Sunday Dispatch: My Queer Reflections on The Politics of “Pretty”

...and the b o t o x decision.

Recently, with an impetus that I may go into in a different essay, I decided to get botox for the first time. I’m not shy about my choices, and I shared with most of my friends that I had undertaken this minor procedure—and now, friend, I’m sharing the experience, and the resultant ruminations, with you! 

I expected an array of responses to my taking this step, and that I got. What I did not expect was how liberated, empowered, and I dunno…relieved? it would make me feel to “freeze” a few years off my face. 

My virgin treatment side-by-sides.

Let’s rewind a bit first, though. 

As a feminist, and as someone who is known as a feminist (which are two different things), I have had a complicated relationship with the politics of pretty throughout my life. 

On a personal level, I believe each of us knows what will best help us to be who we are and do what we do most effectively, and if we’re fortunate we have access to ways to manifest these transformations. On the other hand, while my sphere of influence is small, I take my responsibility as a writer, thinker, and public persona (as well as a mother and an elderqueer) seriously, and this does influence my actions to some extent. On the political and public levels, the pressures of acting from an exemplary place, and setting a standard for others, is real, and if nothing else, plays into how I feel about making personal choices. 

I used to have some very solid lines between what I thought was valid body mod as personal expression and what I believed was more “giving in to the Man.” And, anything that aligned with making ourselves more palatable, standardly attractive, or upheld the beauty standard fell solidly into the latter camp. 

My first book, Sexy Witch (Llewellyn, 2005), addressed this throughout. In the final round of the experiential group I facilitated based on the teachings of that book, many years ago now, one of my students called me out on this bias in a discussion we were holding. She had recently had a tummy tuck and reported that she was a happier person for it. She shared her motivations (to feel more comfortable in her post-weight-loss body, to feel more easy and empowered in her skin), her results (very much what she had hoped for), and showed us the scars and the taut tummy that was the result of the surgery. 

If this surgery made her feel more at ease in the world, who was I to say it was the opposite of empowering? That this was, in some way, capitulation to the normative expectations of our society? And, even if it was, who was I to judge this woman’s actions from some purist moral high ground? 

I recognize that we all play into setting and codifying social norms and that we do have a responsibility to shift culture in a conscious way when and where we are able. And, as a person who has experienced the good and bad of “pretty privilege,” I must admit there is a lot to lose as an AFAB person who feels and experiences themself aging out of cultural focus, acceptance, and relevance. 

Letting go of pretty privilege carries a premium. At what personal cost does our political alliance come? Are we (or should we be) willing to sacrifice our personal (monetary) value and (emotional) worth for political righteousness? 

I Will Not Fault Any Woman/AFAB Person for How They Survive Under Patriarchy

Madonna’s is the face that launched a thousand OpEds. The fact is, she’s damned if she does, damned if she doesn't. (As are we all, truly.) But, behind this truth is a decision point; am I going to be someone who blames women and AFAB folx for whatever labor or expense they/we undertake in this culture to remain relevant and “shelf-stable” for as long as possible? 

Yes, it is overwhelmingly frustrating that there is a double standard regarding aging. AMAB and masc-of-center folx are given more respect as they age (in the workplace and elsewhere). AFAB and femme-leaning folx are treated with an increasing attitude of disdain, when we’re noticed at all. 

Years ago, at the moment illustrated in the story above, I revised my opinion of beauty-based procedures from a frame of “You’re giving in,” to one of “Whatever makes you happy!” Or confident. Embodied. As long as everyone is consenting, do what makes you feel the most empowered. 

For many years, I have rested on this core value: as long as it’s not hurting anyone, I have no right to judge anyone’s strategies for surviving (and ideally thriving) under patriarchy. 

Body Mod is Body Mod

My latest addition to my body mod collection.

So, why do I still have residual feelings that say otherwise? 

In application, I’m 100% fine with gracing my body with copious amounts of ink, stretching my lobes, or shaving and/or bleaching/dying my hair—which as a natural ginger has actually caused quite an uproar from my family, lovers, and friends over the years. Wildly, even to the point of losing whole friend groups back in the early 1990s when I first shaved my head. The (mostly male) friends who stopped talking to me were, I believe, intimidated at the shift from long red locks to shocking bare scalp, as well as all this change telegraphed on a social and political level. 

