Lately my inner vanity slut has been bitching up a storm with my outer feminist self.
You see, I'm not going to lie, I care about how I look - and being 32-years-old I'm not been super-pleased with the emergence of those little "think creases" between my eyebrows.
My feminist self is suggesting I just get used to them and wear them proudly as tokens of thinking - character badges of honor, if you will - while my inner vanity slut is screaming "thinking? you got those babies from SQUINTING ...just pump 'em full of Botox already".
Hmmm...keep the wrinkles or freeze my face?
(By the way the slowly-developing crows feet near my eyes do not bother me...I'm actually a fan of crows feet...remember crows feet around the eyes=sexy)
(By the way again, this is all hypothetical because frankly honey I do not have enough cash to satiate my inner vanity slut--that's probably why she's always so bitchy).

Slate had a good piece yesterday examining Lucky magazine's advocation of the stuff and the cultural evolution of our acceptance of - no make that demand for - saving face.

"If Botox is pretty much the gateway drug of cosmetic surgery—as Lucky put it, "somewhere between a two week spa vacation and a full face-lift"—Lucky's article is also a kind of crossover point. It symbolizes the moment when a normal, ever-so-slightly creased 30-year-old forehead threatens to become the equivalent of a run in a stocking, something anyone with a sense of style would tuck away."

Yep--pretty much sums up how I feel about it...one gets the feeling it's going to be a physical faux paus to sport any character lines at all.

So what's a self-respecting, Bust-reading, knee-high sock-wearing neo-feminist to do?
I'm still thinking...I'll get back to you on that...