I first got Botox injected into my face four years ago. I like to blame a boozy lunch at Andiamo and the company I keep. I also blame my brother whose 30th was approaching at the time. He's a whole 13 years younger than me and I didn't want to
look unduly decrepit amongst all the party-goers at his birthday bash.
At lunch that day two of my friends announced they'd just had Botox thanks to a two-for-the-price-of-one special offer. I was in a taxi later when I received a text from another friend who'd been at the same lunch and who was also a Botox virgin. She wrote: "I've booked you and me in for the same Botox deal which only runs until the end of the month. We'll have to be fast."
I agreed to it but then reneged the next day. Call me old-fashioned but half-price Botox administered by a nurse just didn't appeal. So a few days later I had full-price Botox injected by a doctor.
There was only one wrinkle that concerned me and that was a single frown-line between my eyebrows. It was the first thing I saw in the mirror each morning. I frowned every time I looked at it. The Botox miraculously erased it almost immediately. I visited maybe twice a year for top-ups and so far I've resisted getting my crow's feet done even if that means wasting half the little vial of poison.
I know how absurd choosing to immobilise facial muscles via the botulinum toxin is. I really do. I've read about the side-effects and seen all the when-Botox-goes-wrong images. It's a polarising topic. Some people swear by it. Others are disgusted by it and think it represents everything that's wrong with our superficial and self-obsessed society.
