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I knew self-care could be a competitive sport, but now we have it. Supermodel turned influencer and beauty guru Cindy Crawford, 60, has just shared her morning routine. It takes two-and-a-half hours, which must be some sort of record assuming that her nighttime routine must take equally as long, not to mention her midday tune-up.

“I love my morning routine!” she says, “it sets me up to have a great day!” She must have seen the ridicule coming. After an early morning alarm (if not a servant drawing her curtains), she stretches. Then she dry brushes while listening to an audiobook of the Bible (think she threw that in for Maga). Then she scrapes her face with a gua sha tool (careful to mention her own brand of skin care packed with Charentais cantaloupe extract – I’m not making this up), then comes the Laser Cap and the red-light beauty wand. It’s now only 7am.

Now she is past the age and stage when a parent needs to get up and feed their family, she’s downing morning apple vinegar shots. Then comes the so-called “grounding” outside (of her $10m Miami villa), a dip in the pool, a jacuzzi, some warmups before she allows herself collagen coffee. By 8am, she is at the gym, hanging from an inversion table, bouncing on a mini-trampoline and stretching. Just when you think, “now she’s going to hit the desk”, the trainer arrives. Assuming he’s anything like mine, that bit would easily take her to 10am.

But while the under-fifties pick themselves up from laughing at so much energy being spent on so much self-care, the over-fifties, like me, know the truth. Morning routines for women this age become terrifyingly complex and complicated. And yes, in many cases, extreme.

For the past few years, I, too, have been following a routine that would make most women weep. When Covid proved hard to banish from my system, I moved into the brave new world of functional, holistic and longevity medicine which truthfully assumes you have nothing to do all day but wait for the timer that tells you to take a supplement that requires an empty stomach then 20 minutes later, another supplement that requires six other things including olive oil for maximum absorption.

Then come the new wave range of compounded hormonal topical creams that need at least a minute to massage on, then an almost entire body wash to clean off, lest you want to grow hair on your cheeks.

This four- to six-hour regimen, which I religiously followed until I decided I wanted a life, was not dissimilar to Cindy’s. It also involved pre-getting out of bed routines such as stretching while supposedly also meditating, then immediately bouncing up and down 50 times to get lymph moving before, of course, brushing the fluids in the right direction (and doing a similar thing to my face using the Perrin Technique, which helps toxins leave the body).

I also needed to get natural light into my eyeballs first thing, my “grounding outside” (however freezing my paving stones were) and also downing six cups of Greek yoghurt (gut health!) mixed with collagen and creatine (blech) before coffee.

I’d also need to drink a large glass of electrolyte-filled water first thing, which was tough given you have to get up and mix it fresh or the powder just falls to the bottom.

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Then came the strict beauty routine, which demands breaks between activities, meaning you first slather on the Vitamin C, wait three minutes, then add the growth factor serum, wait, then face cream, followed by sunscreen. The same goes on at night with tretinoins, which also demand to be left alone to seep in, followed by the priceless Calecim growth serum that requires microneedling first, and then the Sarah Chapman overnight oil/humectant, which holds it all in but takes 20 minutes to dry or your satin/silk sheets are done for. Oh, and don’t forget the tape on your mouth (to stop mouth-breathing) and the nidra yoga for winding down.

The functional medicine world clearly doesn’t believe a morning routine should end at any particular time. I was told I must have a daily 20-minute session in an infrared sauna for detoxification followed by a cold shower. Then, mindful resting. This was meant to be scheduled a few times a day, which means one could never quite make it to the study to try and work before another session in a dark room.

Other daily musts included: yoga stretching, a mandatory 20-minute walk in “green” for EMDR activity (when your eyes bounce around in your head) and the usual – yawn – meditation. Later, I added a trainer because I ran out of motivation to do any of this.

There’s all the kit too: the vagus nerve stimulation machines that I never quite worked out, and the red-light therapy that must be accompanied by methylene blue drink, and iodine for maximum thyroid boosting and oxygenation. The methylene blue turns your teeth green, so add 30 minutes of dental self-care to your day. And don’t forget the scalp treatments. I was convinced Covid was affecting my hair, so I also did the Calecim hair programme, which involves microneedling the scalp before carefully rubbing in the serum and then, as always, waiting.

My diet alone required at least three hours a day because it was low-histamine, which means you can eat precisely nothing that isn’t made 30 seconds earlier. On top of that, I also had to layer anti-histamines, each of which affects or blocks some other supplement, so again, timers. In the evening, I had to schedule the DAOs (which block histamine in food) as well as the binders (that mop up histamine) precisely 15 minutes and one hour before meals. Should I dream of a glass of wine, I had to use “The Wand”, which you stir around for three minutes to mop up the nasties within. (Before that, you add charcoal to bind the toxin).

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I was also meant to practise all that I had learned on the Lightning Process, a course that supposedly rewires your brain (to challenge your beliefs and symptoms) but requires consistency. In between all my home physical and mental self-care were visits for acupuncture, massage, osteopathy and B12 shots (which boost energy). Apart from the jaw-dropping expense of this all was the indescribable boredom.

Then I had an epiphany. Maybe the way to health was to focus on something other than myself? At a clinic in Switzerland, a yoga teacher asked me what I did for joy. I answered that I also work with my hands as an artist, and for some reason, I don’t feel tired when doing it. “Flow,” he said, “the highest state a human being can reach.”

Which is to say, when I am occupied with anything but mind-numbing self-care, I feel almost normal. I also realised that when I stopped doing half the stuff I used to do (apart from the mandatory prescriptions), I felt no different.

I do still stack my skincare because, thanks to Dr Maryam Zamani, I look much better for it. I also double up like Cindy does, listening to my book club books or podcasts while I drag myself to the park for a walk. I know way too much about things like mitochondria and ATP (ie energy) to ignore the only anti-ageing routine one cannot skip, namely movement.

But thankfully, none of this requires a 6am alarm or two-and-a-half hours. That huge chunk of time, Cindy, would be so much better used for reading a good book or learning a skill with our hands, chatting with our friends or playing an instrument. All the research suggests that connection and mental stimulation are the true longevity hacks, not the narcissistic practice of wellness.