I’m writing this from a recliner in a blindingly white room, waiting for a dermatologist to come back with 15 units of magic elixir to smooth out my forehead, and I’m not sure this should feel as normal as it does. Getting poison jabbed into my face so that I can fight gravity and cling to the illusion of my youth for six more months isn’t even the strangest thing I’ll do today.
A scratched surface quickly becomes a rabbit hole.
Bored out of my mind in a Zoom meeting this week, I spent untold minutes staring at myself and trying to lift my left eyebrow three millimetres higher without my colleagues noticing. And hey, while we’re at it, can anyone tell me why my mouth looked so small there? Should I get filler?
Credit: Robin Cowcher
But wait, what’s the difference between lip filler and a Russian lip lift? I’ve heard good things about Botox in your masseter muscles, too. The prospect of a slightly slimmer jaw totally justifies partially paralysing my face, right? Before the meeting was over, I had nine tabs open about medical tourism, and was checking the return fares to Seoul.
I sound unhinged. I am unhinged, but I’m also just responding to my environment. I’m just a silly little sheep, following others’ lead. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Recently, Megan Fox did an interview with the Call Her Daddy podcast and listed all the plastic surgery she has ever had done: three breast augmentations, a rhinoplasty, and undefined Botox and filler. Fitness influencer and I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out Of Here contestant Skye Wheatley did the same. Kim Kardashian admits to using Botox, but denies ever having had filler in her lips or cheeks.
Here’s a question, though: when does disclosure bypass transparency? Are we breaking down stigma, or are we just normalising something that’s a little bit weird?
You’re going to tell me that if I go looking for beauty tips from people whose livelihood depends on looking permanently Photoshopped, my perspective will be warped and influenced by them. If I looked at normal faces more often, I wouldn’t see this invented perfection everywhere.
But… it is kind of everywhere. It’s not just celebrities. With a phone constantly under our noses, there’s no reprieve from all our perceived imperfections. Ninety per cent of my meetings take place on a screen, and I see my Muppetty little face in the top right corner of every one. Content creation, selfies, this Millennial compulsion to document everything: I’m everywhere! It’s just not natural to be this aware of your face. Like a Rorschach test, like repeating a word until it loses its meaning, sooner or later, your grip on reality slips, and it’s so hard to get it back.
Girls barely in their teens are using their pocket money to buy retinols and anti-ageing skincare products. A discount department store sells an LED light therapy mask now, so you can blast every imperfection off your face from the comfort of your couch for less than the cost of a tank of petrol. Filters, filters everywhere and not a pore in sight.
Keira Knightley is seen moving her eyebrows in Manhattan last year.Credit: Getty Images
This isn’t an attempt to criticise women for undergoing painful, expensive and dangerous procedures in order to adhere to a beauty standard they didn’t set. This isn’t my first time in the dermy’s chair; stones and glasshouses, etcetera. Far be it for any of us to decry something that gives someone else a little joy and confidence.
The last time I wrote about cosmetic procedures in this column, someone took time out of their Saturday morning to contact me and sneer about my mental health. Let’s not do that. Let’s criticise the culture that demands perfection and the echo chamber that perpetuates it.
Because I was watching a film recently, and I was so awed by Keira Knightley’s ability to move her forehead that I had to rewind the scene and watch it again.
Because when an objectively beautiful young woman posted a TikTok to remind people what a “... raw face of a 28-year-old girl who hasn’t had any ‘work’ done looks like,” thousands of comments made jokes about using her as a cautionary tale for sun damage.
Because it shouldn’t be normal to sync my Dysport top-ups with my dental cleanings, because this should be the weirdest part of my day, because faces aren’t projects in progress. My frown lines are smooth, but my conscience and principles need some ironing out.
Hypocrisy looks great on me. Wouldn’t it be nice if authenticity did, too?