dirty girl
Reacting swiftly to the sudden rash of breakouts along Cell Phone Row (anatomically speaking, that is the jawline, from the ear to the chin), I made an appointment for a med spa way out in Virginia, where it appears the developers are still trying to decide what to do with the place. (There's an Applebee's, which means civilization is not far behind.) Very different scene from my neighborhood, where the Capital Pride Parade was taking place at the same time as a pretty, bespectacled woman was examining my pores.
Anyway, she took close-up pictures of my face and we went over the pictures one by one.
"No wrinkles," she said. "That's good." At least I am spared the embarrassment of escaping to the bathroom at a bar to reapply my L'Oreal Line Eraser.
My "texture" is good, whatever that means, and I don't have a lot of pores, which means my skin isn't that oily. I just smiled and nodded.
The jaw-dropping portion of the test came next, when we got to the UV Damage picture - the amount of sunspots on my relatively young face would make my mother cry - and when she told me my "poryphrins" (bacteria) are basically off the charts.
"That's your bacteria level." She pointed to my cheek on the screen, dotted with little orange marks. The number "777" sat under the picture. "That's probably why you're breaking out," she said. "We like to see that number under 100."
I gasped. "Seriously?" I felt like the kid at school whose mother lets her play in the dirt and doesn't wash her clothes. I wanted to hide under the table. "That's disgusting."
I give the woman props, though. I probably would have stepped away from someone if I had just learned they were a human breeding ground, but she seemed OK standing next to me.
"Do you touch your face a lot?" she asked, apparently trying to get to the bottom of why a well-dressed young woman could have more germs than a petri dish.
"Not anymore!" I answered, still horrified.
She calmed me down a little, telling me she would start me on a regimen of products she could give me that would help. I started the four-step P.M. routine last night. Ayan told me my face smells like I dipped it in rubbing alcohol.
If it means I won't have to walk around with rubber gloves on my hands and a mask on my face like a character in "Outbreak," I'll try anything once.
Anyway, she took close-up pictures of my face and we went over the pictures one by one.
"No wrinkles," she said. "That's good." At least I am spared the embarrassment of escaping to the bathroom at a bar to reapply my L'Oreal Line Eraser.
My "texture" is good, whatever that means, and I don't have a lot of pores, which means my skin isn't that oily. I just smiled and nodded.
The jaw-dropping portion of the test came next, when we got to the UV Damage picture - the amount of sunspots on my relatively young face would make my mother cry - and when she told me my "poryphrins" (bacteria) are basically off the charts.
"That's your bacteria level." She pointed to my cheek on the screen, dotted with little orange marks. The number "777" sat under the picture. "That's probably why you're breaking out," she said. "We like to see that number under 100."
I gasped. "Seriously?" I felt like the kid at school whose mother lets her play in the dirt and doesn't wash her clothes. I wanted to hide under the table. "That's disgusting."
I give the woman props, though. I probably would have stepped away from someone if I had just learned they were a human breeding ground, but she seemed OK standing next to me.
"Do you touch your face a lot?" she asked, apparently trying to get to the bottom of why a well-dressed young woman could have more germs than a petri dish.
"Not anymore!" I answered, still horrified.
She calmed me down a little, telling me she would start me on a regimen of products she could give me that would help. I started the four-step P.M. routine last night. Ayan told me my face smells like I dipped it in rubbing alcohol.
If it means I won't have to walk around with rubber gloves on my hands and a mask on my face like a character in "Outbreak," I'll try anything once.