Lavender Tallow Balm: The Weird Stuff That Fixed My Winter Face

Okay so my face was just… done. Like, done done. It was January, maybe February? The cold air felt like sandpaper. I’d come inside and my cheeks would be tight and red, like I was embarrassed about something. I had this one patch near my mouth that just wouldn’t quit. Flaky. Rough. It looked bad and felt worse. I was using this fancy French moisturizer my friend swore by—La Roche-Posay something. Cicaplast Baume B5. It was fine. It was also forty bucks and did nothing except sit on top of my skin like a polite guest who won’t leave. My skin drank it and was still thirsty. I tried Vaseline at night. Woke up feeling like I’d slept in a plastic bag. It was a whole thing.

Anyway, I was scrolling, probably avoiding work, and I kept seeing this beef tallow balm stuff. Tallow. Like, beef fat. For your face. I thought it was a joke. My first reaction was, “You want me to put cooking grease on my face?” It sounded like something my great-grandma would have used before they invented real skincare. But the algorithm had me. Every other post was about this whipped tallow balm, specifically a lavender one from some small shop. People were obsessed. I was skeptical. Very. But my skin was so mad at me, and the CeraVe in the tub wasn’t cutting it either. I figured, what’s the worst that could happen? I already looked like a peeling tomato.

So I ordered it. The Whipped Tallow Balm with lavender. From this little Etsy shop. It said it was made in France from grass-fed cows, whipped into this creamy… fat. I still couldn’t believe I was doing it.

How Beef Tallow for Skin Even Became a Thing

It arrived in this simple jar. No crazy packaging. I opened it and just stared. The texture was… weird. Not bad weird. It was solid but soft, like cold butter you can scoop. I poked it. I smelled it. Smelled like lavender. But not like a candle or air freshener. More like actual dried lavender from a garden, with something kind of earthy underneath. Not sweet. Herbal. Calming, actually. I was in my kitchen, the overhead light was too bright, and I could hear my neighbor’s dog barking. I took a tiny bit and rubbed it between my fingers. It melted immediately. Like, it went from solid to oil on contact. That was the first surprise.

I put a little on the back of my hand. It soaked in. Fast. No greasy film. Just… gone. My skin felt different. Not oily. Just quiet. Huh.

Here’s the thing I read later that made some sense: tallow is supposed to be really close to the oils our own skin makes. Sebum, or whatever. So it recognizes it. It doesn’t just sit there; it gets to work. It’s good for dry skin, for winter wreckage, for sensitive skin that hates everything. Fine lines, too, apparently. I wasn’t thinking about wrinkles. I was thinking, “Please just don’t make me itch.”

What Happened When I Actually Used the Tallow Balm

First night, I was cautious. Washed my face, patted it dry. My skin was tight and angry. I took a pea-sized amount of the balm, warmed it up in my palms, and just pressed it onto my face. Didn’t rub hard. Just pressed. It felt… cool. Then warm. It absorbed while I was brushing my teeth. By the time I got into bed, my face didn’t feel like it was in a straitjacket. It just felt normal. Neutral. That was new.

I kept using it. Morning and night. Just this tallow balm. I stopped everything else. The weirdest part was my skin stopped freaking out. That rough patch by my mouth? Smoothed out in, like, four days. Gone. My whole face just calmed down. The redness faded. It wasn’t a miracle glow—it was just my skin, but not at war with the environment anymore. It felt resilient. Like it had its own barrier back.

I remember one night, maybe a week in, I was putting it on and my cat was staring at me from the dresser. Judging. And I thought, “I am massaging rendered beef fat into my face and it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” Life is strange.

Oh, tangent—this reminds me of the hotel soap thing. You know when you stay at a nice hotel and the soap is amazing and you try to find it online and it’s like eighty dollars for a bar? This is the opposite. It sounds gross but it works and it’s not even that expensive. Anyway.

My Skin Now & Why I’m Sticking With It

It’s been a few months. Winter’s mostly over. I’m on my second jar. I use it every night. Sometimes in the morning if it’s really dry out. It’s my only moisturizer. My skin hasn’t felt this… okay… in years. Maybe ever. It’s not “perfect.” I still get a spot sometimes. But the constant dryness, the flakiness, the irritation? Gone. My face just feels balanced. I don’t even think about it most days, which is the real win.

I told my mom about it. She was horrified at first. Then curious. Now she uses it on her elbows and says they haven’t been this soft since she was a kid. So there’s that.

Would I buy it again? Yeah. I already did. I don’t see myself stopping. It’s simple. It works. My cabinet used to be full of serums and creams that promised everything. Now it’s just face wash, sunscreen, and this jar of tallow balm. It’s one less thing to worry about.

If your skin is feeling sensitive, or dry, or just generally pissed off at modern life, maybe give tallow skincare a look. It sounds bizarre. It is, a little. But sometimes the weird thing works. I got mine from that Etsy shop, “PureTallow” or something like that. The lavender one. It just… works. I don’t know what else to say.

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 skin makes naturally. So it absorbs deep and helps repair your skin barrier instead of just coating the top. It’s like giving your skin something it actually recognizes and knows how to use.

Does tallow balm clog pores? Not in my experience. It’s non-comedogenic, which means it shouldn’t. It melts and absorbs so completely it doesn’t leave a pore-clogging film. My skin actually feels clearer since using it, probably because it’s not stressed and dry anymore.

What does the lavender tallow balm smell like? It smells like real lavender. Not perfume. More like dried herbs from a garden—earthy, herbal, a little green. It’s calming. Not sweet or overpowering. It’s the kind of scent that makes you take a deep breath before bed.