Exoskeletons of Beverly Hills

Well, a 1/12 of the year is already over, and I’m a month closer to turning 30. Not that my face has any idea I’m that old, given the frequency of my break-outs. Nice try face, but we can’t pretend we’re 16 again, despite your best efforts. My skin, especially with make-up on, isn’t terrible; it’s just not great/radiant/French-looking. Plus, it’s annoying and messy to cover up the bumps and scars. And for those of you who are lucky enough not to know, zits can hurt. A lot. So I want to win the battle against breakouts before I’m 30 so I can focus on more important issues, like the protests in Egypt or figuring out the best route to Hollywood during rush hour.

I’ve been to my new dermatologist office twice now (Beverly Hills Dermatology Consultants), and with their help, I have launched a new strategic plan against my acne. I figure if it’s good enough for Beverly Hills, it’s good enough for me.

Stage 1: Ammunition Procurement

I invested in a slew of their name-brand products, and at a refreshingly affordable price. They recommended some basic over the counter stuff too for a morning and night cream, which is a godsend, because I tend to fall into simultaneous nausea and paralysis the second I step foot in a Sephora. Figuring out what products to buy to slather on your face is an incredible waste of time, and falls into a category of activities that make being a woman so damn frustrating at times. Why aren't we making as much money as men are? Oh, that’s right, we’re busy working our other full time job, called, “Having a vagina.”

So the derm also prescribed some potent topical stuff to wipe out my acne. One of the ‘scripts is a bottle of ciproflaxin in pill form; you take a pill, put it in the menacing vile, fill it with special cleanser, and slap it on your face after the pill dissolves. I really like the ingenuity of this approach. I love Cipro. It has saved me from all kinds of internal ailments in the past, and using it to wage battle against my face is reassuring in a very clinical, anti-holistic, take no prisoners kinda way.

Stage 2: Deployment & Calibration

I’ve been using the products for a few weeks now, and the only side effect is the redness and cracking around my lips due to the drying effect. Not only is having dry, cracked lips incredibly uncomfortable, but as you might imagine, incredibly unattractive. My mouth looked like Clint Eastwood’s in the Good, the Bad and the Ugly, after Tuco dragged him around the desert in the hot sun for days. Fortunately, the derm-helper gave me a sample of a product called Aquafor- it’s amazing. Nothing else has worked, and I’m starting to look normal person again after a day of using it.

Stage 3: Underground Precision Strike

You know those bastard blemishes that are more like little cysts, that ache and cause ugly red bumps, and will never come to a head? If not, go to hell. If so, enter the sharp shooter: injections. This was amazing. The derm stuck a needle in one of my little welts and shot some steroid into it, which was insane, because I could feel the cyst pop under my skin when she punctured it. I actually said out loud, “yes! get the little f*ckers!!!” The needle was good practice for the fillers I’ll start getting in my thirties. After this battle, botox will be a cake walk.

Stage 4: Chemical Warfare

Yesterday I had my first acid peel. It’s not one of those deep chemical peels with severe downtime, à la Samantha’s in SATC when she shows up at Carrie’s book premiere under a black veil and a face that looks like crusty lobster death. The peel I got is called “trichloroacetic acid treatment” and supposedly only causes peeling and flaking of the skin. This juice is supposed to work all kind of magic, especially if you get a series of them- it’s touted as helpful for blemishes, wrinkles, and uneven pigmentation. Plus, in the process of burning off your top layer of skin, it also burns off pre-cancerous lesions, which almost adds legitimacy to this superficial endeavor.

The process was easy- the derm cleansed my face, brushed the acid on it in four stages, and neutralized it with water after about 5 seconds each time (“Can you feel that?” “Um, yeah, it’s burning”). The whole thing was over in 10 minutes.

Afterward, I wasn’t red or unpresentable in any way. I went Capital Grille in the Bev Center to use up a coupon from LA Magazine and had a lovely meal, chatting with an Irishman about international economics and the superiority of grey goose vodka.

Post-Peel Relief

Here’s how I look tonight, 24 hours after the peel. No real change, but my whole face feels tight, like I  washed it with dish soap, dried it with a blow dryer and then followed up with hair spray for toner. It also feels smoother, and is shinier. That's the skin hardening and preparing to shed, like my childhood iguana!!

24 hours after peel

Skin preparing to fall off!

So yes, the catch to the trich acid treatment is that my skin is supposed to start peeling on day 3, and I’m not allowed to use any moisturizer beyond their SPF 30 sunscreen (which isn’t moisturizing, but instead, kinda watery). According to my brochure entitled INSTRUCTIONS FOLLOWING ACID THERAPY TO FACE, rule #9: “Expect the entire peeling process to take approximately one week to 10 days. You will look unsightly about mid week. Make-up may be used as a cover up.” (emphasis added)

Wow, unsightly, huh? I’m really hoping I don’t walk into Albertsons and scare little children. We’ll see. Right now I’m just waiting for it to fully develop and start cracking. I am going to shed an exoskeleton this week and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It makes me wonder how many other exoskeletons have been shed in Beverly Hills. They must have a whole division of their City's sanitation department dedicated to handling the mess from cosmetic procedures.

I intend to document this process in all its allegedly unsightly detail. See you tomorrow!