My friends, male and female, all talk openly about Botox. It's no mystery for anyone. It's maintenance or upkeep for those who want it. Like a gym for the face. No shame, no secrets – none of us are celebrities trying to maintain an eternal façade of being age 32.
I'm 36 and don't have real wrinkles yet – just creases in the skin around my eyes and forehead – and I've learned after a couple of doses that Botox doesn't remove those. When my face is static (like when I look in the mirror), Botox or no Botox, I look basically the same. What changes is with movement. Previously, you could only tell I'd had anything done if I was laughing, because the skin at the top of my cheeks wouldn't crunch up anymore.
To get yourself injected with a relaxant so you look like you're not having a great time is silly. I should be proud of my laugh lines.
Last month, I wrote of The Great Resignation, the lockdown phenomenon of rethinking your life. One of the things I've rethought in recent months is how I can't be bothered fighting age anymore.
In retrospect, that's what Botox is for me. Fighting the inevitable. Those laugh lines will eventually turn into wrinkles. Gravity will prevail. If I wanted a completely smooth face, Botox isn't the way to go – I'd have to start with fillers and would eventually end up under the knife; having my skin sliced open, pulled, and stitched.
Yet I don't want to be afraid of the mirror. See, if I continue Botoxing now (when, let's be honest, it doesn't even do what I want it to), I will spend the rest of my days obsessing about new changes in my face and trying to rectify them. I'll be like Goldie Hawn in The First Wives Club: rushing off to the doc whenever a new flaw emerged. That's in the too-hard-basket of life admin.
Spending months not caring about my appearance has also helped me come to terms with the fact that nobody else minds what I look like, either. Crazy hair or perfect fade, skin like a baby's bottom or sun-creased … nobody cares. My friends don't like me less or more. My husband doesn't love me less or more.
On the occasion I want to look better on social media, anything can be fixed with a filter – one swipe to "Paris" and you've been to the clinic for free in under two seconds. Still, nobody notices either way. In fact, I find friends on Instagram give you more compliments when they can see your lines and spots and everything in between.
Regardless, Botox doesn't actually make you look younger. You look smoother, but it doesn't shave years off. Just look at reality TV to understand this. The stars of Netflix's Selling Sunset all have that homogeneous, sort of feline, Botoxed look. None of them looks under 40 years old. They just look like 40-year-olds without emotions.
No more shade to anyone who's happy ageing with this sort of upkeep in mind. All power to you if you love Botox – something else this pandemic has taught me is, I can't concern myself with others' medical choices.
Perhaps I'll change my mind when I get to 40. For now, I'll just keep using eye cream, wearing sunscreen every day, and enjoying social gatherings with slightly dimmer lighting.
