Spice Rack

I started a new job and suddenly remembered with horror that they asked for a photo.

FUUUUCCCK.

I love having my picture taken when I’m on vacation and there is like, a giant lobster statue. Or one of those things with a picture of a mermaid on the front with a cut out for my head. Nick knows automatically when I need to get my picture taken.

But having a picture of just me, where other people are going to see it? And judge it? And I am further more going to have to look at myself? Well, no thank you. I relate to the people who thought cameras stole their souls. Except I’m not worried about my soul. I just hate my face.

I don’t hate my face with equal vitriol every day. In my 20s when I was really going through it I couldn’t even look in the mirror. Now I can at least brush my teeth and make sure nothing is out of place. But I’m not like a huge fan or anything.

Covid time make it worse. Fucking Zoom. Staring at myself was not a good time. But then, when I would hide the view of myself I would inevitably do something embarrassing because I would forget I was on camera.  Of course, when I can see myself I forget I’m at a meeting and not on my own and start fixing my hair. There’s no winning. Until I found the filter. Now I filter my face so much I have Voldemort’s nose, but I like it that way. Unfortunately, not everyone uses Zoom for virtual meetings, because they’re sadists. And I can’t figure out the facial filters on any other platform, no matter how many times I look. No, Google Meet, I do not want to turn myself into a pug with a propeller cap. Where is the filter of the paper bag over my face?

I’ve been on a Laser Hair Removal Journey for more than a year, because perimenopause is turning me into a werewolf. I’ve also had fillers because I have fine lines around my mouth that make me look old and it’s probably because I smoked in my 20s…or didn’t use sunscreen…or don’t have a skincare routine…or I laughed too much once. I’d have more fillers but then I saw a Facebook post about how eventually fillers like clog up your whole face and the goal is to look less like Frankenstein. I had Botox once, too, because I kept having to look at budget sheets and concentration made my forehead do things I didn’t like. I stopped at lip plumping though, because on me duck lips would look like Mrs. Potato Head.

Facebook, of course, knows all my insecurities. The other day it casually mentioned to me that I had a double chin and also was fat, tired and in pain because of my cortisol levels. First of all, fuck you but secondly…tell me more.

Obviously Facebook provided a cure which turns out to be…super concentrated beets. Which will not only fix my face but stop me from waking up at 3 in the morning questioning my life choices…which is good because one of those choices would definitely be buying a large container of super concentrated beets.

And now because I curiously clicked on one advertisement, Facebook is also sending me super helpful ads for all sorts of hormone support, which will also cure everything that ails me, for a monthly subscription fee.

And listen, if there is a quick, painless fix for my face I want in, ok? (see above Voldemort filter). But I would sort of like to try a sample of super beet powder before I make a commitment because like…ew. There’s a reason why the first crack rock is free. Even the skin care doc zapped a pimple or two with his laser just to draw me in.

Which leads me to believe that, unfortunately, these products don’t work as advertised. I’ll save my money (for plastic surgery). I may be ugly but, judging by these fine lines, I clearly wasn’t born yesterday.