Thinking and writing about beauty at 30 is a bit terrifying. And for me, it feels quite vulnerable.
I know, you’re rolling your eyes at the histrionics. But when I paused for a moment to look at how my appearance and beauty regime has changed over the course of a decade, it was hard not to admit to myself that I’m getting old.
It’s not necessarily because I feel old or that I look old (having recently been ID’d while in the unlikely scenario of buying dessert wine in a supermarket, I can quite comfortably say that), but rather, there are now tell tale signs of my age that only I know. I hope.