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just ask the elites

Hannah Nalley

Tomorrow, I am going to San Francisco for a long-awaited appointment with one of the best dermatologists in the nation. I found Dr. Samantha Ellis on Instagram in one of her viral reels. In it, she warned never to judge ourselves through photos because in the same way a photo can’t do justice for a sunset, neither can it do justice for human beings. 


This is a weird concept for someone who has made a living having their picture taken. Still, I liked the sentiment and after doing some digging on her profile, I came to the conclusion that Dr. Ellis is the kind of person who genuinely cares about the welfare of her patients over her commission numbers.


That’s a tough find in the aesthetics field–– a brutal lesson I learned after a domino effect of procedures I had done last year. It’s a topic that isn’t covered enough, our culture’s obsession with anti-aging and the litany of things that can go wrong with under-researched technologies that are constantly shoved down our throats.


After competing in the Miss USA pageant, I fell into an obsessive spiral about my appearance and what could be done to treat the fine lines around my eyes and nasolabial folds. "Nasolabial" was a term I'd never heard before in my fucking life until 2023. Then suddenly, I couldn’t get away from it.


PDO threads. Filler. Lasers. Radio frequency micro-needling. All of these treatments promised to get rid of the “first major sign of aging” and leave me feeling eternally beautiful. Deciding that I didn’t want to insert permanent threads into the side of my face (yes, that’s a literal thing) I opted for what seemed like the most effective option: a fibroblast plasma pen.


What does this do, you may ask? Basically, this device–– that any random bitch can buy on Amazon and advertise its treatments via Groupon–– burns these little holes into your skin (producing a smell that is absolutely foul), the idea being that increased collagen production will occur in the wound-healing process, thus banishing the wrinkles for good!


Except that’s not what happened to me. 


Instead, a year later, here I sit with what I believe are permanent scars under my eyes. They're undetectable unless you look closely, but compromising my skin quality nonetheless. If I was spiraling before that procedure, I was torpedoing afterward, embarking on a mission to rejuvenate my skin and “fix” problems that, as I look back, weren’t even real.


All of this was aided by the internet. More specifically, my handy-dandy friend, TikTok, which allowed me to search procedures and view an endless collection of videos detailing before and afters, the healing process, and comparative costs. I spent countless hours researching, obsessing, comparing myself to old photos… trapped in a psychotic prison of my mind’s own making. 


After the fibroblast pen, I was pressured into getting Sculptra injections (look it up) which only added to my feelings of distraught. The "final result" is an anxiety-ridden girl who is abhors seeing herself on camera, which is… kind of a problem given my chosen career path. 


At the beginning of this year, I decided that I was going to take a break from any and all cosmetic procedure until I could get some real answers from professionals who aren’t just trying to sell me something. I actually had a trip planned to Korea because those bitches really know their skincare but I postponed it as I had so much going on with music and didn’t feel I had earned the time off or money spent.


You can save your judgement; I know this is all incredibly vain. It makes me want to vomit. But it’s just fucking reality. Nearly every celebrity on the market has some sort of work done, the best being the ones you can’t detect. Even my own discrepancies are not obvious to anyone but me. I know this because upon complaining about the inner turmoil of whether or not to get filler or additional procedures, a random man will tell me, “You don’t need to do any of that. You’re beautiful the way you are naturally."


Those are the same men who don’t realize when a woman is wearing makeup. Cluelessly hypocritical. Probably because no one really talks about this shit. Everyone wants to pretend that they're genetically superior, the same way the Vicrotria's Secret models pretended to eat pizza and burgers for every meal. At the end of the day, our society is built on this fascination with youth and beauty and it feels like in order to be relevant as an artist, I have to be beautiful. It's making me sick. 


The good news is, I have certainly learned my lesson booking hap-hazard procedures based on made-up insecurities. My next steps will be carefully thought out and in the hands of someone I trust. I’m finally starting to feel like it’s going to be okay. A good doctor can work some serious magic. Just ask the elites.


There’s a celeb glow-up on the way, but it has to be handled carefully. Tomorrow is just a consultation; I won’t book anything until I’ve talked to a few doctors and had some time to think things over. A few more months of consideration before deciding what to do. 


I pray that one day, this doesn’t take up so much of my energy because it really is quite ridiculous. I’m embarrassed thinking of whoever may be reading this. But that’s the beauty of these blogs. It holds me accountable for who I really am, what’s actually going on in my mind. And maybe getting it out will help me (and others) heal. Only time will tell. 



Ttyt. Lots of love to you all,


Hannah

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