Your voice cracks in the middle of a big presentation. Your body starts producing hair and odors from previously smooth regions. And the night of the big the dance you notice that annoying red spot right in the middle of your forehead… Puberty sucks.
And the worst part of it all? Acne. Whiteheads. Red dots. One or a hundred. In whatever form it took for you, we’ve all suffered from that acne affliction at some point.
Now, in my 30s, I count myself among the lucky ones that have the good fortune of only suffering minor breakouts from time to time.
But it wasn’t always clear skin and rainbows.
I graduated high school with an almost blemish-free record and it seemed I had finished that transition from boy to man we call puberty. Kids in high school could be so cruel, especially to the kid with zits…I counted my blessings that I wasn’t that kid. I thought I made it out free and clear…
I was wrong.
I was lucky enough to get hit by late teen/ early adult acne….and it sucked. For my 19th birthday, the only present I got was f’cking acne. I can’t necessarily remember graduation (I was high), or the finer details of losing my virginity….but I can remember this experience so clearly. Maybe that’s due to my extreme vanity, or the lasting years of trauma that resulted, but the memory – unlike my skin at the time – is clear as day.
I woke up with a zit. OK, I thought…I could get through this. So, like any 19-year old guy naïve to serious skin issues I popped that sucker using my dirty, grimy teenage thumb and index fingers as medical instruments and went along my merry day.
Little did I know then that this experience would prove to be just the beginning of my battle with acne. And I’m not talking about a pimple here and there…I’m talking about real acne. Sit in your room and cry because you’re too embarrassed to be seen in public acne.
In what seemed like the span of a week, that one zit became many zits and they didn’t go away for over 1.5 years. So, what changed besides skin tone, texture, confidence, and diminished self-worth? I managed to pull myself up from the floor, go outside and visit yet another dermatologist that actually listened to me and subsequently prescribed benzoyl peroxide. This changed everything.
Fortunately, I discovered ‘Acne Free’ – a more economical and stronger version of the $300 cream the Doc prescribed very soon after, which resulted in clearer skin and $1,000’s in savings. That’s the short version of my story, which has omitted anecdotal stories chronicling what would sometimes be weeks of my life spent living in acne treatment masks and dark rooms alone, refusing to go outside or look in the mirror. Then deciding to look in the mirror for hours upon hours, criticizing each and every inch of my skin. I was so unkind to myself and going crazy.
(For transparency, I’d like to make it very clear that this was not just a one and done appointment that lead to clear skin. I saw several dermatologists, tried laser treatments, detoxes, Cetaphil, Accutane, etc.)
The most damaging thing I can recall was the long days and nights I spent hiding out in my room, face inches away from the desktop computer screen, carefully looking over celebrity skin, male and female actors and models, etc. I would question how they had such flawless skin with microscopic pores. I didn’t know how it was possible.
In hindsight, I don’t know what I would do if I was this same 19-year-old today. I scroll through my social media accounts and see nothing but perfect skin and bright white teeth. With social media of today, we put so much more of ourselves out in public – and be honest – we’re all judging every. Single. Image. We see. I may not be a model, but you better believe I have one or two tricks up my sleeve to make my skin appear a bit smoother on my Instagram account than it is in real life, a trick to hide that stray hair…we all do, and you’re either lying or in the minority if you don’t.
We’ve become so scared as to how people view us, that it has become so rare to see people celebrate themselves for who they are, as they are.
That’s why I love Sofia Grahn. Once I discovered Sofia’s Insta account, my 19-year-old-self jumped for joy (but, in truth, only after a moment of silence in recognition of the years of pain I endured suffering in silence in my room and head).
When I saw Sofia’s blemished skin, unedited, free from layers of makeup and multiple filters, it was a breath of fresh air. Rarely have I actually found someone online that I identified with and admired. It’s hard these days to find someone that really puts it all out there in this authentic fashion, showing all faces to life, not just the pixel-perfect version of ourselves.
And bravo to her. We’re the social media generation that put our lives out there for strangers to view, comment, judge….
Life is not perfect. And neither is your skin. So, when you need to find strength, bravery, and beauty look no further than Sofia.
With Instagram’s latest move to censor and limit the viability of photoshopped images, we hope to see many more REAL influencers like Sofia on The Gram.. and other platforms.
