Fresh's Crème Ancienne is Handmade by Monks in a Czech Monastary

Don Penny/Studio D, Styled by Anita Salerno for R.J. Bennett Represents

It sounds, on the face of it, like some kind of Ab Fab–esque spoof: A group of Trappist monks spend their days in the remote Czech countryside making and packaging high-ticket skincare for a major global brand. But it's no parody; these are the over-the-top means behind Fresh's Crème Ancienne. It's by virtue of these means—a bit mysterious and as resolutely impractical as any couture creation—that each jar feels like a rare little discovery.

And though the austerely packaged cream has, compared with its triple-digit skincare brethren, flown mostly under the radar, it has still managed to amass a cultish following that swears by its time-halting effects.

The words etched on each jar—"Made by hand in a monastery"—rang through my head as I made my way to the fabled Czech abbey of Fresh renown. Drive two hours northeast of Prague and you're off the grid, surrounded by fields of lanky hop vines and rolling hills in paint swatch gradations of green. The diminutive size of the villages is underscored by how quickly they begin and end: a sign welcoming you, then, a mile later, another bidding you farewell. The monastery's presence is announced only by a large stone carved with a cross—a greeting so inconspicuous we missed it the first time.

A monk enters the abbey's serene quarters.
Christopher Baker Photography for Fresh

The monastery, and the famous architect behind it, remained nameless to us outsiders. This was a condition from Father Samuel, its French abbot, to help maintain his order's privacy, because, while the skincare products his brothers produce may be quite modern, the way of life here is anything but. The 30 monks in residence rise at 3 a.m. and are in bed by 7:30 p.m.; they divide their time between church and prayer services (seven daily), work duties, and meals, which are, like everything else, consumed in silence so nothing will disrupt the monks' contemplation.

They dress modestly (long white cotton robes with cowls and floor-grazing winged sleeves), have little contact with the outside world (no TVs, no radios, no cell phones), and claim few possessions. They take no vacations and work six days a week, saving Sundays for rest and prayer. "We lead a life of balance where we don't have the concept of spare time," says Father Samuel. "Our lives are full."

The monks take no vacations and work six days a week, saving Sundays for rest and prayer.

When Fresh co-founder Lev Glazman happened upon an ancient skincare recipe (history's first moisturizer!) in 2001, he became fixated on the idea of reproducing it (updating it slightly for the 21st century). But, as he and partner Alina Roytberg soon learned, the manufacturing process for what became Crème Ancienne required such a degree of delicacy it couldn't be done by industrial means. "Creating it by hand is the only way to ensure the precise temperature and calculate the timing of the mixing of the waxes and oils so they transform correctly into a rich, emollient texture," Glazman says. And who better, he thought, to produce this ancient cream than people intimately familiar with ancient rituals?

"But you don't just find a monastery on the internet and send them an e-mail," Roytberg adds, chuckling. It took the pair more than a year of researching monasteries, corresponding via handwritten letter, before they found the right fit.

While the formula seems simple (a blend of natural ingredients including honey, chamomile, echinacea, vitamin E, and meadowfoam seed), its clinical results are impressive—it has been shown to decrease the number, length, and depth of wrinkles—and its followers ardent.

Nature-derived ingredients have always been a central part of the Fresh credo, with entire collections spun around one star player (Umbrian clay, peony, rose). Glazman and Roytberg grew up with a connection to natural ingredients—Glazman in Russia and Israel, Roytberg in Ukraine. "As children our medicine cabinets had aspirin, but also dried chamomile and sea buckthorn oil," Roytberg says. "The difference is that we now take these natural remedies and transform them into highly efficacious formulas."

Fresh founders Lev Glazman and Alina Roytberg mix a test batch of the new serum.
Christopher Baker Photography for Fresh

For the newest addition to the Crème Ancienne line, the Supreme Face Serum, the recipe is all about roots: ginseng, san chi, and red and blue ginger. "In traditional Chinese medicine they can be very powerful, so I wanted to bring them into a skincare formula," Glazman says. And these prized roots—san chi to firm, ginseng to tone, and the gingers to calm, smooth, and boost moisture—have proven themselves in clinical trials, with an impressive 100 percent of participants reporting smoother, softer, better-nourished skin, with improved elasticity.

The monks, lab coats over their robes, lined up in the on-site skincare facility, which they have had to expand to accommodate increased production; the process seemed almost meditative. They work together in silence and with intention, a word that has been popping up in the beauty and nutrition realms lately. (Recall the old adage about food made with love.) It conveys the notion that a product can reflect the energy of its maker. And here that appears to be the case.

There's an irony to monks who have taken a vow of poverty making a serum that costs $240.

Of course, there's an irony to monks who have taken a vow of poverty making a serum that costs $240, and it's not lost on Father Samuel. "We don't use the products, but the brothers appreciate that they are producing something of quality," he says. But then I see him take off his glasses, reach for the serum, and gingerly massage it into his skin. "Ah," he says, smiling, "very nice."


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