Rini is the brainchild of actress Shay Mitchell and friend Esther Song (Photo: courtesy of @shaymitchell/Instagram)
Cover Rini is the brainchild of actress Shay Mitchell and friend Esther Song (Photo: courtesy of @shaymitchell/Instagram)
Rini is the brainchild of actress Shay Mitchell and friend Esther Song (Photo: courtesy of @shaymitchell/Instagram)

When Shay Mitchell—actress, entrepreneur and founder of travel brand Béis—announced the launch of Rini, a Korean beauty-inspired skincare line for children as young as three, the internet collectively lost its mind. But is it really as bad as people are making it out to seem?

Shay Mitchell’s new skincare line for kids, Rini, was met with swift and fierce backlash: “dystopian”, “insane”, “let them be kids ffs”, critics cried across social media. One would think Mitchell had proposed opening a Botox clinic for toddlers rather than launching a line of gentle hydrogel masks packaged in puppy, unicorn and panda designs.

I’ll admit, when I first saw the announcement, I raised an eyebrow. Another celebrity beauty brand? For children? But before we rush to condemn Mitchell—best known for her role in Pretty Little Liars—perhaps we ought to actually examine what Rini is and, more importantly, what it isn’t.

The brand, co-founded with Mitchell’s close friend Esther Song, emerged from a decidedly unglamorous parenting moment: attempting to remove stubborn purple face paint from Song’s daughter’s face after a dance camp, armed with nothing but water and paper towels. The inaugural collection consists of three products—a hydrating hydrogel mask with vitamin B12, an after-sun aloe vera mask with vitamin E and everyday sheet masks featuring those aforementioned adorable animal designs. All are dermatologist-tested, free from harsh actives and formulated specifically for children’s delicate skin.

Here’s where I’m going to wade into controversial waters: I don’t actually see the problem.

As someone with a three-and-a-half-year-old niece who is, for all intents and purposes, like my own child, I’ve witnessed firsthand the mimicry that defines this age. Children are tiny mirrors, reflecting everything we do—whether we’re applying lipstick, typing on laptops, or yes, smoothing on a sheet mask. My niece has “borrowed” my sunglasses more times than I can count and has developed a fascinating fixation with watching me apply moisturiser. Should I tell her to stop being curious? That beauty and self-care are adult territory, off-limits until some arbitrary age?

Mitchell’s explanation resonates: her daughters would watch her mask routine with wide-eyed fascination, wanting to participate. Rather than hand them products laden with retinol and glycolic acid, she created something safe. The after-sun mask, inspired by a Cabo holiday when Song’s daughter got too much sun, is essentially a cooling aloe treatment—the sort of remedy grandmothers have been applying for generations, just in a more Instagram-friendly format.

The criticism, however, is not without merit, and I’d be remiss not to address it. The concerns fall broadly into three camps: that we’re imposing beauty standards on children too young to understand them, that it’s unnecessary consumerism dressed up as self-care, and that introducing skincare routines this early sends the message that their skin somehow needs “fixing”.

These are valid worries. We live in an age where ten-year-olds are asking for anti-ageing serums and tweens are wielding skincare routines more complex than most adults.  And yes, the optics of marketing face masks to toddlers do feel somewhat dystopian when you consider we can barely get universal healthcare sorted.

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There’s also the legitimate environmental concern: sheet masks are notoriously unsustainable, single-use products that contribute to waste. In an era when we’re meant to be reducing consumption, launching any single-use beauty product—regardless of the target demographic—feels tone-deaf.

But here’s the distinction I think critics are missing: Rini isn't selling insecurity. It’s selling play. Mitchell has been clear that these aren’t anti-ageing products or spot treatments or anything suggesting children’s skin is somehow inadequate. They’re hydrating, protective and designed for specific scenarios—after a day at the beach, following face paint removal or simply as a fun activity during a rainy afternoon.

We don’t bat an eye when children play with toy kitchens or tool sets, mimicking the cooking and DIY they see their parents doing. Why is skincare different? If we can create safe, gentle versions of adult activities for children to explore, and if it teaches them that taking care of their bodies can be enjoyable rather than a chore, is that truly so terrible?

The argument that “the only thing kids need on their faces is sunscreen” is, frankly, a bit reductive. Children also need gentle cleansers to remove dirt and sweat. They need soothing treatments for sunburn, wind chapping or post-swimming dryness. They need safe products for removing face paint and stage make-up. These needs don’t stop existing simply because acknowledging them makes us uncomfortable.

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What troubles me more than Rini’s existence is the wider context it sits within—a beauty industry that has indeed pushed younger and younger, where children are exposed to impossible beauty standards through social media before they can spell “retinol”. But Mitchell’s line, with its focus on simple hydration and protection rather than correction and transformation, seems less like the problem and more like a potential solution to children who will inevitably want to participate in their parents’ routines.

The conversation we should be having isn’t whether children should have access to any skincare products at all, but rather what kinds of products and what messaging surrounds them. A gentle aloe mask after too much time in the sun? That seems reasonable. A ten-step anti-ageing routine for a seven-year-old? Absolutely not.

Perhaps what makes people most uncomfortable is that Rini forces us to confront a truth we’d rather avoid: our children are watching us, absorbing our beauty habits, our insecurities, our relationships with our faces and bodies. We can either pretend that’s not happening, or we can engage with it thoughtfully, providing age-appropriate alternatives that emphasise care over correction, fun over fixing.

I won’t be rushing out to buy sheet masks for my niece—she’s quite content “helping” me with my skincare by very seriously handing me cotton pads—but I also won’t be clutching my pearls at parents who do. Because at the end of the day, a child wearing a puppy-shaped face mask while giggling with their mother isn’t dystopian. It’s just a kid playing dress-up with slightly more aloe vera than usual.

And honestly? There are far bigger battles to fight.

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Tara Sobti
Content Director & Head of VIP, Tatler Hong Kong

Tara reports on Asia's most influential figures while building key relationships and engaged communities for Tatler. Currently based in Hong Kong, she specialises in exclusive interviews with CEOs, business leaders and designers and curates star-studded events. Born and raised in the Middle East, she previously worked in public relations in Dubai crafting communication strategies for luxury brands including Michael Kors, Longchamp and Tumi. Follow her on Instagram @tarasobti.