skin ranting for dollars!
Saturday, feb. 3, 2007 | 4 comments
Once again, my lovely social barometer friend has offered me (and Jill) a generous sum in exchange for blogging forth about something that is already very much in my thoughts. The topic? My sad, sad aging skin. More specifically, my sad, sad aging skin and the many things I now do — as someone in the clutches of this sagging demographic of 35-45 — to try and save it.
So, okay. I actually didn’t become truly conscious of my wrinkles until maybe a year ago. I’m sure that they’ve been there for much longer than that, but thanks to the awesome adult acne that has plagued me since my twenties, I’ve long ago fallen into the habit of taking off my glasses whenever I find myself within the vicinity of a mirror. The one great side effect of terrible vision is that it acts like a built-in Photoshop filter, blurring and smoothing out the blotches and bumps. I’ll even put makeup on in that semi-blind state, only putting on my glasses at the last possible second to make sure I haven’t colored too far outside the lines. But then one day, while struggling to get my insane hair to stay down, I spotted a sprongy grey hair, levitating there above my head. Then I leaned in for a closer look and discovered that there were plenty more where that came from. And OH! Something about that clichéd, thirty-something hunt for grey hairs shattered the fragile denial that my poor vision and I had built, and I just went for it. I leaned right in and took a close look at my face. And there were the wrinkles: the crow’s feet, the depressing crime-dog crease down the sides of my nose, the furrowed quote between my eyes, all of it. But worse, much much worse: the crazy age spots all over my cheeks and forehead. And don’t forget the acne!
The depressing state of my sad skin, by Evany Thomas.
Oh and chest acne, too.
Known as “melasma,” this sprinkling of ugly weird brown spots is apparently the bi-product of years of Pill living combined with not nearly enough sunblock. That, or bad genes. Or being old. Or swearing? Maybe my foul mouth is to blame? It isn’t really clear what causes it. Also totally unclear is how to fix it.
I went to the dermatologist (the one who helped me with my terrible rash), and he prescribed hydroquinone, which is supposed to bleach the spots away. I used that for a few months, but it didn’t seem to do anything. Plus the cream was brown and gross, and you were supposed to apply it twice a day, which meant I had to put it on in the morning and then head out into public, looking like a giant self-tanning mistake, wearing a crazy, huge hat (because that’s the other thing, hydroquinone causes a terrible sun sensitivity).
So I gave up the hydroquinone and bought some MaMa Lotion ($44.50 for 1.6 ounces at Skincare RX), which is this burning, acidic “gel-lotion” that is supposed to take care of melasma and wrinkles and acne — my personal trifecta! The problem is, its active ingredient is mandelic acid, which comes from almonds, which cause Marco’s mouth and throat to swell up. And after about a month, I got tired of coming to bed and saying, “Don’t kiss me, I have almond face!” I also got tired of the sizzling, itching pain of the acid burning my face off each and every night. The endless peeling, flaking skin was also a bummer — there’s really no way to cover that up. It did make my skin feel a little smoother, but the melasma and acne were still all systems go.
In a fit of melasma miasma, I did a search for “melasma” online and found this insane discussion group, and discovered — after hours and hours of reading painful stories from people who have spent thousands of dollars on lasers and intensive treatments and endless peels and tinctures, only to have the splotches return within a year — that really there’s no good cure for the problem. My fellow melasma sufferers had tried the MaMa lotion, too, and it didn’t fix anything. The hydroquinone was also an almost universal bust (in fact, many people reported that the hydroquinone made things much, much worse). Really the only thing you can do is try not to allow the condition get any worse, which means wearing tons and tons of sunblock, each and every day. Which is what we should have all been doing all along, anyway. Ah, if only Past Evany knew what Present Evany knows now, she would be slathering on that Sea & Ski around the clock. And not, say, pouring baby oil all over her pale, Nordic skin. Oh, Past Evany, how smart you weren’t.
Freed by the understanding of the fact that I can essentially do nothing about the melasma, I recently embarked on the Cosmetics Restriction Diet, a plan that very much appeals to my intrinsic laziness.
Huh. Even after the Restriction Diet, my medicine cabinet is still pretty packed. Oh, the life of an aging female is such a cluttered, bottled-up place.
So nowadays, I don’t do much more than clean my skin with the a mellow cleanser (I’ve been alternating between Bella Pelle’s Gentle Wash Cleanser and Keihl’s Foaming Non-Detergent Washable Cleanser, depending on where I happen to be standing — one bottle being in the shower, the other above the sink) and lather on a ton of sunblock (my favorite is Neutrogena’s Healthy Defense Daily Moisturizer, which I recently found in a 45). And moisturizer: once or twice a week, basically whenever I remember, I slather on Eucerin Q10 Anti-wrinkle Sensitive Skin Creme (my dermatologist recommended it and it really does leave me feeling dewy and hopeful, especially in the neck region — ever since reading Nora Ephron’s I Feel Bad About My Neck, I’ve become uncomfortably aware of the temporal, treacherous nature of my neck skin, so much so that I really do rue even reading that dumb book). And for the acne, I’ve just started using “Stridex Benzoyl Peroxide Powder Pads,” which I recently learned are the same thing as ProActiv’s spendy Unblemish Treat Acne Medicated Lotion. And the breakouts seem to be easing up! Except my neck. My neck is suddenly awash in sea of hot, red subterranean zit action. How cruel is it that I have wrinkles AND acne? It really is unfair. Wasn’t there supposed to be a free-skate break, a sexual prime time between zitty teenhood and my wrinkled decline, when my skin was actually, finally clear, golden, and glowing? Knowing me, the halcyon fresh-skin era lasted all of four hours, four hours that fell right in the middle of some dark night in 1998, and I slept through the whole thing.
