I want you to close your eyes for a moment and ruminate on a single word: facial.
I’d like to think that this particular word resonates positively with most people. Visions of creamy, sweet-smelling balms and lotions, well-trained hands massaging the tightness out of neglected cheeks and the comforting, empowering knowledge that you’re pampering yourself for you and you alone.
As is made clear in the photo above, I have skin issues. When I was in my teens, I prayed for the day when I would finally be finished with puberty and my skin would be healthy, flawless, ivory, “woman’s” skin. Now nearly 22 years of age, I’ve come to terms with biology: something about my ancestry, skin care regimen, hormones, etc. creates blemishes on my face. End of story. I have also been blessed with panda-esque dark circles and dark, thick eyebrows that grow at an alarming rate.