Beauty junkies are not any strangers to excessive skincare routines. Actually, most of us are accustomed to lotions, serums and toners each specifically targeted for various parts of our face and body, and all with very different functions. But out of the myriad products that your routine might consist of, likelihood is none of them are designed in your vagina.

The wonder industry has, somewhat unsurprisingly, began catering to probably the most polarising area of ladies’s bodies: our fannies. Unlike surgical or cosmetic procedures like labiaplasty and vaginal rejuvenation, vaginal skincare is barely less drastic and doesn’t promise a designer pussy.

Celebrities like Khloe Kardashian and Emma Watson are big proponents of vaginal skincare routines, so I made a decision to try them out first hand. I’ve gone 25 years without the necessity for vaginal skincare, so did using products designed specifically for my pubic area seem excessive? Yes. Was I willing to try them within the name of journalism? Also yes.

I used to be sceptical at first since the proud feminist in me is very against promoting corporations who money in on women’s self-doubt, which they instilled in us in the primary place. There are far too many brands and coverings designed specifically to make us feel inadequate, monetising on the insecurities we’ve about our vaginas, and I’d be lying if it didn’t cross my mind that vaginal skincare was exactly that, repackaged in a highly ‘grammable aesthetic. Having said that, the proud feminist in me can be an enormous advocate of self-care that celebrates female genitals, so the considered giving my vulva some exclusive TLC was enticing. I had my doubts, but I used to be open-minded.

I stayed away from any cleansers because, contrary to popular contention, vaginas are self-cleaning. Even doctors agree that the perfect thing you may do in your vag is to leave it alone, and any product that guarantees to “balance the pH” of your vagina is trash. Not to say that vaginal cleansers reinforce the patriarchal notion that our genitals are gross and in need of sanitation. Don’t let anyone let you know your vagina is dirty. So as a substitute I focused on moisturising the realm with three different products: The Perfect V “VV Cream”, a “luxurious hydrating cream” that “delivers radiance to the skin”, promising to boost, renew and improve the great thing about the V. The Perfect V “Shades Of V”, a “special highlighting cream” that brightens and minimises the looks of skin imperfections, leaving a luminous glow “so as to add extra prettiness to the V”. And Fur Oil, a 100% natural oil designed to melt your pubes and stop ingrown hairs.

Other than a few unlucky bouts of thrush, I’ve never had the necessity for vag-specific creams. All my life I’ve been very aware of what goes in my vag, but I’ve never thought of what goes on it.

The standout product was hands down the Fur oil. Pubic hair is notoriously prickly, and a lifetime of shaving and waxing signifies that regardless that I’ve embraced the bush, ingrown hairs are still common. The oil itself has a powerful lemony scent that makes me think I’ve poured a melted Strepsil on my pubes, but luckily you may’t smell it from all the way in which ~down there~. It was easy to use, and to my surprise didn’t leave a greasy residue, nor did it stain my knickers.

However the creams? I didn’t find myself reaching for them as much, the truth is, more times I completely forgot to make use of them. I can see how they’d be useful for somebody who waxes, shaves, or chafes quite a bit, so in case you’re hairless down there the moisturisers are the perfect alternative for you. I wasn’t a fan of how the Perfect V products infantilised my vagina and told me it’s in need of “perfecting”. The products themselves are literally great, fragrance-free and mild enough for each skin type, but they still promote the message that your intimates need beautifying. When female genitals are still cut and pruned to appear more appealing, how is a vaginal highlighter helping?

The pube oil (possibly probably the most unappealing-sounding thing), alternatively, reclaims one of the vital politicised elements of the feminine anatomy: body hair. It’s an enormous “fuck you” to all of the messages we were fed growing up telling us our crotch should look prepubescent, a approach to reclaim adult womanhood and embrace your mons pubis au naturale.

When you’re on a budget (who isn’t?) dropping £40 on vaginal skincare is utter madness. Regardless, spending an additional 10 minutes post-shower massaging luxury oils and creams onto my vulva made me feel pampered. Listening to my intimates, an area women are socialised into being ashamed of, in a way that was neither sexual nor medical felt like the last word act of self-care. None of those products are needed, but neither is getting your nails done twice a month. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it if it makes you are feeling good.