#Unsettled

I finally broke down and joined TikTok. Now, I find myself scrolling through a digital sea of “lotions and potions,” all promising the same thing: the preservation of collagen. It’s the Holy Grail of youth, isn’t it? We’re bombarded with ways to achieve the fountain of youth without the “nip and tuck,” the chemicals, or going under the knife.

And while I’m a 100% proponent of self-care—I’m religious about my night cream, I (mostly) wear my sunscreen, and I never miss a monthly facial—I’ve realized that the real secret to aging gracefully isn’t just found in a bottle. Sometimes, it’s found in a difficult conversation.

I am blessed to have an aesthetician who has become a close friend. She’s British, blunt, and possesses that wonderful ability to tell you the truth without making you want to crawl under the table. She is the professional “mirror” I didn’t know I needed.

I remember when I turned 40. She looked at me in her lovely accent and asked, “Love… are you wearing night cream?”

When I admitted I wasn’t, she didn’t scold me. She simply said, “It’s about time you start,” with such warmth that I went out and bought some immediately. Now, I wouldn’t dream of hitting the pillow without it.

But a couple of years ago, the conversation got a little more… intimate.

I was lying on her table, having just finished the standard eyebrow and upper lip wax (let’s be real, we all have to do it). She paused and said, “Poppet, we need to have a difficult conversation.”

My mind raced. New wrinkles? Is the eye cream failing? Is the Florida sun finally winning?

“No,” she said gently. “It’s time to start waxing your face.”

I was shocked. I’m blonde; I didn’t think I had facial hair. But as she pointed out, in the right light, that soft “peach fuzz” on the jawline can catch the sun. It’s subtle, but as we age, it becomes more noticeable.

“Take it off,” I told her, praying I wouldn’t end up having to shave like a man the next morning.

The result? I felt like I looked ten years younger. It wasn’t just the hair removal; it was a deep exfoliation that left my skin with a glow I hadn’t seen in years. It doesn’t grow back prickly or thick; it just returns as that same soft fuzz twice a year, ready for another refresh.

Since then, I’ve found myself in a bit of a dilemma. I see my friends—women I love, women who want to look their best—and I notice the peach fuzz catching the light. They don’t have a truth-teller in their corner. They don’t have someone to pull them aside and say, “Poppet, it’s time.”

It’s like stepping out of a ladies’ room with tissue stuck to your shoe. Do I tell you? Or do I let you walk around all day like that?

I’ve decided the answer is yes. I’m going to be that friend.

Maybe it’s over a second glass of wine, or maybe it’s just quietly handing over my aesthetician’s business card, but I’m going to lay it out there. Not because I’m judging, but because I’m rooting for you.

Aging intentionally means more than just buying the right cream. It means having the backs of the women around us. It means being brave enough to have the “uncomfortable” talks so we can all put our best, most glowing faces forward.

So, if I ever bring it up, please don’t be offended. Just know that I want you to look as amazing as I know you are. I’ve got your back—and your jawline, too.

Who is the “truth-teller” in your life—the person who tells you the truth even when it’s awkward? And more importantly, are you being that person for someone else?