Flashback to a few years ago and I was in the office toilets. My lips looked fine, a bit red but I’d just had my very first tweakment (lip filler). Suddenly I panicked, however, as they looked VERY swollen. I thought about Mick Jagger, and whether his distinctive look would suit me? And what would my long term partner Paul say when I got home? I imagined him sighing and rolling his eyes.
A female colleague came in, and talked about an imminent strategy meeting (this was back when I worked in market research). I nervously dabbed my mouth, tried to say something interesting, but realised I was drawing even more attention to my lips which seemed to be getting bigger every second (they weren’t but it felt like that).
“Are you feeling okay?” the colleague asked. “Just hay fever,” I mumbled, and then ran to get my laptop, leaving early before anyone else in the office noticed. What kind of cretin gets lip filler in their lunch break? To be fair I hadn’t realised that swelling was normal, and that it usually goes down after 24 hours.
When I got home Paul studied my face. “What’s happened to your lips? They look enormous,” he said accusingly. I mumbled that it was a “new kind of facial” and was vague on the exact details. I knew he wouldn’t approve – he was always pointing out women that “looked like a puffer fish”. He shrugged but I could tell he didn’t love what I’d done. He definitely wasn’t telling me how sexy I looked with my new mouth.
© GettyInterestingly I recently listened to Katherine Ryan’s podcast. Firstly I love the fact that she is always so open about cosmetic surgery and tweakments, but what struck me most was when she spoke about how her partner Bobby preferred her to look natural.
I could relate to this as Paul definitely doesn’t like me getting Botox (usually twice a year) and fillers (now and then – usually a bit in my lips). Flashback to that very first tweakment, and OK, they had swollen to comical proportions so I looked like a Spitting Image version of Mick Jagger (if you’re under 40, Google and you’ll get the gist).
“I don’t understand why you did it. You don’t need to,” Paul said over dinner. “Your mouth looked good before.”
The kids thankfully hadn’t noticed my lips, as they were moaning about why we were having stew and not the “yummy tea” I’d promised. The next day my lips looked a bit plumper, but were mainly back to normal. “What do you think?” I asked Paul before he headed off to work. He did the shrug again. Did I want him to say “WOW! YOU LOOK CRAZY BEAUTIFUL!” (Yes yes I did!) Or was this shrug preferable to him saying that he didn’t like what I was doing?
OK, I occasionally have mixed feelings about tweakments. I feel like women should be able to ‘age naturally’ (I’m 52) — but also what the heck does that mean these days? Every woman is criticised whatever she does.
Once you accept that, life gets easier. When I was younger I was anti-Botox, but I’d argue that many young women don’t face the ageism that comes later on, and opinions may change. My key objective in getting Botox once or twice a year, and filler now and then, isn’t to radically change the way I look. I just want to look less tired. I want to look like I’ve had a really good nights sleep, and haven’t been tossing and turning like a sizzling burger on a BBQ (menopause is cruel).
I did some market research years ago on tweakments, and the vast majority of women my age said the same thing – they all wanted to look less tired. Do I care that my partner disapproves? In a word, NO. I’m paying for these tweakments out of my own money, and don’t expect him to fund my face.
© Tom PilstonI also don’t feel like I can criticise him if he decides to dye his hair jet black like Elvis (he hasn’t done this to be fair), or if he wants to suddenly wear leather trousers (he has some but they’re in the loft). I generally like the way he looks, and think he’s ageing well. A couple of times I’ve suggested he wears this particular blue jacket that I bought him at a vintage fair, but he hates it and so I’ve not nagged him anymore.
He should also understand that he can’t dictate what I do either – whether it’s wearing the bright pink jumpsuit that he says makes me look like a CBeebies presenter, or the tweakments I get now and then.
Fast forward to last month, and I’ve just had a tiny bit more filler in my lips. “I wish you didn’t feel the need to do that,” he says when I’m home again. This time the swelling isn’t as pronounced – as I’ve learnt to put some ice on right away. “The thing is you look perfect just as you are.”
And with that I realise he’s paying me a compliment and trying to offer me reassurance on how I’m ageing. I think about the jacket and whether I can get him to wear it. He can read my mind, however. “And no I’m not wearing that blue jacket,” he replies smiling.
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