Hostile Takeover: My Face Stages a Coup

WTF HAPPENED?

Four years ago, somewhere between my eighth cup of coffee and another forced team-building exercise, my boss asked us to share a family photo.

He takes one look at mine, and blurts out, "Oh, you're the oldest then!"

WTF?
I'm the youngest by three whole years!
Apparently my reflection didn't get the memo.

Is it just me, or does "aging gracefully" sound suspiciously like surrender?

Cue me staring at that photo for days, not seeing myself anymore—seeing evidence. Droopier eyelids. Deeper lines. Elevens that looked like Twelves. A stranger with my smile and a hint of Shar-Pei. (No offense to Shar-Peis—they rock their wrinkles.)

THE UNEXPECTED COUP

Did aging take over my reflection while I wasn't looking? Because if it did, it was a hostile takeover.

I was still feeling "young," while my mirror image was holding secret shareholder meetings behind my back—plotting this coup for years.

As men age, they become distinguished. Silver foxes. Seasoned with character. Gray temples = gravitas.

Women?
We get "you're beautiful… for your age."
Translation: "We've been watching this happen and didn't have the heart to tell you."

It pissed me off that time decided to skip the negotiation phase and moved straight to acquisition.

PROXY SOLICITATION

Turns out everyone had a position on my vote for this takeover.

"Get a facelift!"
"Embrace your natural beauty!"
"Try face yoga!" (Face yoga—seriously?)

And my personal favorite:
"You look great! Asians age better than us!" Really, Brenda! It's genetics and SPF — not insider trading.

The worst?
At lunch, someone said, "That's so vain of you." Then confessed,
"I've been thinking about it too."

Why do women knock each other for admitting what we're all thinking?

While everyone was prescribing either graceful acceptance or expensive facelifts, I found myself in a med-spa chair, staring at a syringe of botulism.

MY POISON PILL DEFENSIVE MEASURE

It started innocently enough — TMJ.
Actual medical reason. Dentist suggested Botox. Fine. Legit. Necessary.

Except once you're in that chair, Botox doesn't just fix jaw tension - it smooths the Elevens. Maybe those crow's feet. Possibly that forehead situation.

What started as medical migrated… everywhere.

That syringe became my poison pill against the takeover.

Then came the late-night Googling: "natural-looking enhancements," "baby Botox," even "Kris Jenner age-reverse facelift." My bathroom counter turned into a pop-up Sephora.

And yes — the contradiction is real.
I reject quick fixes for everything else in my life. Career advice?
"No thanks, I'll figure it out myself."

But aging?
Show me a serum that promises to bring back my cheekbones and I'm hitting "buy" now faster than you can say SELLOUT.

Then one expensive serum too many, it hit me — this was never about age!
Nobody warns you that one random Tuesday at a team-building event, your identity could just get taken over without warning!

Every time I book that Botox appointment, there's a split second where I think, Wait, when did I become the woman who does this?

Then I remember — I'm the woman who owns this choice. Big difference.

As Chris, my partner, pointed out, "You never needed permission before for anything! Why start now?" Such a smart man!

MY REFLECTION DIDN'T BETRAY ME

My Progress? Still getting Botox. No shame.

Lucky for me, my sorority sister owns a luxury med spa in NY — my lifeline for "natural-looking" fixes. Hey, no judgment; sharing is caring.

This isn't about turning back time or chasing perfection. It's about trying stuff without apologizing — accepting whoever's looking back and choosing the moves we make — whether that's Baby Botox, a new moisturizer, or telling the proxy solicitors to shut the f-up.

Some mornings, I see the girl I remember. Other mornings, the Shar-Pei.

Some days it's Botox, a $200 serum I'll use twice, or just washing up and moving on.

Sometimes I'm fine with her. Sometimes I'm Googling "med concierge in Korea" faster than you can say "what's that?"

Honestly? I'm still at the tip of the iceberg.
The hostile merger between past me and Today's Me hasn’t even hit litigation yet.

Shared custody of my face? Fine. But I'm keeping my voting rights.
This isn't about accepting the takeover — it's about choosing my terms!

YOUR MOVE?

There’s always a moment — one random Tuesday, in the bathroom, in the car, on that Zoom call — where you catch your reflection and think, “Wow, is it bad lighting or do I really look like that today?”

Whether you’re Team Botox, Team Serum, or Team “mind your business,” the only rule is: you get to choose your terms.

If you want the name of my med spa or just need to say “same,” drop a comment so you know you’re not the only one in negotiation.

In two weeks: Benched Me for a Rookie!
Next week is Thanksgiving weekend. I might be busy cyber shopping.

P.S. If a friend sent this to you and you thought “that’s me,” pull up a chair every Sunday by subscribing.
P.P.S. If someone popped into your head while you were reading, forward this her way.
P.P.P.S. Catching up on how I even got here?
Start with “Experience NOT Necessary: Restructured by AI” then
“Stalling in Plain Sight: Called Out by AI”