BEAUTY AND FEMINISM

Getting Botox Just Made Me Focus on My Flaws

On realizing I’m beautiful just as I am.

When I turned forty-five, four years ago, I went from feeling young and carefree to feeling my age for the first time. My first gray hairs were sprouting from my temples. Never wearing sunblock all those years had resulted in a burst of freckles on my chest and arms. I had crow’s feet around my eyes. My belly, butt, and breasts sagged from giving birth to two babies, one right after the other, in my late thirties.

I was feeling insecure about my looks, so I bought a Groupon to get Botox. I wanted to turn back the hands of time and look young again, and yet I felt embarrassed — narcissistic even — for wanting the injections.

At the medi-spa, as I waited for the technician to start the procedure, I told her that I didn’t believe I really needed this treatment as I was still young. Maybe I was trying to apologize for my narcissism. That, or I was attempting to cover up my embarrassment about being there at all. Of course, I had no reason to apologize to this technician. This was her job, after all.

Besides, she didn’t agree with me one bit. She frowned and testily replied, “There are women younger than you getting Botox.”

She was happy to then point out all my wrinkles like they were glaring imperfections. Yes, I had some lines around my eyes, but they weren’t all that deeply creased. They were the result of living life, and yet I was insecure about them.

I learned something that day. I received a lesson in what happens when you focus on your flaws instead of celebrating what’s good about you. If you only look at what’s wrong with yourself, you can’t see what’s positive. But I was there to get Botox, wasn’t I?

I got the injections. I waited. The Botox did diminish the appearance of my wrinkles a little, but not much. I returned to the medi-spa to question the technician about it. She had the answer: I needed more Botox.

All I had to do was purchase even more vials. The Groupon was a deal that afforded me only a certain number of injections. If I really wanted to see change, I needed to inject more.

I didn’t want to look like a mannequin with an unmoving, inhuman face.

So basically I had to spend more money to feel good about myself. I considered this but then thought about the faces of the women I’d seen, women who, like me, had just wanted to erase all their wrinkles. They’d had more Botox injected. The Botox had rid them of their lines but these women had also ended up looking like wax dolls.

Nicole Kidman’s face came to mind. Or Kylie Jenner’s, who instead of looking like a girl in her twenties, looks “year-zero.” She’s had so much work done to her face that she looks the same age as women who are much older than she is, women who’ve gone to the same doctors and gotten the same work done.

These women all look thirty-six, regardless of whether they’re sixty or twenty-two. Well, they don’t really look thirty-six. They look ageless. But when I say ageless, I don’t mean it as a compliment. I mean they don’t look totally human. They look otherworldly. They don’t look real.

I didn’t want to look like a mannequin with an unmoving, inhuman face, so I demurred against buying more Botox. Instead, I bought yet another Groupon to get a microdermabrasion treatment done at another medi-spa.

The microdermabrasion treatment consisted of running a small drill, embedded with tiny crystals — I was told they were diamond crystals — over the skin on my face, which would slough away dead skin cells and thereby remove the appearance of fine lines, age spots and the melasma I still had from being pregnant.

This time I felt less embarrassed about the treatment because I do have age spots on my face, as well as a lot of fine lines. This isn’t to mention the freckles of “hyperpigmentation” caused by the hormonal changes in my body when I was pregnant.

As women, we don’t need to rely estheticians to enlighten us to our every blemish. We’re more than equipped to do that ourselves.

This technician was yet again more than happy to point out these flaws to me. He even went so far as to direct my attention to how the left side of my face had more sun damage than the right. Yes, I do have more sun damage on the left side of my face as that’s the side that faces the window when I drive.

All those years of owning a car without air-conditioning and driving around Southern California with the window open. My left shoulder and arm also have more sun damage than my right shoulder and arm.

So this technician also wanted to sell me more treatments on top of what I’d purchased with my Groupon. That, and he eagerly called my attention to the freckles on my chest. I shouldn’t just come back for more microdermabrasion for my face, but for my entire body.

So basically, to look younger, I had to undergo many microdermabrasion treatments. With the Groupon I purchased, the treatment was only $75. Without it, it went up to $150.

