When I was 25, I got acne.
Up until then, I hadn’t been troubled by spots, bar the odd monthly hormonal breakout. I thought I’d escaped the fate that had plagued so many of my friends. But I hadn’t. I’d merely delayed it.
And so began an obsession with skincare, a quest to ‘find a cure’ and ditch the zits. In short, I chucked everything at my face.
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