Kim Lim is less reserved than expected. Not because she has not loved deeply or trusted fully—she has, and there were times when she paid the price for it—nor because she lives a carefully curated life (hers has unravelled more than once, often in full view of the public). Perhaps it has to do with the locale of this interview and cover shoot: Bali, a place she does not travel to often (she is typically in Japan, Dubai or Bangkok), but which holds a quiet familiarity for her.
After all, she has family here and its distance from Singapore—both physical and emotional, it seems—creates a rare pocket of calm. Perhaps it is the fact that she is on holiday with her two sons, spending quality time with some of her relatives based here. It could even be her current hard‑won healthy and empowered mindset at play, shaped by past experiences and lessons learnt the hard way.
Whatever the reason, Lim at this moment is anything but closed off, candidly sharing her views on love, life and more. On the first, for example, the socialite says thoughtfully: “At this stage of my life, love, to me, is about patience, understanding and communication.” It is a far cry from the version of love she once believed in—one shaped by intensity, proximity and grand gestures. “Before, I thought love meant being together every day,” she shares. “Fighting but pretending everything was fine. Gifts—especially extravagant ones. Sticking close, no matter what.”
It was heartbreak, Lim frankly admits, that reshaped her emotional landscape. There is, of course, that brought on by her two highly publicised marriages and subsequent divorces (her second marriage, in particular, ended in a protracted divorce—a process the beauty and wellness entrepreneur described on Instagram then as being “super traumatic” for her), but it was not just her romantic relationships that brought her grief and taught hard lessons; professional ones did too.
Lim divulges that a personal assistant she was close to had broken her trust by not only misusing a company credit card and car, but also abusing her access to the office safe to steal a Patek Philippe watch. More than $10,000 in angbao (red packet) money belonging to Lim’s son went missing as well.
The betrayal was devastating—the acts were not merely financial violations, but also deeply personal ones. Mind you, this was someone embedded in the minutiae of her life, privy to her movements, her business, her vulnerabilities.
“I trusted this person completely,” says Lim. “She saw everything; my work, my family, my private moments. I remember when I found out that she stole from the safe. That was the final straw. Honestly, I broke down. I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I felt stupid, angry and embarrassed.” She pauses. “I was doing a treatment at Illumia then. I remember crying, screaming, even kicking the bed, the wall, everything; because I was so distraught.”
For Lim, healing does not come from avoidance. It comes from moving straight through the pain. “I let myself feel everything. And then I move on. Grieve as fast as possible so you can heal quickly,” she says. “If you keep it inside, it stays with you.”
These experiences marked a turning point—one that stripped away illusions Lim did not even realise she had been holding on to. “Heartbreak taught me to put myself first. It taught me about boundaries,” she reflects. “After everything I went through—especially the very public marriages and divorces—I became much more cautious. I don’t think I can trust anyone 100 per cent anymore. Not in relationships, not in life.”
It is striking, then, that throughout this interview, she is anything but guarded—speaking openly, thoughtfully, without rehearsal. Mention this and she laughs before responding: “Of course I can share the things I choose to share in this conversation; now that time has passed, I don’t mind sharing more about my experiences.”
She points out, though, that “you don’t know my full life; there are many things I don’t share with the public”.
Being more careful in love, she goes on to explain, does not mean being closed off. “Just because I have boundaries doesn’t mean I don’t love or care—I do. But I’ve learnt that you can’t fully rely on anyone,” she says. “You still need to know what’s going on. You still need to protect yourself. That’s something success could never teach me. Only heartbreak could.”
Today, love looks quieter. Stronger. And, crucially, it leaves room for herself. “To be honest, even now, I don’t know if I fully love myself yet,” she admits. “But I do know that I’ve learnt to take care of myself more—and that looks very different from before.”
For Lim, self‑love began physically. “I need to feel good when I look in the mirror,” she shares. “When my skin looks good, when my body feels better, my mental state follows. Taking care of myself is my way of loving myself.” Mentally, Lim has also learnt to treat herself with more kindness. “In the past, I was always giving to everyone else first,” she says. “Now, I give to myself before I give to others. I realised that if I don’t take care of myself, I won’t have anything left to give anyway.”
She credits her spiritual faith (she is a devout Buddhist) for helping her quiet her mind. “Of course, I still have my down moments,” she notes. “But when I do, I try to channel that energy into my work. I turn pain into something productive. That has always been my way—letting the struggle become the result you eventually see.”
If love reshaped her emotional boundaries, motherhood has done the same for her perspective. In addition to her elder son Kyden, born from her first marriage and who will be turning nine this July, Lim has a second son who turned one last December.
