I’ll admit to getting botox since I was 27. That’s when the deep wrinkles in my forehead from squinting at a computer screen all day stopped going away when I relaxed my face. I noticed right away after the botox that my eyes were less fatigued at the end of the day and I got less headaches - but also that more forehead was as smooth as baby’s butt. I was hooked.
You would never know, except that I tell everyone. It seems only fair since I blog about skincare. I don’t want to falsely sell my readers on my smooth forehead likes it’s just a product of diligent sunscreen and proper exfoliation. Although these things didn’t hurt, per se, it wouldn’t be possible without those injections.
I considered it prophylactic, something to prevent the wrinkles, frowning, tension headaches and other bodily casualties of the computer generation. If there was a cure for texting neck that cost about $200 every 6 months I would do that to.
Now, the $200 might make you pause. Well, I love me a groupon. I will happily go to whomever is selling me units the cheapest. In the beginning I was all paranoid and like “only a doctor can do it” blah blah blah. But my innate cheapness won out and it has never done me wrong. Sometimes I think the nurses even do it better.
But I digress. Too much build up.
So there I am, sitting in the office of this guy I found on the internet. A doctor, and a fairly handsome one at that. I am patiently listening to his schpiel about his instagram and nodding and smiling. Then he looks at me and he says this, “I have to tell you, your skincare is terrible. Whatever you are using is very bad. Your skin is horrible.” He then proceeded to tell me I was in dire need of a chemical peel (to which I responded, um, I had microdermabrasion last week) and then reiterated that he would be happy to give me a “free consultation” wherein his aesthetician would devise a “yearlong” (and most definitely not free) series of peels/lasers and skin care products I could use to fix my horrible skin.
I wilted, then sunk into myself. Too scared to mention that I did in fact diligently use incredible skincare products, had had a consultation (and recently) with a very talented aesthetician and also that I did in fact have a blog where I give thousands of readers a day advice on their own skin care.
OMG, was I a fraud?? Had someone secretly been facetuning my pictures when I wasn’t looking? What is wrong with me?
I slunk out of this office, smartly declining to make an appointment for my next “consultation” and walked to my car where I proceeded to weep and text my husband.
Then I went home and stared at my face (and all my blog photos) trying to figure out what he was seeing that I wasn’t. People compliment me on my skin all the time. Even looking at it then, in that moment of shame spiraling and self doubt, I couldn’t figure out what he could possibly mean. Sure, you can see a few pores around my nose but they are as small as they have ever been. I have these bags under my eyes but those can’t be fixed with skincare, peels or lasers (trust me I have asked approx 16 derms) … what was he talking about?
And then I realized, he was talking about my freckles.
I have had freckles forever. My face hasn’t felt the sun without a hat and thick layers of sunscreen in years. I’ve been peeled, dermabraided and bleached with only the slimmest results. They aren’t “damage” - they are genetic. Most of the time I even like them.
When I was a kid and bashed my freckles, my dad told me that they were kisses from angels, and also that I would lose one every time I kissed a boy. (Nice try dad.)
This asshole monster of a “doctor” was trying to sell me thousands of dollars of painful and intrusive skincare products to eliminate something that I actually kind of like about myself. Jerk.
Sure, freckling and hyper pigmentation can be a sign of sun and environmental damage, and if you want to heal your skin I strongly support that decision. If you want to love and pamper yourself with indulgent routines to reward your mind, body and spirit for all the work it does carrying you around in the universe consider my blessings and energy and good vibes coming your way. You do you. But people need to stop trying to make me feel like crap about myself to sell me shit.
So what did I do? I went home and lovingly applied my beloved face care routine. I kissed my husband a lot and let him tell me I was so pretty. Then I made an online donation to a local charity that sponsors artwork for at-risk youth as a means of self expression, because that seemed like a better use of my money.
PS: Some shops that I love because they value self-care, fun and pampering over punishment: Glossier and Peach & Lily. Please enjoy these closeup pictures of my "horribly damaged" skin (insert crying laughing emoji)