I saw a gal the other day who was fronting a booth at a local convention—you know, the ones that feature Tupperware next to homemade jewelry next to Christmas ornaments. A mini-mall carousel of merchants and artisans, except that this one had a self-beautification wing. There were dentists whitening teeth in reclining chairs and chiropractors crunching vertebrates into good posture next door. And smack in the middle is where I met this gal, clipboard in hand, ready to sign me up for Botox, laser peels or even insta-injectable cheekbones.
She was young and smiley. Quick to promote the new eyelash serum she had used that offers new length and thickness. Or all of the easy fixes for wrinkles, age, sun, and depression. As she pitched her products, she mentioned that she was not an employee, but rather a client that worked these conventions to earn discounts for more procedures. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it at the time, but I knew she looked different, and not quite a good different. More like . . . plastic.
Later that evening as I washed my face and readied for bed, I leaned into the mirror examining the splattering of freckles and laugh lines and other such “sins.” I wondered, “Would I ever consider a little nipping or tucking?”
I once read an interview with Courtney Cox where she rejected the options of Botox because it freezes muscles from natural movement and thereby eliminates creasing, but also inhibits full expression. She wondered how actors could really do their jobs if they didn’t have the full capacity to show doubt or anger or intrigue. And I think that is what looked “off” about Clipboard Gal. Her face didn’t have wrinkles, but it also didn’t have any personality.
I’m not saying that I would absolutely, never ever iron out a couple years or sift out some sun damage if given the opportunity, but ironically, the girl trying to sell the procedures actually gave me a whole new appreciation for the naked, au natural face. So if you are considering getting a little trimming, smoothing, altering done, this would be my advice: Always keep a say-it-like-it-is friend nearby to tell you when to stop. Seriously.
And think long and hard about making the kind of changes that affect whether not your kids look like you anymore. There’s a great beauty in ancestral uniqueness: Grandpa’s clefted chin or the strong jaw line like Aunt Matilda. Seeing your own features take shape in the face of little Logan or Lucy is really special, so think twice before you trade it in for Nicole Kidman’s nose.
At the end of the day, facial creases aren’t going to make or break my relationships. Smooth skin won’t win me (true) friends or influence people (about anything that matters). Whiter teeth and longer lashes can’t show love to the broken or compassion to the downtrodden. So regardless of where our personal boundaries fall on this, at the end of the day, we should all be willing to throw our hair up in a ponytail and just get our hands dirty in the lives of others. Because at the end of the day, love is a much longer lasting injection.
