I've always been conscious of having a wide face/square jaw. This didn't bother me much in the past, but lately I've been clenching my jaw while I sleep which has only been worsened by overusing my masseter muscles.
About to start a new job in London, I had an overnight stopover in Hong Kong. I thought: finally, here's my chance to try out the infamous V-line botox treatment that has taken East Asia by storm! After all, why not, since it's becoming so commonplace (and affordable) amongst my Chinese cousins and Korean friends? Cosmetic surgery seemed like an exciting new territory that I was about to dabble in. Like my discovery of hair dye, push-up bras, coloured contact lenses and eyelid glue, cosmetic surgery seemed like another girly 'life-hack', another fun tool to experiment with.
I found one decently-rated clinic through Groupon that would let me pay for their V-line botox deal via cash (only US$130 for 50 units of Botox, plus a laser facial and whitening mask; an absolute bargain!) After filling out a simple questionnaire, I was ushered into the doctor's office for a pre-treatment consultation. She had me clench my jaw and touch my bulging masseter muscles. She quickly scrolled through a few sample photos on her computer, speaking in a monotonous, nonchalant manner that indicated that she had delivered this monologue a million times before. She proceeded to tell me that 50 units of Botox was insufficient for my case, and that I'd need 80 units instead. I only needed to pay an additional US$380.
The Tsim Sha Shui clinic
I should have seen this coming, and wondered how many other clients they had pulled this card on. I told them that I didn't have $380, and that I had come here for the original $130 deal (which now seemed too stupidly good to be true.) Thus prompted 15 minutes of them pulling every sales tactic in the book: didn't I know how much I needed this surgery? How huge my face was? How 50 units would barely make a difference, and if I was willing to pay an extra $380? No? How about $350? No? Then how about $300? No? Then how much would I pay? (Sidenote: I had researched beforehand and found that 50 units is a standard starting dose for V-line botox.)
When they finally realized that there was no way they were sucking an extra cent from me, they said that I could proceed with the original Groupon deal. However, by that point I was totally uncomfortable in their presence. They treated me like someone who had mindlessly wandered into a used car dealership, rather than a patient at a professional clinic. There was more haggling and persuading, until she finally accepted that she would have to let me go and give me my money back.
In the end however, the experience felt enlightening...even liberating! I laughed to myself while reflecting on it, walking along the alleys of Tsim Sha Shui in search of a good ramen bar. What was I thinking? Why on earth did I want to give my money to a company (and industry) whose livelihood depends on making women feel inadequate, ugly, and unwanted? Do we have any idea how much we already spend on cosmetics, skincare, haircare, grooming, and diet schemes each year?
If we are unhappy with our appearance, we are unhappy with ourselves. We're struggling with personal issues that surgery, make-up, and expensive products simply cannot fix. You might feel fat today, but if you starve yourself and lose twenty pounds, when you look in the mirror you may still feel fat. Or inadequate. Or blemished. No amount of weight loss, surgery, or makeovers can fix that feeling, the only thing that can is setting upon a path towards self-acceptance, respect, and self-love. With age, I'm learning that beauty is not a certain 'look', or dress size. It's a feeling, and that feeling can only come from within yourself.
There are already so many ridiculous pressures on women. Society dictates how long our legs should be, what shape our brows should arch in, how we should dress for this and that occasion, how much cleavage or leg or midriff we can show in order to look feminine but not too provocative. The last thing you and I need is some stranger or advertisement telling us what our facial anatomy should be. The fashion, entertainment, and beauty industries push us towards uniformity. Where's the beauty in that? What's beautiful about changing yourself to meet some normative, generic standard?
I look a lot like my mother. She has a face that is getting rounder with age, but in my eyes, she is still the most beautiful person in the world.
Now, when I look in the mirror, I see fewer of my own imperfections. Instead, I see her: her kind eyes, lopsided smile, and the burrow in her forehead. I see my father: his round nose, thick brows, and sinewy limbs. I have his tan, pockmarked skin, darkened from spending too much time working in his garden.
I don't look like Kendall Jenner or Kiko Mizuhara. But I do look like two people that I cherish the most in the world. For that, I'm finally starting to feel beautiful.