So many of you have shown concern over Botox since my last post on eye rejuvenation. I hadn’t realized there’s still so much misinformation and confusion about this anti-aging treatment. I take it for granted living in Miami, because, here, everyone gets Botox – from millennials to grandmas. This little part of the globe is teeming with dermatologists, anti-aging clinics, and even pediatricians who are expanding their practices to include beauty treatments. Demand is high in the 305. But the same can’t be said for the rest of the country or the world, where Botox is still a bit of a mystery; something to be approached with a little fear and a lot of skepticism.

So I’m doing a three-part installment making the case for Botox. As you may know by now, I’m a fan. I had already done tons of research for my own geeky knowledge, but I’ve gone deeper into my research still. I will start by sharing my story, then share the interesting history behind Botox, and finally, lay down the facts, and debunk the myths.

Like I’ve said before, whether you choose to get it or not is a personal choice. My hope though, is that over the next few weeks you will know everything you need to know about this elixir of youth so that you can make a more informed decision.

MY STORY WITH BOTOX

First, let me just say that I’m not afraid of injections— at least not the beauty kind. I’ve done my homework, I’ve asked many questions, and I’ve seen the results on my own face.

My love affair with Botox began shortly before turning 40. A fellow mom and doctor in my son’s class had expanded her practice to include beauty treatments, as many doctors do. So during a birthday party one day, while eating cake, I received a consultation. And I asked a lot of questions. And by a lot, I mean A. lot. I had many misconceptions too, fear of frozen forehead, fear of rat poison, fear of looking waxy — and let’s not mention my life-long fear of needles.

These were my questions: What if my appearance is drastically altered? Will I be able to move my forehead? Will people be able to tell I got it done? Will I look like I belong on the set of Star Trek? Will it hurt?! 

She raised her own brows and asked, “Can you tell I get Botox?” I couldn’t. Although her forehead looked smooth enough, she did have movement. Her brows were not up in her head nor did she have the arch of a Vulcan. As as for pain, she assured me that there would be numbing cream involved and that I would only feel the prick of the needle. 

I was further reassured by something else she said: “You don’t notice women with good results because they just look normal and refreshed. You only notice a small percentage of women who get overdone because it’s obvious.”  

I was convinced.

I have to admit too, that I was a little curious. The concept was highly appealing to me in theory. You get a few forehead injections and in a week you look younger. No brainer, right? But I wanted to see first hand what all the hype was about. So a week after that birthday party, I went to her office for my first session…and I’ve never looked back. I will continue my relationship with this youth toxin till death do us part.

I left her office that day not completely convinced that anything had changed though. Aside from tiny bruising where she injected, I looked the same. I was actually disappointed. But she told me it would take about a week for me to see the results.

Less than a week later, my decision to continue getting “work done” was sealed. I went to breakfast with a friend. As we were being ushered to our table at the restaurant, we walked by a table of men, younger men. Every one of the four of them glanced over in our direction. I assumed they were checking out my friend because she’s beautiful, but quickly realized their gazes were trained on me. I wasn’t just being glanced at, I was been analyzed, admired, gawked at — the way men have always ogled women, in a sexual way. And I loved it!

Now, wait. Before you judge me, you have to understand this:  I had not been “checked out” by the male species since probably my twenties. This was a big deal. I was almost 40. I was flooded with emotions, the strongest being vanity (is that an emotion?).

It is the most bewitching feeling to be on the receiving end of admiring glances. It gives you a little shot of confidence, a little pep in your step. It shouldn’t, I know that. I shouldn’t rely on the opinions of others (especially men) to determine how I feel about myself. I feel as if I’m single-handedly setting back the feminist movement with that comment. But if I’m being completely honest here, I got a kick out of it. And I attributed it all to my new-found fountain of youth.

I was already calculating in my head how I was possibly going to finance my drug addiction. I had no job; I was a stay-at-home mom. I won’t buy any more handbags, I negotiated with myself. I’ll sell my jewelry. I’ll sell my organs! (just kidding.)

Look, I know we don’t all want to be ogled — seen only for our exterior. But we all want to be seen. And we can’t be seen if we ourselves are hiding from view.

We all want to be seen. And we can’t be seen if we ourselves are hiding from view

What I didn’t understand until recently is how deeply I had buried my disappointment in how age was affecting my looks; the feeling of defeat, and sense of betrayal from my own face. I had unknowingly resigned myself to aging, thinking there was nothing I could do about it. The signs of aging had not only affected my face but my spirit too. I felt weathered and worn. I had faded. I had dimmed my own light to a point where I was invisible. I had emptied myself from joy and possibility and sexuality, and what I was projecting was a withered, sad version of myself. 

I had been hiding behind the cloak of middle age and Botox opened up that cloak.

Botox is a gateway drug. A gateway to the high of hope and desire for all I thought I had lost. Is it vanity? Absolutely! But it’s a dazzling and dizzying feeling to realize that it’s absolutely possible to turn back the clock, to see your youth restored and with it your youthful desires. 

My mind was flooded with the vision of a younger me. I wanted more of that feeling —the feeling I couldn’t identify at that moment; the feeling I have since come to recognize as hope.

You see, to me, Botox is more than something that smooths wrinkles; its effects are deeper than the needle can ever penetrate.

When you are faced with the loss of your youth, the fading of your attractiveness, that’s when you start to understand the magnitude of things that claim to rejuvenate you. When a whithered, sad face is staring at you in the mirror, all of a sudden, the promise of a younger face becomes very important to you. It’s another chance at youth, an opportunity to extend my parking; that part of life that will eventually expire.

Mind you, I have no desire to turn back the clock all the way to 1979. That doesn’t interest me. Nor does looking like I’m in my 30’s, although that would be received well of course. I’m not unrealistic in my expectations, I’m not expecting miraculous results from any one facial rejuvenation treatment. What I want is a slow and steady rewind. What I aim for is fresh, smooth, plump, dewy, even. That is achievable. That is realistic — and I’m all about that. My desire is to look the best that I can at every stage of the game, with whatever help I can get.

But most of all, I want to be seen. And I want to let myself be seen, for a little while longer.

The idea of growing old gracefully, although a noble one, is not an idea I’ve yet to adopt, and I’d be lying to you if I said otherwise. You all know how I feel about aging. I fear it. And although the signs of aging show up over time, sometimes it feels as though they spring up overnight. What wasn’t there on Monday, is very evident on Tuesday. I need time to adjust. And maybe, staying in this delusive state will eventually help me learn to accept this aging thing. In the meantime, if it gives me a little thrill to turn a head or two because I’ve had a little somthin’ somthin’ done to look better, where’s the harm in that?

Now you…What’s been your experience with Botox or the thought of Botox? Are you a convert, on the fence, or a “never would I ever” Chicky?

xoxo,

V