On my way to shaved bare. Anarchist Squat, Berlin, 1990.

While it stung to gain the awareness that folx were that fickle, they were obviously not true friends. And I was more than a little bit shocked at how many of my male friends were willing to drop a relationship based solely on surface appearance. Still, somehow this experience of loss felt telling, and empowering in its own way. 

I’ve always stood by my body mod choices, whether shaving my head to see how my hair informed things, moving into a more femme frame of presentation during my years working in the sex industry, or my latest experiment; my bodybuilding adventure. But getting a few tox injections in my face throws me into a whirl of self-inquiry? 

I support every person in getting surgeries that allow them to be more of who they feel they are. I avidly support gender-affirming surgeries and have personally supported many in my life in undergoing them. I have always supported folx getting surgeries that make a career more viable—and when I was working in the sex industry, I often thought about whether a boob job would be a good investment. (I’m glad I didn’t go that route in my 30s, since I now know that my body works overtime to reject foreign bodies, and I’m glad I sidestepped the possible outcome of Breast Implant Illness.) 

I support surgeries that allow empowered aging on a functional level; knee and hip replacements, pacemakers, back surgeries. I have watched some of my elders choose these surgeries, and others choose to forgo them. Of the choices afforded, I am 100% aligned with undergoing these interventions should I ever need them. 

I also invest in effective skincare routines. I use sunscreen–though, being a bit late to the game in that department, my primary care doc is suggesting a full facial peel to get rid of possible precancerous skin lesions. (An ounce of prevention would have been helpful there!) And in addition to sunscreen, I use a variety of lotions and potions designed to delay the signs of aging in the face and neck.

So why the line between health and vanity? And, where is this line, anyway? 

Gendered Responses

As I stated in the opening of this piece, when I revealed that I had gotten botox I received a range of responses. Many of these responses fell along gendered lines, and some fell along ideological ones. 

Some of my female friends (many of whom were slightly older than me), reacted with relief at my admission; it was like my taking this route allowed them to consider it as a real option. Gave them permission to take action. (Like any permission is needed. But, reader, if you’re looking for my permission, consider it granted!) Most of my friends and colleagues who had reactions of this type of personalized curiosity work in public-facing professions; entertainment and entrepreneurial education/coaching. They know how much ageism may impact their marketability. 

Other female friends had a more negative reaction; I was met with feelings about the sense of giving in to cultural expectations. And I get it. If I didn’t also hold some of this view still in the recesses of my thought process, this essay would never have been written. 

My queer AMAB friends were like, “Yes, friend! What took you so long to arrive at the party!?” When I was working through my feelings in therapy, my AMAB, gay therapist said, “I love botox. I could just drink it!” 

The interesting thing is that in the gay male and male proximal world, I encountered none of the misgivings or resistance about this level of body mod that I experienced in the AFAB conversations. Whether it was relief or rejection, the emotions exhibited by AFAB GenX folx were strong, complex, and sticky; it was impossible to engage with them without leaving the conversations with some emotional transfer.

The Generational Divide

Immediately after my second treatment. Post pix to come in a couple of weeks.

At my second botox appointment–which I engaged in just last week–I conversed at length with the crew who were working on my face. To make my treatments more affordable, I’ve so far served as a model at an esthetics program that instructs and certifies RNs on non-invasive and minimally invasive procedures. This being the case, my care team was large: my tech, her instructor, and other techs (in this case, two) who were shadowing my tech. It was my tech’s last day as a student, and she was excited to be able to go out on her own. 

I asked about the training process, and the reasons she was excited. She mentioned flexibility in work hours (which, as an RN employed in another setting she said she may not have), the “niceness” of the team she was trained by and would work with, the comprehensiveness of the training program (including aspects of business and marketing skills with the hands-on application of aesthetic skills), but mostly, she said, she appreciated the fact that she could take part in making people feel better about themselves. 

(Do I have some misgivings that our culture is so surface-oriented and beauty-biased? Yes. Do I fault this woman for trying to address “helping people” in the best way she knows how? No.)

