I have a small constellation of very obstinate black spots on my face. An Orion’s belt of dead skin, blackheads and pustules. It has never really bothered me that much, but on multiple occasions, it has acted as an unfortunate conversation starter. Usually with the ladies, and not in a way that ends with us comparing skincare routines over drinks.
One such lady stared at me for a full five minutes, and, while I was scrambling to come up with a pick-up line, informed me that I needed to exfoliate, scrub and cleanse. And then she started talking about moisture and massages. Long story short, contacts were not exchanged— neither was anything else.