I will never do Botox.
The idea makes me queasy—not because it means inserting needles in one’s face, or because you’re injecting yourself with a poison. It bothers me because it preys on women’s insecurities.
The message is this—getting old is bad. Old is useless. Old is ugly. Get old and you’ll lose your lover, husband, partner, job. And yet, we’re all getting older by the second. If the anti-aging contingent can brainwash us, they stand to make a mint. This infuriates me.
Here’s what I believe. Old is wise. Old is my beautiful grandmother. Old has weathered the storm and lives to tell. Why erase the lines on faces that tell the stories of a life.
But here’s my double standard. When I go out, makeup on, hair done, clothes just right, I swoon when old friends rave that I haven’t aged since my days at MuchMusic. I know they’re exaggerating—two kids and twenty years later has an affect on one’s appearance—and yet the compliments feel great. Why? Because I want to be beautiful, vital, and relevant.
I guess that’s why I found myself booking an appointment for an age defying injection this morning.
Shocked? So was I. Let me explain. As fate would have it, I was guest hosting on a morning television show featuring a cosmetic dermatologist. I interviewed her while she injected a woman’s forehead.
After our on-camera chat, the doctor offered to give me a free injection. I proudly declined with an explanation. Well, I don’t know what happened, but for every one of my points, she had a compelling counterpoint. I was being seduced.
