Ouch, My Face

I surprised many people today by tweeting that I’ve had only three facials in my entire life.

The first was when I was 10 years old. It wasn’t my idea, it hurt, and it left my face bruised by an overenthusiastic beautician – which might have been a defining reason why I waited another 15 years to repeat the experience.

The second was the week before my wedding, under the gentle ministrations of my best friend’s mother. Even so, it still was damn painful to extract the gunk out of my face.

(If you claim that facials are relaxing, I’d say you’re doing it wrong.)

So far, my face has been reasonably good at dealing with whatever I inflict on it. When I was a rather poor and vain student, I decided that makeup was more worthwhile than skincare because no one sees your skincare anyway. It made sense at the time, what with the resilience of youth and what have you. But I’ve now been using makeup regularly for over a decade, and I began to wonder if it was such a good idea to keep testing the limits of my face’s endurance.

So besides investing in fancy skincare products, I decided it was time to haul ass to a fairly well-known facial spa across the road from where I live. I have to admit, I’m so chickenshit that I put off making the appointment until my pores started yelling at me from the bathroom mirror.

So this evening, I went for the 3rd facial of my young life. The therapist was doing her best to unclog two years of pore build-up, and I seriously felt it. (In fact, I’m still feeling it now.) When she handed me a mirror after she was done, I half expected to see myself black and blue.

I’ve yet to see any great difference even through the therapist assured me that my uneven skintone was partly remedied by the extractions. (Seriously.) But I figure I’ll try a few more sessions for vanity’s sake, and see if I get visible results. I’m also extremely curious to find out if the procedures are meant to hurt less over time!

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