Luckily, there’s always the slightly-out-of-focus bathroom mirror shot to simulate the appearance of clear, youthful skin. (The frisky and gut-forgiving tee from teen-fave Forever 21 helps add to the illusion.)
some current events
Friday, feb. 2, 2007 | 0 comments
A sampling of small things that have happened since last we spoke:
* I worked 20 hours in one 24-hour period. And that was directly following an ugly 12-hour day of recapping, So, after much typing and very little sleep (maybe three hours?), I headed off to the big dog show at the Palace of the Cows (by way of Tartine, where Laura and I waited in an unbearably long line that was so very worth the payoff: sticky, chewy, cinnamon-orange morning buns and gigantor lattes, pow!). But because I was hardly awake enough to dress myself (when I arrived at Laura’s house, she pointed out that my zipper was wide open), I forgot to bring my camera. No endless dog pics! Such a disappointment. So all I can do for you is paint this little word picture: three black-and-white cow-spotted great danes perched atop matching cow-spotted pillows, all lined up on a matching cow-spotted ledge.
* And then yesterday I worked-worked-worked, with only a brief pause to drop $135 on sweet items from the sure-to-sell-out “Proenza Schouler for Target” collection, which isn’t officially out yet, but which is for some reason being secretly, sneakily sold on Amazon, huh?
Just one of the resplendent items from the upcoming Proenza Schouler “Go International” collection for Target, hot, hot hurray!
* And then at 5:30 Marco and I screeched down to San Jose, where we witnessed the Stars beat the Sharks nice and up close. Marco is a fan of both teams, so it was a very conflicted time. For me, too: Should I get the blue cotton candy or the giant cookie ice cream sandwich? (Answer: BOTH.) My favorite part: When a bloody fight broke out on the ice, and the sound people blared “We Will Rock You,” as in, “You got blood on your face, ya big disgrace, kicking your can all over the place.” Also great: The Sharks fans booing whenever the word “star” came up in the national anthem. It was all just so very thorough.
the bitter unfairness of food
Thursday, jan. 25, 2007 | 0 comments
Today my boggler is boggling over the unforgiveable badness inside a shitty compromise muffin at Starbucks: 540 calories and 30 grams of fat for one of those horrible banana nut muffins?! Which you only buy because you’re panicked with hunger and don’t want to completely obliterate your health? So you try to be good, you steer past the almond croissant (550 calories, 32 grams of fat) and the carrot cake with walnuts (700 calories and 43 grams of fat, what??), and pick up that horrible rubber brown muffin, your suspicions lulled by the friendly words “banana” and “nut.” When really you might as well be licking on a stick of butter (again).
Meanwhile, just look how little 200 calories buys you when it comes to Hershey’s kisses (eight? you only get eight?) and bagels (half a sesame bagel has the same number of calories as almost an entire donut). Yes donuts are mostly fluff (plus fat and love), but still, I would so rather be eating a donut than gnawing on a dry punishment bagel.
And don’t you love how this whole lesson boils down in my head to “eat more donuts”? If you only knew how many new revelations decision-tree down to this very same conclusion.
shut in
Wednesday, jan. 24, 2007 | 0 comments
I’ve been feeling officially better for about a week now, but I still celebrate each morning by coughing up something otherwordly. This sick refuses to die!
One mildly worrisome bi-product of this nasty cold is that I seem to have devolved into some kind of hermit. I think the last time I really left the house, other than dog-jaunts to Peet’s and the super Longs Superstore, was when Jill and I went to Adam and Julia’s for a group fondling of the Golden Globes. Which was like…two weeks ago? Wow. Is that possible? Oh wait, I also went to lunch with my mother and godmother yesterday (very fun). But, other than that, it’s been pretty much 24-7 Evany time. Just me and the animals and my lap-burning laptop. And a blurred series of I-give-up outfits cobbled together with layers of sleeping gear and tired gym pants. And I’ve taken to wearing Marco’s Ugg boots. Huge, man-sized Uggs, a definite step in the wrong direction.
The thing is, I don’t even want to go out, like at all. This reclusiveness has acquired a fierce momentum of its own. The more I stay in, the better staying in sounds, and each home-bound day adds another cozy layer to the cocoon.
There have been a few highlights along the way: for the first time ever, I’ve allowed myself to get sucked in to American Idol, which sure is a nice hobby for a recluse (especially if you throw in eight solid hours of peeping all the failed contestants on MySpace). And yesterday I managed to use up the last, sad dregs of a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of lingonberry jam, and a bottle of shampoo. All in one day! I so love it when I get to the bottom of things, the tinkling of my knife as it scrapples against the empty glass, the final last burps of shampoo. And then the deep satisfaction of the newly cleared shelf space! I know I’m just going to buy some other jarred thing to put in its place, but I sure do appreciate those open spaces while they last.
I guess it’s probably a good thing that I’ve got a walking date set up for today. And a pie date tomorrow. And a dog show lined up for Sunday. I wonder if I still remember how to converse with real, live peoples. How close are you allowed to stand, again? And how about cupping? Is cupping still allowed?
from the late-night directTV channel guide
Monday, jan. 22, 2007 | 0 comments
“Broadway Gondolier, 1935: A singing cabby poses as a gondolier for a cheese company, then goes to Venice and becomes one.”
In other good news, there’s an amazing upsidedown, insideout meta miracle going on over at Television Without Pity. And I posted a new recap!