Is Botox bogan? I thought I wanted an ‘old-money face’, but the real me needs a little help
Last June, I made a pact with myself to give up botox and hair dye. Motivation? On my 60th birthday this October, I decided that I wanted to wake up looking just like me.
It came after a session with my trusted aesthetic nurse, Christine. I would put my face in his hands for 12 years. I loved your work so much that I went to Canberra for it. But after he last wove his magic a year ago, something changed.
My face looked quite beautiful. Fresh, not “done.” It matched the brightness of my fake hair color; she was a golden, silvery, respectable blonde, not unlike the pale hay of my childhood.
But suddenly I wasn’t sure if this matched who I was, or at least the person I wanted to be. Someone who is fearless about aging. A woman who is confident enough to see her wrinkles and silver ribbons as a road map; Proof that you live, love, endure, enjoy. A mother who is happy to pass the banner of youth to her children.
For this reason. The deal was made. This news was broken to Jenny, the hair colorist, and to my husband, who would soon see what looked like a Bog Person rolling around in bed and slowly disintegrating.
It was exciting to know that I would soon meet the real me. This was similar to what you do during a fun run when you think about not the grueling 14-mile run but what accomplishment you’ll feel at the finish line.
Most of the women drinking on my friend Sabina’s Point Lonsdale deck over the summer were from Melbourne’s eastern suburbs. Clothes from Husk, connections from private schools decades ago. Their voices were full of money to steal the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald.
But their faces weren’t full of botox. I was surprised by the natural behavior of these women, who could easily tolerate any intervention. Their own faces were like the epitome of high-heeled elegance.
Wait – was Botox fake?
This was a real conflict with the appearance of women who had become synonymous with immense wealth. Lauren Sánchez Bezos, Melania Trump, Kris Jenner. Like New York Times There was a story in April that read: “Plastic surgeons in Washington handle surge in requests for ‘Mar-a-Lago face’.”
Ick. Who wants to look like a trampoline with eyes?
As the Botox-free months went by, my poster girl was Caroline Kennedy. His “old coin face“The laugh lines, the crow’s feet, the sail tan. Everything that says you can’t buy the class.
However. On my one-year intervention-free anniversary, I didn’t feel like the real me had been revealed in the mirror. The woman I saw felt like someone I had never met.
My hair was bad. The imagined silver lines were a lifeless, muddy brown. I was using tons of blush to make up for it. Instead of adding character, the wrinkles on my forehead made me look like a grumpy widow in a costume drama.
Everyone has something that makes them who they are. It’s not a talent or a skill, it’s something internal. Mine was that I always looked younger than I was; Maybe with the help of big genes, not drinking coffee, and being six feet straight.
I think that’s why I started getting Botox in the first place. I wanted to keep my natural calling card, not a smooth face.
Three weeks ago he was walking a dog by the river. A woman asked if I had a spare poop bag. We chatted. Chelsea is a local aesthetic nurse with 15 years experience in Toorak. He shared his details. An appointment was free until September.
When I got back to the car I knew. He took the place. I didn’t think too much about things. Some vitamin B please, Chelsea, and leave the wrinkles around your hooded eyes, which I love. He continued with cutting and coloring. And there I was again.
Not the me I thought I would be, not the fearless chick who naturally faced the world, but the person I always was. Whose vanity is not about how other people see me, classy or bogan, but about how I see and know myself. Younger than expected.
It feels great to be back to being a botoxed blonde just three months away from your big birthday. Not because I’m chasing youth or bowing to trends, but because I’m matching the outside with the inside again.
And as a 60-year-old, I will look exactly like myself. As planned.
Kate Halfpenny is the author and founder of Bad Mother Media.
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