I spent a good chunk of this afternoon at Kate Somerville, getting work done on my face. Look folks, I’m not as young as I used to be, and the skin under my eyes is getting a bit, well, crepey. I’m horrified to see this happening. That, and the treatment was complimentary for me – long, job related story – so I was happy enough to go.
And I have to say, whatever they did, worked. They must have taken off layers of skin, because what’s left is perfect, tight, smooth skin. I was transfixed by it when I looked in the mirror. My skin was suddenly several degrees brighter, which made my eyes look bigger and lighter, and brought out the color on my lips and cheekbones. I look like I’m twenty-two again, or what I would have looked like at twenty-two if I’d had a hundred dollars to blow on skincare products. This is just ridiculous. Now I know how Paris Hilton gets her skin to look so good, despite her unhealthy lifestyle: she’s a client of the same clinic.
What did they do, you ask? Well, they:
– broke up the dead skin with ultrasound
– removed the dead skin with cleanser
– put an enzyme mask on to eat away at the dead skin
– squeezed out the really clogged pores
– put on a protein mask, and took it off again
– pushed some sort of hyaluronic acid serum into my skin with hyperbarbaric oxygen. I am not making this up.
– applied a vitamin lotion with A, C, E and all sorts of antioxidants
– put me under a red light that is supposed to stimulate collagen production
– finished off applying the Quench hydrating serum and a daytime, SPF 30 moisturizer
It was just insane. And I think what really helped was the elimination of the dead skin and the protein mask and the hydration, but it was cool to have all those machines going over my face. I like machines and sci-fi, after all. But regardless of what actually had the greatest effects, my face looks fantastic, and that’s all a client should care about.
And then I was sent off with a bag containing a cleanser, the vitamin lotion, the hydrating serum, daytime moisturizer with SPF, and nighttime moisturizer. And I intend to just show all of it to the boyfriend when he gets to my house tonight and tell him to put his chemistry PhD to work telling me exactly what it is that’s going into these products.
Finally, on the way out, a lady asked me what I used on my face. “Um. Oil of Olay face wash, and Boots drugstore moisturizer,” I told her. She was surprised. “That’s all? You’re very lucky. You have good skin.” The same lady also told me, earlier, while she was doing my makeup (light powder, light blush, light cream eyeshadow on the browbones and at the inside corners, and honey-colored lip gloss) that I also didn’t need makeup, because I had good features: striking green eyes, a good brow arch, great skin. So I left not only with my skin looking fantastic, but with my self-esteem renewed as well. And that is worth almost as much to me as the actual treatment itself.
Every time I get something cosmetic done to my skin, I feel very very Los Angeles. And the reason I feel very LA is because I took part in the symbolism of spending money for youth, sometimes, that matters as much as the results. Then again, at twenty-seven, I can still afford to say that. Let’s see if I’m still as philosophical at thirty-five.
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