There is a specific category of skincare product that exists primarily to be interesting. The kind of product you pull out at a sleepover to show people, the kind that earns its keep on Instagram before it earns it on your skin. Sunday Riley's Martian Mattifying Melting Water-Gel Toner, launched in 2016, was absolutely that product — and the question was always whether the science underneath the spectacle could justify the price tag.
The spectacle, to be fair, is good. You scoop a fingertip of thick, green-tinted gel from the jar, press it onto your face, and it melts on contact into a watery liquid that disappears into the skin. It feels like a magic trick the first few times. The cooling sensation is immediate and pleasant, and within minutes, your pores look visibly blurred and your T-zone has a soft-matte finish that genuinely works as a makeup base. The brand cited clinical data: 53% reduction in T-zone pore size within 10 minutes in a study of 56 subjects. That tracks with the real-world experience — the effect is noticeable and nearly instant.
But here is where the Martian toner starts losing altitude. The pore-minimizing magic is temporary — it's a cosmetic trick performed by bentonite clay, tapioca starch, and polymethylsilsesquioxane (silicone microspheres) that physically blur and absorb at the skin's surface. These ingredients do exactly what they claim, but they wash off, wear off, and fade by midafternoon on most oily skin types. There is nothing wrong with temporary cosmetic improvement — that is literally what primer does — but the toner positioning and the $25 price tag suggest something more transformative than what you actually get.
The active ingredients tell a more complex story. Manuka oil, black cumin seed oil, and magnolia bark extract form an antibacterial trio that is genuinely interesting from a formulation standpoint. Manuka oil's beta-triketones have documented in vitro activity against Propionibacterium acnes, and black cumin's thymoquinone offers anti-inflammatory support. Green tea extract and witch hazel add antioxidant and astringent properties. On paper, this is a thoughtful combination of oil-control and antimicrobial ingredients aimed at the root causes of oily, congested skin.
Then you look at the second ingredient on the list: alcohol denat. In significant concentration, alcohol denat. is what gives the gel its melting texture and fast-drying finish, but it also introduces a drying element that seems counterproductive in a product designed for daily use on skin that's already producing excess sebum partly in response to dehydration. The formula does include emollients and botanical oils to offset the alcohol, but it's a philosophical contradiction — drying out oily skin to control oil is the skincare equivalent of fighting fire with a flamethrower and then handing out fire extinguishers.
And then there is the smell. Initial application is fine — herbal, lemongrass-forward, vaguely botanical in a way that feels intentional. But as the product absorbs and the volatile notes evaporate, the scent transforms into something earthy and pungent that reviewers have compared to everything from dried shrimp to wet rags to bird seed. It is, by a wide margin, the most consistently cited complaint across every retailer that carries this product. When your single most common piece of user feedback is about an unpleasant odor, that is a formulation problem that no amount of clever texture can distract from.
The texture innovation itself is worth examining. Gel-to-water technology uses surfactant systems — in this case, sorbeth-30 tetraisostearate and sorbitan sesquiisostearate — to create a gel structure that breaks on contact with skin, releasing the aqueous phase. It is clever cosmetic chemistry, and Sunday Riley's cosmetic chemist founder clearly enjoyed engineering it. But clever chemistry should serve skin health, not just sensory novelty. The transformation is satisfying, but the end result — a light film of mattifying minerals on slightly alcohol-dried skin — could be achieved by simpler means.
The ingredient list also includes pearl powder as the final ingredient, which means this product is not vegan despite the brand's general lean toward vegan formulations. It is a minor inclusion — pearl powder at that concentration is unlikely to do much beyond marketing appeal — but it is worth noting for consumers who check these things.
Value is where the Martian struggles to justify itself. At $25 for 1.7 ounces, it's moderately priced for Sunday Riley but expensive for a toner with temporary cosmetic effects and a divisive scent. The larger 4.4-ounce bottle at $55 offers better per-ounce value, but commits you to a product you may not love after the novelty wears off.
The product appears to have been quietly discontinued by Sunday Riley — it is no longer listed on the brand's official website and is out of stock at most major retailers as of 2026. This is not surprising. The Martian never achieved the cult status of Sunday Riley's hero products, and its combination of novelty texture, niche audience (strictly oily skin), and the scent issue likely limited repeat purchases. It was an interesting experiment from a brand that knows how to make interesting experiments, but interesting is not the same as essential.
