Posts Tagged ‘Dr. Brandt’
Well, well, well. The plot thickens.
After months of anticipating my big needle-fest with Dr. Brandt – Botox, Restylane, the whole nine yards – I wimped-out in the reception area of his New York office. He was super behind schedule (at least an hour and a half), and as I sat there, it gave me ample time to think about how much I didn’t want to be sitting there.
People kill to get an appointment with this guy; he’s the best of the best, The Baron of Botox. And there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he would’ve turned the clock back on my mug. He said he could make me look 15 years younger, and I completely believe him.
But as I cooled my heels in his waiting room, flipping through his amazing stash of art and fashion books, I couldn’t help but wonder: And then what? What happens six months from now? Do I just do it all over again?
Luckily, my answer was parked in the chair next to me in the form of a petite blonde clad in baggy cargos, a black tank and FitFlops. It turns out she was booked for the same time as me. They do that at Dr B’s, because he has multiple rooms that he just bounces between, syringe in hand. And she was such a seasoned pro that she’d brought provisions to settle in for the long haul.
When she asked the receptionist how long the wait would be – and then promptly whipped a banana out of her Prada crossbody – I knew I was a goner.
“I’ve never done this before,” I confided. “Does it always take this long to actually get in to see him?”
“Yes,” she said. “And then you have to be numbed, so that’s another half hour.”
At this point, she took off her aviators and I could see the wrinkles and crinkles around her eyes. I’m guessing she’s about 10 years older than I am, but dressed in a way that reads much younger. (The tank, the FitFlops.)
She was so friendly and warm, and really wanted me to make a trek to the deli across the street so I could shore up my energy like she was doing with her stash of fruit and bottled water.
Turns out I did make that trek, but it was out the door and back out into the great wide world, sans Botox, sans fillers. And immediately I felt better.
Calmer. More centered. In tune with the total Crunchista I secretly am.
Would I like to look younger? Absolutely. But I don’t think, for me at least, the answer lies at the end of a needle. I think I’d rather do some other stuff instead. Like take care of all the little tiny things that drive me nuts, the stuff I attack with concealer every day.
In other words, there are a few squiggly broken capillaries and brown spots I think Dr. B could zap for me with a laser. I could also get a light chemical peel down the road. And the Refissa he prescribed for me, as well as his whitening products, are excellent. So I want to keep using those.
For now though, I’m just saying no to the needle.
I can’t say that there was any one particular thing that made me change my mind. Rather, it was a perfect storm of s–t that sent me over the edge. The petite blonde in the tank top. The new issue of Star that I nabbed at the drugstore en route to Dr. B’s, the one with the “Botox Stars & Frozen Faces” story emblazoned on the cover.
The utterly terrifying recent episode of RHONY when Jill goes to Dr. Wexler for a “liquid facelift.” Oh my effing god, did you seeee that? I’m surprised I didn’t cancel my appointment on the spot.
Or – gasp – maybe I just want to figure out a way to gracefully accept the fact that I’m getting older. Now there’s a project.
Never let it be said that I don’t give life my all. My 100 percent. My “A” game.
Because I so totally do.
In the past 72 hours, ever since we got back from the best trip ever, I’ve been a veritable beehive of activity.
And today’s Scorpio horoscope in The New York Post pretty much sums up my mindset: “You will know with the utmost clarity today what it is that needs to be done – after which it is simply a case of applying yourself. There will never be a better time to get your act together, so get to it!”
Helloooo??? Like I haven’t already been doing that????
Yesterday, like the glutton for punishment I am, I kicked off a second round of P90X. Grrr. I am so sore right now. My back is killing me. And I guess I got fairly out of shape in between Phase One and Phase Two, because during the first session, I was revisited by that gnarly sensation of wanting to hurl. But at least I know now that the nausea is only temporary, and will dissipate as soon as I get my sea legs again.
Tomorrow I’m slated to visit Dr. Brandt for the big face reno I’ve been yakking about, so either I get up at the crack o’ dawn and work out before zipping off to Gotham or I take a pass until Thursday. I think it’s “contra-indicated,” as they say in medical-ese, to jump around like a maniac and bust a bunch of fitness moves when you’ve just had your mug shot with Botox or Restylane or what have you.
But given how nervous I am about my appointment – somehow, miraculously, I am the world’s only late-40s beauty editor who has never had Botox or any type of injectible fillers – maybe I should exercise before I go. What would really calm me down is running. But as I’ve said repeatedly, if I want to move the needle on my bod, lacing up the Nikes day after day ain’t gonna cut it.
Okay, time to put the Wee Lass to bed so she’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for day camp in the morning. Over and out.
Day four of Road Trip 2011: Heartland America. We’re in gorge downtown Chicago as I try to peck this blog post out on Hubby’s eensy weensy Mac Air. Jiminy Christmas, it’s like a Polly Pockets version of a laptop.
So please forgive me if I start writing like this jadfhaifhiauhfeiourhaieuhjhvbufg all of a sudden.
Anyway, here’s what’s going super-duper well on this cross-country trek so far: my beauty regimen. Just goes to show you that the only thing standing between me and amazing skin is a solid hour bookending my day for my elaborate morning and evening toilettes, as the French say.
Basically I’ve been doing everything Dr. Brandt told me to do a month ago, including deploying as much of the Refissa as my complexion can take, and then using some of his really excellent whitening products to dislodge stubborn brown spots and other bits of sun damage.
So before breakie and beddy bye, I’ve been loading up on his Light Years Away Whitening Essence layered under Light Years Away Whitening Cream. The latter is in such a schmancy giant Lucite-y jar that the ONLY way I could drag it on vacay is if we were traveling via Lexus SUV, which we are. (Road trips are so, so, so brills if you’re prone to overpacking, as I am.)
Hubby is getting antsy to reclaim his miniature computer, so I have to sign off now. But not before saying how GREATLY improved my mug is looking, even after this relatively short stint of hardcore beauty TLC.
I’m one lucky puppy. Trust me that I know this, although my favorite past-time of late has been to bitch and moan like a rock star who didn’t get his precious purple M&Ms and case of Jägermeister in his dressing room, per the bullet-proof rider in his contract.
I have a lot of good things in my life. Not enough time to enjoy them right now, but at least I know they’re there.
So it in this upbeat, gratitude-y spirit that I will now relay to you what has gone down in the past 72 hours.
On Friday, during my visit to Dr. Brandt, he rawther sternly tsk-tsked me when I told him that I don’t wear sunscreen on my face religiously. Not brills, given the multiple skin cancer biopsies I’ve had over the years, not to mention the tiny chunk taken out of my forehead where an actinic keratosis was removed.
But, hey, at least I was honest, right? Many a less-brave mama than I would have straight-up lied to the dude.
Since he wanted to prescribe the Refissa for me (I’m only on Day 3 but I am in LOVE…), he made me promise that I would wear really strong sunscreen, at least 45 SPF, because any kind of Retin-A makes your skin much more susceptible to burning.
Grrr, I thought, do I even own such a potion? I’m more of an 8 girl myself. (Hence all the skin cancer biopsies…)
Today at lunch with my pal Patricia, a Lancôme public relations honcho and beauty savant, who just so happens to have co-written Dr. Brandt’s first book, she handed me a bag packed with goodies, including Génefique (the new youthifier you see in all those Kate Winslet ads). And Star Bronzer bronzing powder and Flash Bronzer tinted self-tanning body gel, so I can get my glow on.
And best of all, a Lancôme classic: Bienfait. The UV version. SPF 50+, thank you very much. Now Dr. B will have to find another sunscreen slacker to tsk tsk.