So far, here’s what I love about my thirties:
- Rounder hips and fuller boobs (seriously, my rack is fantastic)
- The comfort with which I wield “no”
- The full nights’ sleep I get because the F.O.M.O. of my twenties has died
Here’s what I hate about my thirties:
Whatever the fuck is going on with my skin.
I’ve lived as the “I don’t do much to my face” girl. I’ve experimented with some trends (remember when everyone swore by slapping oil on our faces?) but for the most part, I’ve been a staunch Neutrogena and Witch Hazel user. I credited this low-maintenance approach to good genetics and not wearing makeup. Skin maintenance was easier if I wasn’t smearing shit into my pores every day in the name of beauty.
Then this summer happened.
My perfect, slap-some-witch-hazel-on-it-and-go buttery brown skin turned on me in the worst way. Suddenly, I was oily. And pimply. And spotty.
Did you guys know I have an obsessive personality? I try to manage it with a laissez-faire approach to life. There’s no middle ground between “Meh. It will take care of itself” and “Let’s research and micromanage this obstacle into submission.”
Can you guess which approach I took when my skin went insane?
I scoured blogs about SPF 30s and chemical versus mechanical exfoliants and proper pH balance. Korean skincare versus natural skincare versus French skincare. Did I need to–GASP–start hiding my imperfections behind concealer or BB cream or CC cream or tinted moisturizer or whatever was the lightweight, easy, NOT FOUNDATION solution? It came to a head yesterday. While researching if toner should precede or follow exfoliating and finding no conclusive answer, I broke down. My eyes glazed over. My brain–cluttered with product reviews and regiment steps and BHAs and AHAs–exploded. A voice within roared: I CAN’T PUT ANY MORE THOUGHT INTO THIS STUPID SHIT. CUT IT OUT.
(This breakdown happened in real time on Twitter, btw).
I won’t bore you with what I decided to do about my skin. I want this post to be the last time I put serious thought into it. I don’t want to talk about my routine. Or hear about your routine. Or take any more skin care suggestions from anyone. My face is going to be what it is. Here’s how I plan to ride out my inconvenient 30something hormones:
- Take fewer selfies — Faces shouldn’t be scrutinized up close through an HD+ lens.
- Be more interesting — Maybe I’ll pick up those Spanish lessons I abandoned on Duolingo?
- Be more charming — I’m a Libra. Charm is my native tongue.
- Be nicer — Not sure about this one, guys. But I’ll give it a shot.
If all else fails? I’ll show more cleavage. As previously stated, my rack is fantastic.