About PALOMA ABAD
“She turned beauty into a refuge, a trench, and a mirror. And taught us that imperfection isn’t a flaw, but the place where truth begins.”
Paloma Abad doesn’t write about beauty. She writes about what beauty reveals to us.
“Life makes no sense unless it’s a life examined.” That’s always been her compass—a compass that led her, for more than twenty years, through the most influential editorial rooms like El País, Harper’s Bazaar Spain, Vogue Spain, El País Semanal, and S Moda, learning that journalism isn’t just about describing what glitters, but understanding what hides beneath the shine.
Across those two decades, Paloma discovered that beauty can be a refuge, a trench, and a mirror. That it can tell us who we are—and also who we choose not to be. And that sometimes, true perfection lies in embracing imperfection.
But Paloma wanted to go further. She wanted to tell the story of beauty without scripted lines. That’s why she created Pretty In, Pretty Out!, a newsletter where she writes with absolute freedom: “I’ve never had to say that a cream erases wrinkles, stretch marks, or cellulite. Spoiler: it doesn’t.”
There, she speaks about beauty from a place that’s deeply human and grounded, where wrinkles hold stories and imperfect skin deserves a stage of its own. Where beauty is both ornament and statement, both play and resistance.
Today, that sharp, uncompromising gaze has led her into a new territory: literary editing. For the past two years, Paloma has worked at Penguin Random House, editing nonfiction books under the Debate and Taurus imprints, collaborating with authors who, like her, believe that telling the truth—about the body, aesthetics, or life itself—is a profoundly liberating act.
Because for Paloma, beauty and literature share something essential: both force us to look at ourselves directly. And to decide who we want to be, even when that means embracing what others might call imperfection.
Paloma Abad is more than a journalist: she’s the writer who taught us that beauty isn’t about flawless skin or eternal youth. It’s about looking at ourselves with courage and saying, “This, too, is me.”
1. You’ve worked both in the luxury world of beauty and in the raw reality of literary writing. In beauty, did you first find a refuge or a mirror?
In beauty, I found a territory from which to write about one of the topics that most concerns me: the female body. For me, it was both a refuge and a trench; a place from which to launch feminist messages into the world, and a mirror in which we could all look at ourselves and examine who we are. Because, in the end, life makes no sense unless it’s a life examined.
2. The beauty industry often builds aspirational, almost utopian narratives. Have you ever felt you were selling an ideal you yourself didn’t buy into?
I’ve always tried to look at beauty straight on, from a human and grounded perspective. I’ve never worked as a PR for any brand, nor have I ever been forced to say that a cream erases wrinkles, stretch marks, or cellulite. Spoiler: it doesn’t.
If there’s any area where I might admit to a bit of idealism, it’s the price of many products or treatments I’ve written about. They’re not accessible to everyone, and that’s where the aspirational side truly lies.
3. What has been the most uncomfortable or honest moment you’ve experienced talking about beauty in a high-profile environment?
In the last decade, we’ve witnessed major revolutions in beauty.
Plus-size women walked the runways, women with stretch marks starred in bikini ads, and women with gaps in their teeth and irregular smiles appeared in lipstick campaigns. For a moment, we lived in the fantasy that beauty could be a game where all of us, beyond classic standards, could participate.
We also broke other taboos. I thoroughly enjoyed writing in Vogue about menstruating people, making menstruation visible as an intersectional issue that doesn’t only affect women.
And I’ve often raised my voice to highlight the lack — and sometimes the complete absence — of research into conditions like endometriosis and fibromyalgia, which disproportionately affect women.
4. Today, there’s a lot of talk about “authentic” beauty. But isn’t authenticity just another mask? How real is beauty for you in your daily life?
Before we talk about authenticity, we should define what beauty is and ask ourselves who decides what’s beautiful, and with what interests. It’s also worth considering whether ugliness — that is, the opposite of beauty — is truly something bad, or simply something we’ve been taught to avoid at all costs. We live in a world where more and more aesthetic interventions are proliferating: Invisalign, Botox, liposculpture, blepharoplasty… All in an effort to keep up with expectations invented by who knows whom.
I deeply believe in re-signifying tradition, in making it less painful and less demanding on the female body. And that’s an adventure I’d embark on without hesitation.
5. If you had to define your beauty philosophy in a single line of poetry—your own or someone else’s—which would it be?
I’d choose a verse from “Hombre pequeñito,” by Alfonsina Storni:
“I was in your cage, little man, little man, what a cage you give me. I say little because you don’t understand me, nor will you ever.”
6. Beauty journalism often follows a set script: perfect women, flawless skin, promises of eternal youth. How did you learn to break that script and find your own voice amid so much pressure?
The only way to break it has been to free myself from the tyranny of advertisers. In my newsletter, Pretty In, Pretty Out!, I share my rawest reflections on female beauty. Sometimes I even invite colleagues who are still working in traditional media to anonymously say the truths their jobs won’t allow them to admit publicly.
The reality is simple: we’re not eternally young, we don’t have flawless skin, and certainly, we’re not perfect. And we’re okay with that.
7. Some say beauty is frivolous. Others say it’s political. For you, what is ornament and what is declaration?
There’s a useful kind of frivolity (aren’t there women who use their looks and style to advance?). And there are also high-level political statements, like the women who choose to stop shaving to reject patriarchal oppression. The key to happiness lies in not judging either side, because all of us are performing beauty in our own way.
8. Has beauty ever saved you from yourself, or led you to lose yourself?
Beauty, as an industry, gave me a job. And for that, I’m deeply grateful. As for physical beauty, I’d say it’s never been so important in my personal life that it’s either saved me… or destroyed me. What’s truly saved me has been books, and above all, the friends with whom I share what I read.
9. As a woman who has worked crafting narratives around beauty, how do you navigate between the pressure of aesthetics and the freedom to be seen as you are?
My ship always leans more towards freedom. Except in one area: I can’t stand gray hair and still dye my hair black. I can tell you what I’m proud of, but I never forget what I lack. Because no matter how examined a life we try to lead—for the sake of our self-esteem—we all have blind spots that remind us we’re daughters of the patriarchy. And that our gray hair is not considered as sexy as George Clooney’s.