The skin I’m in

As with most areas of my life, I have no idea what I’m doing with my skin. I mean, I understand why I have it– otherwise, all my internal organs and shit would just fall out, and that would be super gross– but I never exactly know what to do with it.

As a teen, I was under the impression that I was supposed to singe it into submission with Oxy and Clearasil, which I mixed with abandon. The girls on TV were all doing it, and I followed their lead, even though they were clearly completely spasmodic when it came to rinsing afterward:

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But in the end, all I got out of it was cystic acne and a very wet bathroom counter.

When I was in grad school, I scored a job as a receptionist at a day spa that sold fancy skincare items, which I sampled liberally whenever I was left alone in the reception area for more than 15 seconds. (I also waxed my own lip and gave myself paraffin hand treatments on the regular.) A few times, out of guilt for the massive amount of samples I had pilfered through the years more than anything else, I would use my employee discount to purchase a full-sized bottle of something or other, assuming that anything that cost $30 would give me the skin of an angel riding a unicorn into a double rainbow.

The spa ladies claimed they could see a difference. But the spa ladies also failed to notice when I accidentally waxed off half an eyebrow, so I don’t think they were looking very closely.

Right now, I’m in a natural products phase. For about a year, I washed exclusively with black African soap (which, I’m not gonna lie, makes me feel like a terrible person every time I say it? Even though that’s literally the name of the soap, and it really is black?), and moisturized with a Burt’s Bees face oil, because I figured all of the oil-removing things I had used in the past hadn’t worked, so why not slap more oil on there and just see what happens? And honestly, it was a pretty great combo, except for the fact that it left me smelling like the incense section at a head shop, and after awhile that can really wear a girl down.

So just recently, I bought my first Lush facial cleanser, and I have to say, I’m kind of addicted. I don’t know if it’s the fact that it comes in a pot, or that it really just looks like someone chewed up a bunch of almonds and spit them into a container, and then sprinkled some lavender over it all for good measure, or that I have to actually break chunks of it off to use it– actually, pretty much all of those things make it sound disgusting. But trust me, it’s super not.

I doubt it’s really going to do anything for my skin one way or another– honestly, at this point I don’t really think there’s anything out there that’s going to distract from the fact that I somehow have both acne and wrinkles and basically spend most of my time looking like I slept the night on a grease-soaked corduroy pillowcase– but it just smells so good, and it feels so fancy, like I’m part of an exclusive club that knows that face washes that come in a tube are so passé.

Although once this pot is gone, I might just try chewing up some almonds myself and cutting out the middle man.

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