There’s an epidemic in our society, it’s called “resting bitch face.” And it’s real.
After forgetting my sunglasses and/or judging people’s stupid-disapproving comments on CLEARLY HILARIOUS photos of cats on imgur, I’ve grown a permanent scowl.
Depending on how hard I’m concentrating, the crease in my brow can be anywhere from a smolder on par to that of Colin Farrell’s (yeaaaa right) to a Neanderthal-esque look of confusion.
It’s a trait I share with most of the people in my family, unfortunately. However, I am the only one that is A. vain enough B. financially capable to get something done. So while I walk around with the forehead of a toddler, my sister looks like she’s sitting on the panel of a cupcake competition.
And if you were wondering, YES! I am a hypocrite. I cringe at questionable food coloring choices and think that eating anything that is not bought from Whole Foods will give me cancer. Then I go and get my face injected with unknown substances because I don’t like my brow furrow. To each their own vice.
It costs me about $150-200 and last upwards of 6-8 months. That’s months of being able to look in the mirror and not think to myself that I look bad or worry about my signs of premature aging. I am living life, yo.
And if you’re thinking to yourself, “but the first picture isn’t even that bad”, I know. I am not going to really put a bad photo of me up. You’re going to have to take my word for it.
That photo makes me want to go back to blonde. Ugh. Dilemmas.
Maybe when I’m forty and it’s more an appropriate time to actually look forty I will cease to get botox injections, I’m not holding my breath. At the end of the day I do what I need to feel okay with myself, and at least that doesn’t mean bathing in the blood of innocent virgins (see: Elizabeth Bathory).