I am on an eternal quest to find out what’s causing my ‘adult acne’ and put a stop to it. I have never blogged about this before because I am embarrassed by the state of my skin (anyone who knows me and is thinking, but you have great skin Kim – yes I do, once it’s caked in make up) but as 50% of adult women suffer from acne, I suspect there’s a few readers out there who can sympathise with my plight. Not acknowledging it only serves to make other spotty adults think they’re all alone in their spotty world. You’re not – I’m right here with you.
My longing for better skin and my desperation to find a solution has seen me try everything. So for those of you who think it’s simply a matter of diet, or trying tea tree oil – don’t make me laugh. I’ve tried tea tree oil. Topical antibiotics from the doc. Hot cloth cleansers, cold cream cleansers, sensitive, gentle, every brand under the sun cleansers.Witch hazel. Stupid hazel witches can’t even cure me. I’ve tried juice diets. I’ve tried pills. Boots the Chemist lays out the red carpet when they see me coming.
I’ve tried not cleansing. After all, my husband does absolutely nothing to his face and that regime is certainly working for him, with his blemish free bastard face. I’ve tried drinking so much water I sink, I’ve tried not drinking any alcohol, giving up sugar, giving up processed foods, giving up gluten, wheat, fruit, chilli, eggs. I’ve tried changing my pillow case every night. I’ve tried wearing no make up, wearing oil free make up and wearing mineral based make up. I’ve tried not leaning on my hands and working less hours. I’ve been tested for polycystic ovaries. I’ve tried every goddam thing I’ve stumbled upon, because I keep hoping that eventually, I’ll hit the jackpot. One day I’ll eat a mung bean or anoint myself with a cream made from elephant testicles and wake up looking like Jennifer Aniston. That’s the plan.
Currently banking on milk thistle, Vitex, whatever the hell that is, and Burdock root. Oh and I read somewhere great skin starts with apple cider vinegar, so I drench all food in that.
See? I’m a goddamn skin specialist.
A fool and their money are soon parted. As my husband will attest, because I’m always willing to part with my money if there is a hope that in its place I might have clearer skin. Hence, I came home recently with this:
Husband took one look. ‘Did you look it up online before you spent £30 on little bottles of collagen?’
No, of course I didn’t, because a woman with great skin was selling it to me and she said it was full of magical properties that are good for your skin and stuff. I wasn’t really listening, I was too busy thinking my problems had been solved.
People simply throw some big words at me – in this case, collagen. (what, it’s three syllables long) and I’ll go oh, okay, sounds great, here’s my cash. Back home, Gaz will spend about nine seconds googling the thing I’ve just overpaid for and find out it’s a load of old crap, denounced by anyone with any sense and scientific wherewithall.
Turns out this particular miracle product, being as it is, technically, a food product, comes with absolutely no science behind it. There are no chemists involved in the making of the product, just a bunch of businessmen, spearheaded by one in particular, Mr Sanguinetti.
This chap is a marketing genius – I’m sure you’ve seen posters for Collagen Gold all over your world. His wonder product costs £36 for 10 bottles, although of course 10 bottles are not enough to see improvement in our ugly little faces. He recommends 8-12 weeks of daily bottle swigging. Basically costing each gullible, desperate, spotty adult such as moi, as much as £300. (I’m a lucky survivor – I only bought one box before Gareth stepped in and prised my debit card from my claw-like hand.)
For a more thorough look at Collagen Gold, read this excellent blog.
I still drank the Collagen Gold for ten days. It didn’t make any difference. My problem is I came off the pill about 16 months ago and my hormones are still having a wild party all over my face.
I laugh at my friends who try things I believe to be nonsense. Things like hypnotherapy, reflexology, or the biggest hoax of them all, homeopathy. Yet in my own desperation to find a cure for my ailment, I’ll sign up to anything. I forget my science, my skepticism, my sense, in favour of hope. And hope is exactly what all these bastard companies are preying on.
Yet, I remain eternally hopeful a magic potion will cure me. My latest find is Chinese Face Mapping. A load of hogwash, of course, but there is a strong chance, according to the Chinese, that my spots are caused by cheese. So, I no longer eat cheese. Until next week, when I discover the real problem is I came off the pill 16 months ago and my hormones are my enemy. At which point I might try witch hazel again, while my eternally patient, weary husband drags me out of Boots before my salary magically morphs into snake oil ointments quicker than you can say, what’s wrong with your face?