At a guess, I’d say the majority of my team was younger than 30, with one exception. One of the shadowing techs was a mom to teens, which I knew because her kids had pranked her via text as I was sitting down in my chair, and she was recovering from the very successful leg-pulling as I settled in. And, while I had this bit of information about her, I seriously could not for the life of me clock her age. At some point, age came up in the conversation. I shared that I had just turned 53, and my tech, Jordan, said she was 27. (The same age as my older kid.) “Mom-to-teens” stayed silent in this portion of the conversation.

Of the four techs who were working with me, three–including the instructor–were women of color. Three of my techs had visible tattoos, and two had facial piercings. I was impressed with the diversity of the team, and excited by their excitement about claiming a career that felt empowering to them.

All of the team members had smooth foreheads, perfect brows, and excellent bedside manners. 

I told the team about my internal process of coming to terms with really loving botox. “Let’s go a little bit less conservative this time,” I said, having gone with a very light application the first time, out of fear of the effect being too dramatic. As Jordan charted my face and made the marks that would guide the injections, we talked about the fact that having an active workout regimen meant my treatment would likely wear off faster. We discussed the past volume of treatment and made adjustments. I opted for three new treatment areas (between the brows to address furrowing, upper lip for smokers’ lines, and in the laugh lines proximal to my outer lip to minimize downturned corners of the mouth), and higher doses in some of the areas that had been treated previously (forehead, ocular ridge, outside of the eye sockets [crows feet], and chin). 

I had heard about the therapeutic application for TMJ, and asked about it. I was advised to make an additional appointment to get that procedure done. I explained I was also curious about the botox-induced “neck-lift effect” (at the recommendation of a queer, AMAB, enby bestie) and was recommended to book a session with the advanced students to get the Nefertiti Lift. (I research the treatment later and think, Oh, hell yes, I’m going to get that done!)

I told the team about the conversations I’d been having with friends and colleagues. Jordan said, “The nice thing is that in my generation the stigma is really just gone!” I looked at her quizzically.  It turned out that all of the younger techs had started getting botox before they turned 30. “It’s most effective as a preventative,” the instructor offered by way of education and explanation. 

Jordan told me about her (50ish) mom’s recent decision to start getting botox, and the varied responses she had received to the decision (mirroring my own experience), and juxtaposed it to her comparably frictionless experience of starting in her mid-20s. “But now, my mom hosts botox parties,” Jordan said, “and her friends all come over and get it done too.”

At the moment I didn't know whether to count the revelation of these generational shifts in values as a win or not. Upon further reflection though, I arrive at the answer that fits by falling back on my core values: be you 25 or 55, do whatever it takes to make it possible for you to best thrive under patriarchy. (And what that might be for each of us is a decision we each must make on our own.)

Ambivalence About “Investing” in My Shelf-Life

I’ve invested many thousands in attaining my degrees. (And am currently considering investing even more in that regard.) My education has opened doors for me to an almost unbelievable level. My advanced education, and the resultant paper, have truly changed my life. 

That said, I’m late to the game in even considering building toward any semblance of retirement planning (I grew up thinking that this world was not the one I would be growing old in—and that’s another story for a different essay), and know, on a foundational level, that I need to extend my careerist shelf-life for as long as humanly possible.

Why would I not use all the tools that are available to me? When the data says that a youthful (and otherwise “attractive”) appearance increases earning potential, why can I not merely treat this as another career or business investment? Why the deep well of internal and external echoing feedback and cognitive dissonance?

Where do I draw the line between doing what’s best for myself, and what’s best for society? Is this another area (of all the innumerable areas) where I, as a feminist, and as someone known as a feminist, and as an AFAB person, owe culture some amorphous debt? Or am I allowed to take my own needs first? Is this a case of the personal is political, or my body my choice? 

It can only be all of the above. 

So I move forward working to balance my own needs, and those of culture, and the pressures that interplay between the two juxtapositions, by laying bare the conversation that swirls internally and externally around body mod and beauty standards, responsibility, and autonomy, through my own experience of inquiry, power, and empowerment. 

Join the Conversation!

I’d love it if you’d join the conversation, too. Please comment, or as usual, if it feels too vulnerable to engage with this topic in public, I welcome your DMs.