Raise your eyebrows (if you can) this isn’t one of those too proud/too scared ‘botox’ diatribes. But it is fuelled by the tiniest bit of envy, plenty of fear and loathing, and more than a touch of outright morbid curiosity.
I don’t know about you, but I have an inner-freak radar. If I hear or see something just the slightest bit quirky, I just can’t help myself – I become entranced, it’s as if I’ve had an audience with Paul Mackenna. It kind of works like this video
Just last week I was at my gym and the receptionist (she’s about 18, very innocent, very bright, very bored and probably in a gap year before Cambridge) was chatting to one of the tiny size zero oranged gym bunnies.
‘So what do you do’
‘So you mean, you’ve had Botox?’
‘Yes I have’ ooh, this is getting good I thought, can she smile?
‘And, you do Botox?’
‘Yeah’ ooh, one word answers, is her mouth frozen?? Fantastic!
They both grin, one because it’s the only face she can pull and it’s stuck there, the other because she’s hoping that the conversation is over. I’ll leave it to you to guess which one is which.
But hang on a minute gals, this is when the Nixdminx inner-freak radar hit a total high. I was propelled, zombie-like toward the two of them. Sidling up to the coffee bar to grab a closer look, the Botox gym bunny looked at me witheringly (neck muscles active I thought, good sign). I quickly downsized my meerkat behaviour and pretend-rummaged in my handbag. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but I wasn’t giving up just quite yet. Jumping Jesus, every time she turned round, she clocked me craning my neck and widening my big blues.
Oh purlease….just let me get a really good, really long, very hard look at that poisoned face…how difficult can it be? What’s the harm? I wanted to see what a bona fide loud and proud botox face looked like. After five minutes, I gave up the ghost and sauntered towards the changing room, and sadly the freak-o-meter sensed nil.
Completely unwittingly, I did it again the other morning – and to my complete and utter shame – with witnesses. In the sleepy enclave of London where I live (yes,I found one), there’s really not much shocking going on, but if there is, I’m there, like a bad smell lapping it up. As I lazily walked up to the school gate I was reminded of this discussion on Mumsnet, and at the same time, had a Life on Mars moment, feeling like I’d been hurled unceremoniously back a few decades.
There in front of me was a total notox pram-toting smoker – AT THE SCHOOL GATES – call the papers! What a girl, I thought, she’s sooo brazen, she’s sooo fab. Even better, her boots clip-clapped on the asphalt and I spied those tell-tale white square stickers on the sole – she hadn’t taken the price tags off – priceless! What a complete fashion faux pas and she just didn’t give a crap. Wow, a cardinal sin in London’s Pleasant Valley – ooh, I just had to get a look at her roots. I know, I’m terrible aren’t I? But I bet you’ve all done it all the same, or at the very least thought of doing it yourself. Haven’t you? Are you sure? Well I did take a snidey butchers….at least two inches of regrowth…
So this chick was fully made up, totally self confident and didn’t give a hoot about the finer details. 100% for attitude I say. While there’s me suffering from school-gate angst, spraying myself top to toe with perfume and rinsing with mouthwash if I’ve even had the slightest hint of a cheeky lunchtime glass of wine, never ever smoking within at 10 miles radius, and wearing sunglasses if I’m not made up…which brings my own double standards into sharp focus.
I’m always carping about the people (women and men) I know who plunder all manner of chemicals for their complexion but would never let you smoke/drink/swear/eat around them. Am I just the same? I’ve never had botox but in recent weeks, I’ve serious considered having a 10 Years Younger make over in the hope that I will look better for a job interview.
You see that’s the point of this game, I’ve been quietly obsessing in my doledrums (sic) when in fact, out in the real world, people don’t give a flying crap, they just brazenly get on with it – botox or notox, it’s all the same.
Well, I guess, it’s time to get to grips with my own inner-freak and let it all hang out…roll on school run, the real radar-free me is beating a path to the playground!