Is Beauty A Tickıng Timebomb?

With their legions of fans, beauty-brand founders have exploded onto the scene – sometimes becoming celebrities in their own right. But what happens when their behaviour eclipses their products? Laura Capon investigates

- Laura Capon

This is not my real name, I am taking precautions.” Back in October, my Instagram DMs weren’t filled with questions about what foundation I recommended, or the best moisturiser for oily skin. Instead, a paranoid whistle-blower from skincare brand Deciem had reached out to me, offering to share some disturbing internal company emails.

I knew a little about the erratic behaviour displayed by Deciem’s founder, Brandon Truaxe – after all, his bizarre social-media uploads had been the talk of the beauty industry.

As the founder of one of the biggest brands in recent years, Truaxe had built his empire on disruption (stripping back the grandiose claims pedalled by his competitors and selling skincare formulations with the same, highly effective ingredients for less than half the price). His concept of bringing transparency to the beauty industry was simple but groundbreaking, and he quickly became as well-known and trusted as his cult products. However, this disruption didn’t just stop with his business model. Psychotic episodes, public firings, rambling conspiracy theories and admissions of drug-taking were understandably enough to make Estée Lauder – which owns a one-third stake in the company – skittish.

Four months after that first late-night message, my anonymous insider reached out to me again. “Confirmed reports of Brandon passing away last night, Deciem office in Toronto shut down today.” At just 40 years old, Truaxe was found dead outside his Toronto apartment. The beauty industry’s brightest star had imploded, leaving his brand reeling.

Selling the dream