it? With something it already understands?

Anyway. Back to the balm.

What This Lavender Tallow Balm Actually Does

So the scent is supposed to be calming. Sleep-promoting. For anxiety. I’m not great at noticing that stuff. But I will say my bedtime routine got simpler. Wash face. Scoop a little. Rub hands together. Press it on. The smell is just there. It’s not strong. It’s just... herbal. Timeless, I guess. It doesn’t smell like dessert or a spa. It smells like a quiet room. Does that make sense? Probably not.

But the benefits of tallow skincare, for me, were physical. My skin stopped freaking out about the dry apartment heat. The flakiness around my eyebrows? Gone in like four days. My hands get destroyed in winter. Cracks near the thumbs. I started using the tiniest leftover bit on my hands after my face. The cracks healed. Actually healed. Not just got less bad. I was shocked. I’ve spent so much money on “intensive repair” creams in little tubes. This stuff in a jar did it better. It’s just whipped beef tallow balm with some lavender and other natural ingredients. That’s the list. I can pronounce everything. That matters to me now, I guess.

My Skin After a Few Weeks of This Stuff

I don’t want to say it’s magic. It’s not. It’s beef fat and lavender. But the results feel kind of magical? My skin just feels balanced. It doesn’t feel like I’m wearing anything. No film. No shine. No tightness. Just... my face. But the best version of it. I caught my reflection in the microwave door the other day and thought, “Huh. You look less tired.” The fine lines around my eyes, the ones that look like little fans, seem softer. Not gone. Just less angry. Like they’re hydrated for the first time in years. My partner even said something, which never happens. He was like, “Your skin looks good.” And then immediately talked about the football game. But still. A win.

I got sidetracked thinking about if I should get one for my mom. Her skin gets so dry. She’d probably think I’m nuts. “You put what on your face?” But then she’d try it. And she’d love it. Moms love this kind of practical, old-school stuff. I might do that. The shop I got it from is just this little Etsy place. Nothing fancy. The jar came with a handwritten note. That was nice.

Would I Buy This Tallow Balm Again?

Yeah. I already did. I’m halfway through my second jar. I use it every night. Sometimes on my elbows too, which are always rough. They’re smooth now. Like, weirdly smooth. I don’t know the last time my elbows were smooth.

It’s one of those things that sounds too simple to work. But it does. It just does. If you’re someone whose skin hates winter, or hates everything, and you’ve tried the lotions and the potions and the serums that cost as much as a car payment... this might be worth a shot. It’s not glamorous. It’s a little jar of whipped fat. But my skin is happy. I’m happy. That’s the whole point, right?

---

Quick Questions I Get Asked

Is beef tallow good for your face? Yeah, surprisingly. The science-y reason is that it’s really similar to the oils our own skin makes. So it absorbs deep and helps your skin barrier instead of just coating it. It’s like giving your skin something it actually knows how to use.

Does tallow balm clog pores? Not in my experience. And from what I read, because it’s so similar to our sebum, it shouldn’t. It melts and sinks in. It doesn’t feel heavy or sit on top. My face actually feels less congested since I started using it.

What does lavender tallow balm smell like? It smells like real lavender. Not sweet. Not like air freshener. More like dried herbs in an old cupboard. It’s earthy and calm. It’s not strong at all once you rub it in. Just a quiet, herbal smell that fades pretty fast.

Anyway. If your skin is being difficult, this might be worth a weird try. I’m glad I did.