Today, Chris and I went to have our annual facials together at my favorite and relatively affordable skincare spot in midtown. Every year, I wait for the esthetician to tell me that my skin is congested around my nose, cheeks and forehead, and to give me tips on how to get all the gunk out between facials. I don’t indulge in monthly or even once-a-season facials the way facial spas recommend because I am cheap and don’t want to indulge myself too much, so I usually will use scrubs and masks at home. The two clay masks I got in Paris and Seoul seem to be working very well for me, as for the very first time, the esthetician, after examining my face thoroughly, declares, “Your skin is actually quite clean. I don’t see any problems here, and no congestion.”

Maybe Korean and French skincare isn’t just all marketing after all. I love it when I buy something and it actually works the way it says it’s supposed to. 

Chris got told he had good skin, but that he needs to start moisturizing because of dryness that his esthetician detected. “My skin is perfect,” he replied in defiance. Sure, it is. No one is getting any younger here.