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By:

Anjali Joshi

3 July 2026 at 7:55:47 am

Beauty and the Algorithm

Artificial intelligence is transforming skincare, but the industry’s most valuable asset remains irreducibly human. The beauty industry has rarely embraced technological change as enthusiastically as it is doing today. Artificial intelligence can now analyse skin with remarkable precision, sophisticated machines can target imperfections once thought difficult to treat, and aesthetic clinics increasingly resemble laboratories as much as salons. Yet amid this technological revolution, an...

Beauty and the Algorithm

Artificial intelligence is transforming skincare, but the industry’s most valuable asset remains irreducibly human. The beauty industry has rarely embraced technological change as enthusiastically as it is doing today. Artificial intelligence can now analyse skin with remarkable precision, sophisticated machines can target imperfections once thought difficult to treat, and aesthetic clinics increasingly resemble laboratories as much as salons. Yet amid this technological revolution, an enduring truth that remains is that beauty is as much a human experience as it is a scientific one. For decades, skincare revolved around conventional treatments, topical products and the trained judgement of experienced aestheticians. Today, that judgement is reinforced by an arsenal of advanced technologies. Treatments such as HydraFacials, laser therapy, radio-frequency procedures, microdermabrasion, High-Intensity Focused Ultrasound (HIFU) and LED light therapy have transformed the possibilities of non-invasive skincare. They cleanse more deeply, improve texture and pigmentation, and deliver increasingly consistent results. Clients now expect faster improvements with greater precision and fewer risks than ever before. Game Changer Artificial intelligence has accelerated this transformation. AI-powered imaging systems can examine the skin in microscopic detail, assessing moisture levels, oil production, pigmentation, wrinkles, enlarged pores, acne, blemishes and even estimating biological skin age. Perhaps AI's greatest contribution lies in personalisation. Skin is profoundly individual; no two people present identical concerns, lifestyles or biological characteristics. The era of standardised treatments is steadily giving way to customised care. By processing vast quantities of diagnostic data, AI can recommend tailored treatment plans, suggest suitable skincare products and even generate detailed aftercare protocols. The result is better outcomes for clients whose treatments are increasingly designed around their specific needs rather than generic categories. Predictive algorithms can flag the early signs of accelerated ageing, sun damage or pigmentation disorders, allowing preventive intervention rather than corrective treatment. Increasingly, AI is extending beyond the treatment room into clinic management itself, streamlining appointment scheduling, maintaining comprehensive client histories, automating follow-up care and even enabling preliminary online consultations that save time for both practitioners and clients. All this raises an obvious question. If machines can analyse, predict and recommend with increasing sophistication, what remains for the beauty professional to do? The answer is almost everything that matters. While technology excels at processing information, it cannot understand vulnerability. A machine may detect dehydration in the skin, but not the exhaustion that caused it. It may identify pigmentation, but not the insecurity that accompanies it. It may recommend a treatment protocol, but it cannot reassure an anxious client, interpret unspoken concerns or understand why someone seeks aesthetic care in the first place. Beauty treatments are seldom pursued solely to improve the complexion. They are also acts of restoration for confidence, wellbeing and self-esteem. Clients often enter a clinic carrying emotional burdens alongside cosmetic concerns. They seek empathy as much as expertise. It is here that the experienced aesthetician remains irreplaceable. Skilled practitioners read people. They adapt treatments to personalities, lifestyles and emotional expectations. They know when to advise patience instead of another procedure, when to temper unrealistic hopes, and when the most valuable service they provide is simply listening. Nor can technology replicate the therapeutic qualities of touch. The slow rhythm of a facial massage, the careful movements of trained hands and the quiet conversation that often accompanies treatment create an atmosphere of trust that no algorithm can manufacture. These moments are not incidental luxuries but are central to why many clients return. The experience itself - the sense of being cared for - often becomes as valuable as the visible improvement in the skin. This is why the future of beauty is unlikely to be a contest between machines and humans. It will instead be a partnership in which each performs the tasks it does best. AI brings precision, speed and data-driven insight. Advanced equipment expands the range of treatments available while improving safety and consistency. Human practitioners contribute judgement, sensitivity, experience and emotional intelligence - qualities that transform a clinical procedure into genuine care. The beauty industry will undoubtedly become even more technologically sophisticated in the years ahead. But its defining ingredient will remain stubbornly analogue. Machines may analyse the skin with astonishing accuracy, and algorithms may refine every treatment plan. Yet confidence cannot be programmed, trust cannot be automated and compassion cannot be digitised. The future of beauty, for all its algorithms, will still depend on the oldest technology of all - the human touch. (The writer is an aesthetician and founder, Midas Touch International Institute, Pune. Views personal.)

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

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