While she is keeping the identity of her younger son private, she has been open about how he was conceived: through in-vitro fertilisation (IVF). The decision, she shares, was influenced in part by her father, Singaporean billionaire Peter Lim, and, unexpectedly, Portuguese football superstar Cristiano Ronaldo. The latter, a close family friend, “came to visit and encouraged me to have more children,” says Lim, laughing. “Children bring meaning and purpose to your life, he said. And it doesn’t matter if [the child is conceived] through natural means, IVF or surrogacy—they’re all your children.” For her father, the reason was much more simple: “We’re not getting younger and my dad wants me to have family by my side as I grow older,” she shares. “Family is the strongest foundation you can have.”
Just as she has always been in every other aspect of her life, Lim is unapologetic about the kind of mother she is—and is not. In her world, motherhood is not measured by constant presence but by intention—quality time, shared holidays, being there when it truly matters.
Over time, she has learnt to let go of guilt, understanding that being present matters more than being perfect. “There’s no such thing as being able to balance motherhood and your career,” she states. “My priority is my work, then my children.” It is a statement that may raise eyebrows, but Lim does not flinch.
She readily acknowledges her privilege, not just financially, but in having what she calls “my whole kampung”—her father, stepmother, long‑time nannies, friends and extended family—help raise her children.
“I’m very lucky,” says the self‑described “chill mother”, who shares that her father plays the disciplinarian with her children, adding with a laugh that “he doesn’t allow them to miss school or skip homework”. Motherhood also changed her body.
After giving birth, Lim struggled with her image. “The first few months were terrible,” she admits. “I kept asking myself, ‘Why do I look like this?’” Few understand better how deeply physical appearance and mental health are intertwined—especially when your work depends on visibility. “My mental health follows my physical appearance,” she says. “If I don’t feel good when I look in the mirror, everything else collapses.”
So she did what she has always done: she tested. Treatments, machines, rituals, you name it—she went through them all at her own clinics, Papilla by Kim Lim, the hair and scalp centre born from her personal experience with post‑partum hair loss, and Illumia Group, the integrated beauty and wellness hub she founded in 2020. Slowly, her body responded, and with it, her confidence. “When I start to look better, I feel better,” she says. “Then I can face the world again.”
This commitment to self‑testing has shaped her beauty empire, KL Health, comprising Papilla by Kim Lim and four other brands under Illumia Group, each addressing a specific, interconnected facet of beauty and wellness.
“When something carries my name, I have to test it first,” Lim says. “Every treatment and product goes through months of personal testing before it reaches our customers. If it doesn’t work for me, how can I roll it out?” In 2024, she consolidated these brands under one roof at Wheelock Place, marking a new chapter.
Lim’s journey from socialite to founder is often misunderstood. “People think it’s easy,” she says. “They think my dad helped me. But he never did.” Her independence, she explains, was intentional. “My dad wanted me to learn the hard way. I’ve never received help for my businesses from him. He wanted me to be strong enough to stand on my own.” And she has—through staffing nightmares and the relentless pressure of running a business, and even betrayals and failed partnerships. “Sometimes, I think about giving up,” she admits. “But I don’t.”
Today, her vision is sharper than ever: building a Singaporean brand trusted globally; expanding into more countries (Papilla by Kim Lim already has a presence in Bangkok and London, with the latter address officially launching last July as its first outpost outside of the region); developing products that are effective, affordable and honest. “I want people to see our name and know that this is a brand with products and treatments that simply work,” she says.
So who is Kim Lim, beyond the headlines and the carefully observed life? This, Lim acknowledges, is a difficult question. “I don’t know … ” she trails off, thinking. “I think I’m [someone who’s] very resilient,” she says finally. “When something happens, I don’t stay down for long. I let myself feel it and then I move on.”
After awhile, she adds: “I’m also [someone who’s] very independent. I don’t like relying on people too much.” When pushed further to define herself now, she reflects: “I’m honest. I’m straightforward. I love deeply—but I’ve learnt to love with boundaries.” A beat. “And I care a lot. About my children. About my work. About doing things properly.”
She still believes in love; still believes in family; still believes in building a full life. But she no longer believes in sacrificing herself to do it. “You like me, you like me. You don’t like me, that’s OK,” she says with a shrug. “I’m very real. I don’t live my life based on what people think.”
In a world that has watched her fall, rise and reinvent herself time and again, Kim Lim is no longer trying to prove anything. She is too busy protecting her peace—and building a life that finally feels like her own. And maybe that, she has learnt, is the truest form of love there is.
Photography Zantz Han
Creative Direction Kelly Hsu
Styling Tok Wei Lun
Hair Banjaporn Kampab
Makeup Rinpapak Sookariyakul
Photography assistant Tan Peng Sheng
Styling assistant Crystal Lim
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