I’m not blaming these technicians for pointing out my epidermal flaws. They’re just doing their jobs. Besides as women, we don’t need to rely on estheticians to enlighten us to our every blemish. We’re more than equipped to do that ourselves. Women are gifted in the fine art of ripping apart our appearances. All we need to do is look in any mirror, and we’ll do the work ourselves.

I didn’t buy more microdermabrasion treatments, but I still wasn’t happy. I still had wrinkles and sunspots on my face. I considered going back for more Botox. Maybe I could deal with my sun spots if at least I got rid of my wrinkles.

My son caught wind of it. “It’s poison, Mama,” he said. “Please don’t get any more Botox injected.” He’d seen a YouTube video about Botox. Yes, Botox is basically a poison that temporarily paralyzes the underlying muscles in your face so they go lax, and that’s what makes it so your face doesn’t move or crease.

I was sold on the product. Then he gave me its price tag. I nearly fainted. A small syringe containing just a few ounces cost $750.

I agreed not to get any more Botox injected. I decided against getting any more treatments altogether.

As a single mom, not only do I not have the disposable income for all these treatments, but I don’t have the free time to spend at medical spas, undergoing treatments that may or may not improve my appearance.

Not long after, I happened to find myself at the mall, passing a kiosk that advertised a way to get the results of Botox without having to inject it. Of course, my curiosity was piqued.

A handsome, foreign man in a tight, black outfit pulled me in by offering me a free sample. He had a great sales technique. First, he disarmed me by flirting me in his adorable accent. As soon as he had my attention, he began to tut-tut about my skin. Like he literally sucked his teeth.

“Oh dear, look at all these wrinkles. This cream will really help you.”

He smoothed the cream around my eyes. Thanks to my mother, I not only have wrinkles but I have genetic dark circles and bags under my eyes that aren’t just from old age.

The cream dried, and I couldn’t believe what I saw when he showed me my reflection in the mirror. My wrinkles and bags had vanished. The cream had not only erased my wrinkles completely, but it had smoothed my bags.

I was astonished by how great I looked. I was sold on the product. Then he gave me its price tag. I nearly fainted. A small syringe containing just a few ounces cost $750.

I couldn’t afford it even if the cream was magical. I mean, I guess I could, if instead of buying groceries that month or paying my utility bills, I bought the cream.

I didn’t buy it, but that didn’t mean I forgot about it.

I went home and searched for it online. I found it on sale for only $150 on eBay. Some wealthy woman had bought too many vials on a trip to Las Vegas and now wanted to sell one of hers, unopened. I bought it, and within a week, I had my own vial of the magical elixir in my hot little sun-damaged hand.

I smeared just a tiny bit of the cream around my eyes, just like the handsome man had instructed. The bags under my eyes shrunk just like they had at the mall. My wrinkles disappeared.

I gazed at myself appreciatively in the mirror. I felt happy — so happy. I was so happy that I grinned ear to ear. Therein I saw the problem. Yes, the cream had erased the appearance of my wrinkles and bags, but only when I wasn’t smiling.

I couldn’t help but see the irony. Sure, the cream could make me look better, but only if I didn’t smile.

When I smiled, the cream dried on my skin, stiffening the epidermis. Sure, when I wasn’t smiling, the cream shrunk the skin around my eyes so that you couldn’t see the creases. But when I smiled, the wrinkles came back, only deeper, taking on a crinkled look. Smiling, my wrinkles got worse.

I couldn’t help but see the irony. Sure, the cream could make me look better, but only if I didn’t smile.

I had two options. I could continue to use the cream and look younger as long as I never smiled. Or I could not wear the cream, smile and look better, not because I didn’t have wrinkles, but because I looked happy.

I chose the latter. I’d rather emanate youth through an expression of well-being than transmit beautiful dissatisfaction. I’d rather enjoy the natural endorphins that flood the system when you smile. I’d rather be content with my age and my appearance, without honing in on every wrinkle, bag, or discolored spot. I’d rather be secure with my flaws than insecure about them. I’d rather just be myself.