I have a confession to make.
It took me over an entire year of dating Matt before I showed him my face without a stitch of makeup. I know you’re judging me. It’s okay, I judge myself, too. Welcome to womanhood!
What can I say? My morning face just isn’t as cute as my put-together, second cup of coffee, ready to slay-the-day face. But it seems as I approach 40…even that face just ain’t what she used to be.
What’s a girl– I mean a sage, sophisticated woman–to do? Whine over wine with my girlfriends. Turns out, many of them were way ahead of me:
- Botox…they do
- Lip fillers…they do
- Laser hair removal…they do
- Microdermabrasion…they do
- Dermal infusion…they do
But we’re suburban moms. I’m not a Bravo Real Housewife (although I wouldn’t mind hanging out with Carole Radziwill). Me? Botox? Dermal Infusions? A midwest hometown girl on a budget? Probably not. My kids needed new snow gear, my house needed repairs, so I put my grandiose ideas of looking Bravo off to never-never land.
So me and my almost-40 face trudged through the months together. We were like Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn in “The Breakup” when they still have to live with each other: neither one of us was happy about our living arrangement, but we were stuck together by contractual agreement.
It wasn’t until my younger sister told me that she had been getting Botox that I seriously put those thinking wrinkles–my “thrinkles”–to work.
My face was aging. Fact.
I didn’t feel great about my wrinkles. Fact.
My baby sister was already getting Botox. Fact.
I was afraid of somebody doing it wrong. Fact.
I was afraid of my forehead looking like an ice-skating rink. Fact.
I was afraid of being unable to make all of my idiosyncratic quirky faces. Fact.
I was afraid of it costing an arm and a leg when I was already a proverbial amputee. Fact.
Well, I wasn’t going to any fancy spa like some of my girlfriends–too pricey. Nor was I going to a “friend of a friend” who did it cosmetically out of her basement. Chance of paralysis? No thanks.
So one day when I was getting my annual skin cancer prevention check at Affiliated Troy Dermatologists–a place I’ve been going to since I was a teenager with pimples–I noticed a bunch of brochures in the room. Botox. Dysport. Juvederm. I perused the pamphlets.
They do that here?
“Oh yeah, we do that here,” Chelsea, my fav PA, mentioned nonchalantly as she scanned my freckles and sun spots.
I inquired further. “Okay, but like, who gets it done? Metro-Detroit models and swanky housewives?”
She laughed. “You’d be surprised. Most women are just like you. Even men come, too.”
In my white paper-gown I began to envision a new Cinderella-like face, and Chelsea was my fairy godmother! Bippity Boppity Botox!
Well, if my entrusted derm’s office did it, I knew it’d be safe.
But what about the price? I cringed when I asked.
Turns out, it’s way cheaper then what my girlfriends were paying at those swanky spas–well within my teacher budget. And they offer open-houses, 20% off promos, and giveaways.
So I tried it.
Within a week, I liked what I saw in the mirror: no wrinkles, no frozen ice-skating rink, no headaches. Just Meg from like 2005–“Hollaback Girl”! And people from high school on FB kept commenting “Benjamin Button” and sending me secret messages, inquiring.
Community over competition is my motto. Why keep it a secret?
I’ve been letting it wear off (thrinkles are back in full pre-frontal cortex action) so that I can attend ATD’s open house this month where I’ll opt for Dysport this time. And my new side gig at Millennium Magazine has me in front of the camera more on social media, so I gotta try to keep up with the Kardashians I suppose.
And if you saw my IG story the other day, you’ll see I’m now getting other treatments at ATD as well like Dermal Infusion–which has been featured on E! News, InStyle Magazine, and Beauty Insider. And the tip of the “fairy godmother’s” wand actually has a diamond to do the exfoliating. I felt like Cinderella–even with a hairnet on. (Hey, even she started off as a housekeeper.)
ATD’s practice has grown so much because normal women like myself are able to look good and feel good without breaking the bank. So even though their traditional derm office in Troy is upstairs, their first floor practice is all for the fun stuff.
I figure if I can spend $60 on an oil change for my car every 3,000 miles, I can give myself a little tune-up every few months as well. And you know what? It’s true: when you look good, you feel good. And let’s be honest: it’s really hard to cringe or frown at life after getting Botox. (Bonus! Instant mood enhancer.)
People are living longer these days, so why not enjoy what we see in the mirror?
Just look into it.