While I have historically eschewed the prospect of skin maintenance (“I don’t wear makeup! My skin will be fine!” “I am too low maintenance to accede to face wash!” I used to contend when my mother would warn me of the lone side effect of a successful youth, which is a cold case of adulthood), it occurred to me in August that I am not 15 anymore and as such, do not boast the tight pores of a blissfully naive teenager.
And not to sound morbid…but neither do you.
Earlier than you believe will be the case, you will wake up one morning, look into the mirror, which is supposed to reflect an image of you, and wonder who that woman is. The bags below what are ostensibly your eyes will look slightly more pronounced. Your nose may appear off, but that’s only because the dark pores look even darker and from at least one vantage point – for me, this is the left profile angle – you really very truly won’t be able to believe how much you’ve grown, literally grown — old and stuff, to look just like your mother.
It will be unfortunate if your mother looks younger than you on most days but stop distracting me – I’ll get there.
It is a universal truth that the greatest gift of childhood is that unshakeable sense of invincibility that comes veiled by what seems like infinite time. If at 15, I earnestly believed that I could make it through the duration of my whole life looking fresh-faced without the help of the products I had until three months ago disdained, at the midway point through age 24, I looked like Carrie Bradshaw’s New York Magazine cover (question mark, not exclamation point) – and not even a minor fling with Bradley Cooper could assuage that damage.
So what did I do? I called my mother, who is the unofficial spokeswoman for hydrating oils and anti-aging masques and what-the-hell-is BB cream, etc.
I asked if there was anything I could do that did not involve maintenance. The answer was no. And because just a week earlier a barrista actually confused me for her mother (“you treating your daughter?” she asked), I was in no position to shun whatever advice she’d dole. She mentioned that the whole Freaky Friday ordeal had probably transpired as it did because of her recently beginning to use a product that I had recommended: Somme Institute’s five step skincare regimen. It was effectively turning her into Benjamin Button while I languished, arresting sun spots permeating my face.
Talk about feeding the hand that bites you.
I started using it soon after – all five steps – face wash, exfoliating pads, serum, moisturizer and SPF, every single morning and night. Almost immediately, I detected a difference. My skin got softer, looked strangely more…alive, I felt pregnant (people tell me I am “glowing”) and now, three months later, I am happy to report that I, too, have begun Benjamin Button-ing. Just look at this photo, shot of me at a ballet recital last week.
If you didn’t know better, I bet you’d assume that I was six. Seven tops. No?
Everyone deserves to experience this sensation at least once so I’d highly recommend the product. At the risk of sounding like a seasoned expert which I certainly am not, or too much like a club promoter (SNL’s Stefon would have a field day on “the hottest nightclub in town called Tight Pore”), Somme is offering a 40% discount for Man Repeller readers (promo code: ManRepeller) because five products = not cheap and I am all about preserving your money for sweaters and shit. Also, I know the story didn’t follow the usual Beauty for Dummies format (though Photobooth as a mirror does seem slightly in line), can we agree that He or She Who Shall Not Try Somme is a…dummy about beauty?
Go on, now.