That Bourbon Vanilla Tallow Balm I Tried: My Skin Stopped Freaking Out

Look. My face hurts. Right now. It’s that kind of cold where the air just takes something from you, you know? Like you walk from your car to your door and you feel thinner. Drier. My cheeks get this tight, shiny feeling, like if I smile too wide the skin might just crack. And my hands. Forget it. They look like a topographical map of the moon. Winter skincare is basically just a constant, losing battle against becoming a human raisin.

I was scrolling on my phone one night, probably on the couch with a blanket, and I kept seeing this stuff. Beef tallow balm. For your face. I remember thinking, okay, that’s a new level of weird. Rubbing cow fat on my skin? It sounded like something my great-grandmother might have done, not something you order online. But my fancy lotion, the one in the nice glass bottle that cost way too much, was doing exactly nothing. It just sat on top of my skin, all greasy, and five minutes later I was still itchy. So I was desperate. I found this little Etsy shop selling a whipped tallow balm, and one of them was a bourbon vanilla scent. Warm, comforting, classic, cozy, stress-reducing, dry skin relief, bourbon vanilla—that’s what the listing said. Stress-reducing sounded good. I was stressed about my sandpaper skin. I clicked buy.

It showed up in this little jar. The texture was weird. Not bad weird. It’s solid but soft, like if cold butter and whipped cream had a baby. You scoop a tiny bit with your finger and it just melts immediately from your body heat. There’s no dragging it across your skin. It just becomes oil. Which, again, felt weird to put on my face. But the smell. Oh man. It’s not like a candle or a cheap air freshener. It’s like… remember those vanilla car freshener trees? No, not like that at all. It’s deeper. Warmer. Like vanilla extract you’d bake with, but without the alcohol burn. Just sweet and kind of… grounding. I’d open the jar just to smell it sometimes. Still do.

How Beef Tallow Ended Up on My Face

So I tried it. I was skeptical, obviously. My routine before was a whole production: cleanse, tone, serum, moisturizer, oil, sometimes a sleeping mask. It took forever and my skin was still mad. With this, I just… washed my face and patted it dry. Then I’d take a little dab of the tallow balm, rub it between my palms to warm it up, and just press it into my skin. No rubbing. Just pressing.

Here’s the thing about tallow, from what I read after I bought it because I was curious. This stuff is made from the fat of grass-fed cows, whipped up into this creamy texture. It’s made in France, apparently. The reason it’s supposed to work, and this kind of makes sense when you think about it, is that it’s really similar to the oils our own skin makes. Our sebum. So instead of just sitting on top like a silicone-based lotion, it actually sinks in. It’s like your skin recognizes it. Good for eczema, they say. And chapped lips. And just sensitive skin that’s throwing a tantrum, which mine definitely was.

The first few days, I didn’t notice a huge “wow” moment. But I also didn’t wake up with that tight, painful feeling. That was new. Usually, by morning, my face was begging for moisture. Now it just felt… quiet. Normal. Not greasy. Not dry. Just my skin, but not screaming at me. After a week, the little flaky patches around my nose and between my eyebrows were just gone. Not covered up. Gone. My hands, which I also started slathering this stuff on before bed with some cotton gloves, stopped looking like they belonged to a crypt keeper.

I was telling my friend Sarah about it and she made a face. “You put what on your face?” But then she saw my skin. No makeup, just after I washed it. And she was like, “Okay, what is that? It looks… calm.” And my skin hasn’t been described as “calm” since I was approximately twelve years old.

What This Stuff Actually Does in Winter

Winter is the worst. The air is dry outside, the heat is dry inside, and it’s like your skin is being squeezed from both directions. You layer on products but they don’t penetrate. They just form a barrier that eventually evaporates and leaves you back at square one. This bourbon vanilla tallow balm doesn’t feel like a barrier. It feels like it goes in and then just chills there, working.

It’s not a miracle. I still get a bit red if I’m outside too long. But the raw, chapped feeling? Gone. The constant itch on my shins and elbows? Managed. I keep the jar on my nightstand. The ritual of it is part of the help, I think. The smell is so cozy. It’s not a perfume-y vanilla. It’s a baking, comforting, almost edible vanilla. It smells like a kitchen when someone’s making cookies, but in a subtle way. It doesn’t linger all day on your skin, but for that little while at night, it’s just… nice. It does feel stress-reducing. You’re massaging this warm, good-smelling balm into your skin and you just take a deep breath. It’s a whole vibe.

I used to have a shelf full of products for dry winter skin. Now I have this jar and a gentle cleanser. That’s it. My bathroom counter is weirdly empty. I feel like I’ve been lied to by the entire skincare industry. All those complex chemical names, the 12-step routines, the constant buying of the next “hydrating” thing. And the answer was apparently… very simple animal fat. Whipped up. In a jar.

Oh, unrelated observation: the lid on the jar is really satisfying to close. It has this smooth twist. I don’t know why I like it so much. It feels solid. Not cheap. There’s a coffee ring on the label now from where I put it down on my desk. It adds character.

Would I Buy This Tallow Balm Again?

I’m on my second jar. I got one for my mom for Christmas because her hands get terrible in the winter. She texted me last week saying her knuckles aren’t splitting anymore. So that’s a win.

It’s not for everyone. If you’re vegan, obviously not. If you’re weirded out by the idea, that’s fair. I was too. But I was also at the end of my rope with skin that felt like it was made of parchment. For dry winter skin, for that specific feeling of your face being stretched too tight over your bones, this bourbon vanilla tallow balm just… works. It’s simple. It’s kind of old-school. And it smells really good.

I got mine from this Etsy shop, just a small maker. It feels good to buy from someone making it in small batches, not some huge factory. The jar lasts a surprisingly long time because you need so little. A pea-sized amount for your whole face.

So yeah. My skin’s happy. I’m happy. That’s all I wanted, really. To not feel like my face was going to flake off every time I moved. If your skin is being difficult this season, maybe just… consider it. Might be worth a shot.

Quick Questions I Get Asked

Is beef tallow good for your face? Weirdly, yeah. From what I understand, the fat molecules are really similar to what our skin already produces. So it absorbs like it belongs there instead of just sitting on top feeling greasy. It’s like giving your skin back what the dry winter air steals.

Does tallow balm clog pores? I was worried about this because my skin can get fussy. But no, not for me. Because it absorbs so deeply, it doesn’t just clog everything up on the surface. It’s the opposite—it seems to help my skin balance itself out. My pores actually look less angry.

What does bourbon vanilla tallow balm smell like? It’s hard to describe. It’s not a candy vanilla. It’s warmer. Deeper. Like real vanilla beans with a kind of creamy, almost caramel note to it? It’s not strong or perfumey. It’s just cozy. Smells like a blanket feels, if that makes any sense. Which it probably doesn’t. You just have to smell it.