fruitybeauty

When Botox and sweat glands collide.

This man is not Boyfriend. This is Random Man.

But like Random Man, Boyfriend had a serious sweating issue.
Every time he got nervous, gosh, them pits would POUR.

So there he is right, ready to go out, all styled up, wearing expensive clothes made by our Italian friends, shiny shoes with boxy toes, looking slicker than a rat with a gold tooth.

Just before he pulls up to the party/wedding/bar, the patches would appear. By the time he'd walk inside, nervous and anxious because crowds can do that to people sometimes, they'd be dotting up the middle of his back; they'd be centre stage on his chest, but mostly, they'd be under the arms. Pools of dark damp, ruining the shirt and effectively his evening.

He took to standing in corners.

He wore certain colours and prints (not Hawaiian, thank you) that he knew wouldn't show the sweat patches so much.

He'd go to the bathroom and stand in a toilet with folded toilet paper under each arm telling his sweat glands to pull their head in so he could enjoy his night.

But it didn't matter. The boy would still sweat.

"Should get some Botox in your pits" I said nonchalantly one day as I ate a sandwich and he explained his ongoing saga.

"Why? Botox why?" His voice was irritable, his eyes hopeless and disbelieving.

"Cause it blocks the sweat glands from producing sweat. I know people that get it on their palms, too. Can you please pass the juice?"

"What do you mean it stops the sweat glands?" His eyes were crazed, his voice was sharp, and I was getting thirstier by the second.

"I mean what I said. You should get it. Costs nearly a grand, but I think it lasts nearly a year. Juice please?"

"So they insert needles of Botox under my arms, and I simply don't sweat anymore? Really?"

"YES. JUICE. NOW."

And off he went to The Clinic in Bondi Junction. And they shaved under his arms and put in lots and lots of needles (which is why it cost $900) and he stopped sweating under there. And that was two years ago. (He goes back about every 10 months for more.) And now he never ever sweats and can wear even grey t-shirts on the hottest of days without a slither of fear.

He said I could write "It literally changed my life" but I said don't be lame, that's so Good Morning Australia.

Not paid enough.

To deal with THIS.

Buff dudes in snug-fitting t-shirts delivering fun new shades of Nivea care gloss and shine and cupcakes and jelly beans to my desk.

Honestly. Do I seem that easily won over?
(Hint: Yes. In fact, they even could've left out the jelly beans. And the guy doing the "crazy" thumb business.)




Surprising fact: These men are all actually women.
Less surprising fact: I lie about gender sometimes.
Moderately surprising fact: I had muesli for lunch.

Man-scara

So, what do we think about Man-scara?

Now, we mustn't make sweeping comments about how "totally fine it is for a man to wear whatever makeup he chooses", unless we are prepared to have said cosmetic crusader pick us up from work, or meet our parents, or our best friend wearing said makeup.

I can probably cope with some eyeliner on a dude.  (Unless he was a chartered accountant. In which case he should stick to shadow.) Maybe even some black nail polish, if he was, like, the lead singer of The Headless Turtles, or just, you know,  stupidly good-looking and could wear a slice of tasty chedder and a glove and still look hot.

Bronzer? Hmm... Concealer? If done well. Lip gloss? Balm only.

As for mascara... I think for fruity it would be a little strange to have your boy reach over and grab your Great Lash every morning.

But maybe that's because my reference for guys wearing makeup are this:

And this:



And this.