|Tingly Goop from Olay's "Microdermabrasion and Peel System"|
Use and at-home face mask or get a salon facial. (Don't risk and allergic reaction closer to your wedding day.)Yikes! Masks and facials make me nervous. You may recall from Day 80 that a history of "bad skin" (currently at bay) has left me quite wary of shaking up my skin-care routine. I needed a bit more convincing, if only to know what I'd be getting myself into (or out of!). I turned to "The 411 on Facials" - an article published by The Knot with all the dirty details.
|A biased account? Undoubtedly. But informative, nonetheless!|
Facials are a beauty treatment many brides enjoy -- they feel indulgent and can ensure your skin looks its most glowing on your wedding day. A good facial includes surface cleansing, deep pore cleansing (sometimes including extractions), exfoliation, toning, and moisturizing.
The cost? Anywhere between $50 to $250, depending on the treatments you have done and where you live. And be sure to get recommendations before you choose a salon -- you don't want just anyone picking at your face!Well, $50 to $250 wasn't going to happen, and "extractions" didn't sound too good either (the only person I trust to "pick at my face" is me!). Yet I was intrigued. Could I capture the "indulgent" experience of a facial without the expense? Would my skin "glow" or just freak out?
In the spirit of experimentation, I bit the bullet and spent $35 at Target on a "Microdermabrasion & Peel System" from Olay + a "Conditioning Clay Mask" by Boots. $35 felt a bit steep, but I was assured that I could return the products if my skin reacted badly. Next step: enlisting an unsuspecting amateur esthetician.
|Michael, looking skeptical... (nice socks!)|
Poor Michael was settling into an episode of Weeds, waiting for our Thai delivery to arrive, when I arrived home and accosted him with demands for assistance. I don't think he realized what he'd agreed to until he found himself following directions to: apply Olay "dermacrystals to [my] clean, dry face (about the size of a quarter)." (To clarify, the "about the size of a quarter" part refers to the scoop of dermacrystal goop, not my face.)
As I stared at the ceiling of our TV room, Michael "gently massaged" my face for ... about 2 minutes longer than the recommended 45 seconds. It must have been a good Weeds episode, because his fingertips started going numb around the time that my cheeks started tingling. Yowza!
He quickly, sloppily, applied the "activator serum" to my face, and we both kind of freaked out when the ingredients started foaming. Apparently "it is normal to experience a warming sensation," but I'd had enough. I hauled my butt to the bathroom, and gave everything a thorough rinsing. (This took a while since Michael had generously Microdermabraised half of my neck and an inch of my hairline.)
My attempts to get Michael to help with the Conditioning Clay Mask were temporarily thwarted by the arrival of our dinner. Spicy eggplant w/ chicken and basil: yum! (Now THIS felt indulgent.)
We were back to work soon after finishing our mango sticky rice. Michael finger painted my face with the clay mask from Boots, which promised to clarify my skin "with a negative electrical charge to pull out impurities." It was olive green and slimy. Then it dried. Whenever I smiled I felt flakes of mask sprinkling onto my chest. I pondered whether I could test the flakes for "negative electrical charge," but it was almost midnight and things had reached ridiculousness.
Michael headed to bed, looking bewildered by his new expertise. I washed all of the green goop off of my face (at least I hope I did!). My skin feels really soft, but, considering all that effort, I'm more struck by how empty my wallet feels.
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