Smooth foreheads have become my guilty pleasure. I find myself staring a moment too long at women with flawless, wrinkle-free skin, as if I could somehow absorb their beauty through sheer will. The taut, glistening skin above and between their eyes captivates me. Yet, I recall: they are not endowed with extra genetic luck, nor do they possess an arsenal of secret potions. The sole distinction between their expressionless foreheads and my deep-set “11s” lies in 12 to 20 units of Botox.
I’ve held numerous internal debates about the prospect of Botox. To inject or not to inject? That’s the question. For three years, I’ve oscillated between the idea of booking an appointment and convincing myself to back out. I wish there were a straightforward reason to settle the matter, but it’s a combination of various concerns that keeps me hesitating.
1. A Touch of Fear
Despite reading countless studies asserting that no one has ever died from cosmetic Botox, I can’t shake the anxiety that I might be the exception. I’ve imagined various dramatic ways to make headlines, but “First Human to Die From Cosmetic Botox” is not one of my preferred narratives. Beyond this unlikely demise, I also worry about the possibility of my face morphing into an exaggerated, cartoonish version of itself—leading to the need for a complete facial overhaul. Who has the time for that?
2. A Hint of Shame
I refer to it as “skin care” to sidestep any notions of vanity. My nightly skincare routine rivals the training regimen of an Olympic athlete. Each product is meticulously researched before being included in my ten-step process. Yet, when I consider finally opting for Botox, guilt creeps in. A voice in my head questions my motives: How far are you willing to go? But isn’t spending a fortune on serums and creams just as vain as a few units of Botox? Vanity, regardless of its label, still carries a whiff of narcissism.
3. A Dash of Pride
On particularly good days, I embrace my face with all its flaws—lines, discoloration, and scars. These moments of acceptance are hard-won, a result of consciously resisting the urge to nitpick at my reflection. Thus, part of me feels that choosing Botox would undermine this achievement, as if I’m turning my back on my journey towards self-love.
4. A Pinch of Guilt
The idea of Botox feels a bit like popcorn—once I start, I won’t want to stop. I already enjoy the temporary satisfaction of smoothing my “11s” by pulling my eyebrows to my hairline or practicing my neutral expression until my forehead lines fade. I can vividly imagine the impact Botox would have on my appearance, and I’d be lying if I said that thought didn’t thrill me. But then I ponder the financial cost. Will I regret spending that money on myself when it could have benefited my children instead?
5. A Bit of Laziness
As I age, so does my to-do list for self-care. Adding yet another commitment to my schedule feels daunting. My lazy side protests at the thought of arranging regular appointments. Maybe I should wait for a time when I can stroll into a mall kiosk, get my teeth whitened, receive Botox, and cover my grays—all in under 30 minutes! It would be glorious if robots could manage our youthfulness.
Despite all the reasons to shy away from the needle, one question continually pulls me back: Haven’t you endured enough? I mourn the effects of gravity on my body and sigh as I cover my grays every few weeks. I reminisce about the days of deep, uninterrupted slumber and the boundless energy of my 20s and early 30s. Most importantly, I tally the battles my face has faced: acne, rosacea, basal cell carcinoma, crow’s feet, laugh lines, and enlarged pores. After all these trials, I feel entitled to some form of reparation. Botox feels like my battle cry for fairness.
This article was originally published on July 4, 2015.
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Summary:
The article explores the internal struggle of deciding whether or not to pursue Botox, weighing fears, shame, pride, guilt, and laziness against the desire for youthful skin. It provides a candid reflection on societal pressures and personal acceptance, ultimately questioning if personal rejuvenation is warranted after years of facing skin challenges.