What We Won't Do For Beauty

I was recently doing an inventory of the things I had saved on my computer, and in the process I took a look in my favorites file. I have a vast array of interesting topics stored away for later viewing, not limited to, but including, show lambs, hogs, make up tips, cars, fencing, art, ebay items, and even a website selling quality diving equipment and wetsuits. Why in the world I thought I might ever need a wetsuit is beyond me, but it's just one of a hundred things that peaked my interest over the past several months on the net. One thing I noticed I had marked several pages for was a product called the Derma Roller. The Derma Roller is a device that looks like a tiny paint roller with little needles sticking out all over it, and is used to increase collagen production in the skin. The purpose of the new formed collagen is to heal scars and wrinkles, and give you an over all youthful appearance. I have stretch marks from pregnancy, and I have not gone a week in the past 13 years without thinking about them and wishing I could zap them away. I marked several pages about creams and potions, celebrities that were marred by them, and have admittedly spent hours feverishly searching for others who were afflicted with the same problem so I would not feel so alone and ugly. I have to confess that I have spent a butt load of money over the years on creams and hours rubbing them in in an effort to rid myself of the ugly things, but alas, they are still with me, and I continue my search to this day for the wondrous beauty aid that will cure me forever. The derma Roller is an evil looking thing. In order for it to work, you have to puncture the dermis thousands of times by running the needles over the affected skin forcefully up to several times a week. I pondered the idea many times, and if it weren't so expensive I feel certain that I would be the proud owner of one right now. What's funny is the fact that I hate needles, shots, and the very idea of sticking myself even once makes me wince. It got me to thinking about all the difficulties I have run onto in my life with beauty products, and why we women are so determined to make ourselves more appealing to the masses that we would incur actual damage in the process. People spend millions each year on new boobs, nose jobs, lipo and injections to deaden the muscles in their faces in hopes of being happy when they look in the mirror, and I am no exception when it comes to conquering the aging process. Although I have not spent even a thousand bucks on any one issue, I certainly have dreams of doing so, and will, like the rest of you, go down fighting for the cause. When I was in Jr. High I remember getting a couple of little blemishes on my face. Not being accustomed to acne, I was not having it, and stupidly burned two patches of skin off my face by doing an overnight procedure on myself with a common acne facial scrub. These things were not meant to be left on over night, but I figured if a little works a little, then a lot must work a lot. I was sure sad to have to go to school with those giant lesions on my face, and would have gladly opted for the two minute blemishes that had been there the day before. When I was in high school, I convinced my boyfriend at the time to buy me an at home electrolysis kit for me to use on my eyebrows. That thing made a quick trip back to the store it came from after I realized that I could not convince myself to stick a tiny threadlike needle deep into even one hair follicle before turning on the juice. I pluck my own eyebrows now, or wax them, which is not pain free, and I still have to man up to do it. I also own a little machine that was supposed to painlessly depilitorize your body and leave you hair free for weeks at a time. A big ha ha on that one. You had to actually bite down on something to use it, and if you could suck it up long enough to get past one ankle, it would leave hairs that you had to go over again and again before it was hair free. I chose shaving as the better option on that issue, but can't count the times I have removed the skin off a shin, or nearly nicked an important vein in my leg getting even that done on a semi-regular basis. I burned the hide off of my bikini line once with some special bikini line hair removal cream, which stinks, and actually melts the hair and skin right off your body. If it had scarred enough to kill the hair follicles in the area, it might have been worth it, but I had new hairs forming before the scabs were even healed over. I have burnt myself to a crisp in a tanning bed in order to have a more youthful appearance and sunny glow. All this work and pain, and I am still 35, still have eyebrows where I don't want them, still have a flourishing bikini line, still get white in the winter, still have hair on my legs, still have wrinkles, and still have these branding marks on my belly. So back to the derma roller. This torture device is my new love interest. I have convinced myself that I could actually do this to myself, even though when I was younger and gave myself weekly allergy shots, I would wear the skin out on my leg or arm, and go through 10 cotton balls soaked with alcohol before gathering enough courage to stick the needle in the dermis just once. That was before stretch marks though, and I hate these things more than I hate needles, or at least I think I do. I wonder why I consider putting such medieval equipment in my beauty line up, but I think I might give it a shot, so to speak. We women are plainly tortured by ourselves, and I can't help but find humor in it. Come this summer when I feel the financial freedom to make this purchase, I will probably get one. You will be able to see me coming a mile away. I will be the one with the swollen bloody forehead walking hunched over due to the horrid skin infection on my stomach. Wish me luck, and, yeah, go look it up right now, the Derma Roller is a real thing, and I know you are going to want one too.