THE SKIN GAME

Mirrors and good lighting are not always the best things to have around the house, particularly if father time has clocked a few city miles on ones face. I am the current owner of such a face. It took many years of dedicated effort on my part to successfully bake my grill into this intersection of age, stress and fun in the sun. These furrowed brows, wrinkles and skin spots are permanent memorials; reminders of times past when track meets, triathlons and softball games ruled the roost and sunscreen was for Nancy girls. But that was then and oh how I now wish to have the face I had then, now..again, then. Anyway....... 

 I needed to wipe 10 years off this mitt. Recalling a past conversation with an attractive former female colleague who boasted flawless skin was my first step. She regaled me with tales of woe and disapointing results in her quest for a creamy smooth complexion, until she tried Olay brand skin cream products. She credited her impressive features to her daily use these products. I was impressed and persuaded. It appeared that my search for the epidermal time machine could be found in the land of Olay, which meant a trip to the skin care aisle at Wally World.
 

I casually made my way through the main thoroughfare of Sam Walton's retail empire, people watching as I am want to do and banked left into the skin care aisle, giddy with the excitement over the possibility of regaining even a portion of my lost youthful appearance. Giddiness however, melted quickly into an odd state of self consciousness as I located and stood before the massive alter of the Olay skin care display. I knew this feeling, I knew it well. The feeling that I was being watched, judged, and maybe somehow pitied by those who saw me standing there. This odd sense of conspicious psuedo guilt took me back to a hormonally charged 14 year old boy who would sneek into the magazine aisle at the grocery store to steal a look at Playboy magazine while pretending to read Madd magazine. Today, just as 40 years earlier, that same odd sense that I was surrendering to the temptation of my desires, cloaked in casual non chalance was here, along with a feeling of undeserved self indulgence that males from my generation were not to seek out. And just like the sneaky 14 year old, anyone looking at me immediately knew why I was there. There was no Madd Magazine to hide behind.

 But as it turned out I had much bigger issues before me now. The selection of skin creams was immense! The Olay brand product line dominated the entire aisle! In the grocery store there was Playboy and Penthouse and that was it! Self consciousness was replaced by dumbfounded confusion as I attempted to make some sense out of the situation. I had this eerie feeling that Rod Serling was in the next aisle over announcing my questionable decision to enter the skin care aisle and the unsuspecting life lesson I would soon learn from it....in the Twilight Zone.

The selections of Olay skin care products was overwhelming and nothing shy of ridiculous.There were Regenerist micro sculpting creams and age repair lotions with sunscreen. What exactly is being repaired? my age? There was anti-aging starter protocol creams. I need to follow a protocol in order to start? and wrinkle revolution complex creams( revolution sounds a bit drastic). What the ???? I saw microderm abrasion and peel systems, regenerating serums and night recovery creams. Oh my Gawd! I  need a cream to recover from using the other creams?!

 

There were daily effects moisturizers and smoothing creams. There were creams to counter other creams. There were creams and lotions for acne blemishes and age spots. There were creams for dark circles under the eyes and skin discoloration. I saw creams for facial hair! There were creams for fine lines, not so fine lines and full on wrinkles. There were creams for puffiness under the eyes and uneven skin.  Oh how I yearned for the smplicity of that picture of a nude woman with her nether parts just out of visual reach!( It was 1974 mind you).

I  became frustrated and a little flumaxed by this display of facial creams run amok. I stood there like a cigar store Indian(PC?), paralyzed by uncertainty. I could not differentiate one cream from another and the incoming mental fog caused my brian to vapor lock. Each time I mustered up the courage to look at the shelf it got worse. There were creams for oily skin and sensitive skin. Creams for dry skin and normal skin. There were even creams for combo skin types….oily/dry skin. Described as dryness in the cheek area and oily in the T-Zone area! The T-Zone area! Where is the T-Zone?  

It just wouldn't stop. There were creams for African American skin and creams for Latina skin followed by the entire scale of creams for all the aforementioned skin conditions as it related to their particular needs. It was endless……….Rod end this episode now! 

The onset of mental fatigue was challenging my previous commitment to address my facial issues. Too many choices with no clear cut direction can bring a man to his knees. I began to wonder if they still had Playboy in the magazine section. 

Exhausted and defeated, I sloughed away with nothing to show for my effort other than donating ten minutes of my life to Sam Walton. I aimlessly wandered other aisles, shell shocked and confused. How does one get started with this process? Should I begin with the anti aging starter protocol and move on to the revolution complex? Hummm. Is the microderm abrasion with the skin peeling system my best bet? And what about my T-Zone? I can't just ignore that! Additionally, my skin is uneven in tone, I have spots all over and my eyes sometimes have dark circles with puffiness. I need seven creams for that! Maybe if I just use the regenerating serum followed by the night recovery cream I can just side step the rest!  I wondered if the invention of the internet created this same type of problem for today's 14 year olds!

One of Wally World's finest approached me and asked the obligatory "May I help you find something" question. I could not help but notice her skin was splotchy and uneven, if not a bit oily. Her T-Zone had clearly been ignored and she was in dire need of a wrinkle revolution and quite possibly a full on peeling event. I responded with the equally obligatory guy answer to that irritating question and thought briefly about directing her to the same aisle I just fled. I held off. 

During my twenty minute diaspora around the store I saw a variety of other "experienced" people who, like me have obviously never availed themselves to the miracle of skin regeneration cream products. Like many of them, maybe I just waited too long to address the issue and the time is past. Like the Playboy magazine of the 70's, maybe some things are not meant to be regenerated. Besides, by my calculation I would have needed roughly 10 gallons of each skin cream, applied daily for several years at a cost of $250,000.00 to make the magic happen and by then I could be composting a worn garden at an eco commune in Portland. I think I'll just keep the lights turned down, avoid mirrors and read my gardening magazine. Thanks Rod.