By Tatiana Bido, Features Editor | September 18, 2019 for New Beauty. Read Original Article >
The overwhelming anxiety I had about turning 40 is almost embarrassing to admit. I count myself fortunate for having one of those Dorian Gray faces that, for the most part, conceals my true age. But as my birthday approached, the mere thought of turning 40 stressed me out so much I couldn’t help but fixate on it. No matter how many rounds of, “How old do you think I am?” I played when I met someone new, it didn’t matter. All the 28 and 29 guesses in the world couldn’t stop me from obsessing over my smile lines every time I glanced in the mirror. Couple that with a job that focuses highly on aesthetics and the popularity of skin-smoothing filters, and before I knew it, I was in the throes of a self-induced midlife crisis. In lieu of buying the clichéd cherry-red sports car, I rang up my dermatologist. Read Original Article >