Everything That's In My Face

If you could tell I'd had any of this done, we wouldn't call it Resting Rich Face. We'd call it Cheating Cheap Face.

It started, as many things do, with a nose.

I was 18, almost 19, and the slight over bulbousness of the tip of my nose always bothered me. Nothing dramatic, nothing anyone else would have noticed, but I noticed. So I found a surgeon on New York’s plastic surgery row — a strip of blocks on the Upper East Side along Park and 5th avenues between the 60s and 80s — who had, among his distinctions, performed work on a certain former First Lady. If you’re going to let someone touch your nose at 18, that is the resume you want (or so I thought, but that’s another story for another day). He made a small, precise adjustment. No one noticed much of a difference, but I did. Good nose jobs are supposed to be discreet. I still think he could have done a little more.

For the next five years it was me and mainly what The Cut called, Jesus in a Bottle. Biologique Recherche’s infamous P50 1970 with phenol, a substance that has been banned in the EU for over a decade but was readily available at top spas in the U.S. until the brand finally, and quietly, announced that they were phasing out the formulation in early 2025. (They have about 7 other versions, you can still find one you’ll like). No one really know why P50 1970 worked so well, but it did, tackling wrinkles, acne, hyperpigmentation and depression. The skincare community on social media mourned loudly, but I was fine. I had long since moved on to Eighth Day Skin, Dr. Barbara Sturm, and every other skincare product and brand imaginable delivered daily to my office or home by publicists. Plus, if you’re ambitious and brave, you can probably still find some on eBay.

This sufficed in keeping the “moon face” — think round, chunky but incredibly smooth — as my Oma (that’s grandma in Dutch, my family is from Suriname) had lovingly dubbed it as I was growing up, pretty glowy and perfect. And at 27 when I started working at WSJ. Magazine, The Wall Street Journal’s monthly fashion and luxury magazine, I added two more things: Prescription 0.1% Tretinoin and daily sunscreen (like for real, not a moisturizer with SPF 15). These two things, more than anything, are why I still look 27. See tret is like a vampire, whatever age you start it, you’ll always look that age. And don’t you dare tell me you can’t tolerate it, grow up, or just ask your doctor for Altreno or Arazalo. (Pro tip: Always say it’s for acne, not anti-aging, and most insurances will cover it. You’ll only pay your co-pay, which for me has always been anywhere from $0-50 for most effective skincare product you’ll ever encounter.)

The derm who said no.

Then the day after my 29th birthday, I made an appointment with THE dermatologist on the Upper East Side. The derm of the mid-2010s. I was at Teen Vogue, which is owned by Conde Nast, think The Devil Wears Prada and I wanted preventative Botox.

Once I was finished with my spiel about wanting to maintain and not be frozen, she stared at me and asked: “Do you want children?” I was taken aback, but said, yes and explained not now because my husband was in a math PhD program in another state, and she responded, “So? I had my first child when my husband and I were both in professional school. They don’t help. You’re pregnant by yourself.”

Then she said something to the effect of, I suggest you worry less about the wrinkles on your face and more about the ones on your eggs. She finished, “If you want more than one child you better start now.” A year later my first child, a son, Harrison was born. The OB I first saw in Tribeca asked whether the pregnancy had been planned. I was his youngest patient ever. So am I old or am I young? I remain unsure.

But it wasn’t until after the birth of my second child, Scarlett, a month into lockdown, that the real glow up began.

The list

First it was Invisalign accelerated by a new treatment called “Propel” that cuts treatment time by 75%, courtesy of Dr. Brigid Glazarov (212.518.3815) for my pretty wide top row gap. (No, I did not look like Lauren Hutton.) Did you know that when you close a gap in your top front teeth it also changes how your face falls? The full moon was becoming a three-quarter one. Then it was the brows, microbladed, courtesy of Piret, aka The Eyebrow Doctor (she’s too cool for a number, but you can reach out here). I went from pencil thin, arched semicircles to rivaling Brooke Shields. Then Dr. Jennifer Levine (212.517.9400) stepped in where the first fertility derm wouldn’t. Cheek filler for under-eye circles. My face was now a half moon and I looked less tired.

Then Peachy (917.694.8623) called. Dr. Treasure’s Botox-only clinic that now has 14 locations across the U.S. and charges a flat $425 for a full face and a complimentary top off two weeks later. (Not ready for needles? This serum is a pretty good dupe.) I don’t really go for the wrinkles — people have wrinkles, we’ve all been through things — I go for the lift. Injected correctly, with the right product — ask for the Botox brand — it lifts the brows, opens the eyes, creates the glass-skin finish everyone on Instagram claims you can achieve through a ShopMy link. You cannot. They all have Botox. It’s not magic. It’s physics: If you have no wrinkles, your face is smooth, the light will reflect and you get glass skin. Now you know.

I go every three to six months, minus the 10 I was pregnant with Sloane, my third. (Yes, pregnancy is 10 months, not nine, now you know that too.)

The Paris chapter.

When I was editor-in-chief of Popsugar, I traveled with Chanel to Paris and brought my mom and Scarlett, then two and a half, and found Delphine Courteille (+33 1 47 03 35 35) — the nation’s top celebrity hair stylist who only charges 250 euros for one of her famous cuts. Salaries in Europe are simply structured differently. I now fly to Paris two to three times a year exclusively for her. I don’t even permit trims outside of her hands. (OK, that’s a lie, because I’m about to kick off a major renovation and because work has been insane lately, I let my colorist trim my hair lately, and she did an amazing job.)

To the neighbor who asked whether my parents fund these trips: it is cheaper than Disney. Please calm down.

Eventually the inevitable hit me: if the haircuts are this economical, what about everything else? Dr. Ganem (+33 1 40 50 88 62) in Paris’ 16th arr. charges 400 euros for a full face of filler. Again, you’re welcome.

The Nose, Part II

Soon after I left Popsugar, Dr. Lara Devgan (212.452.2400), who had been documenting her liquid face nose jobs and balancing techniques on Instagram invited me in for a podcast. When we wrapped, I hinted and then begged for her to perform a liquid nose job on me. (I was already a huge fan of her product line, which she supplies to me for free and actually works.) She looked at my face and said: yes, but your cheeks and chin need attention too. Balance.

I have never looked better than for the next eight months. Everyone asked what happened. No one could tell exactly what. My face was just more balanced. I did my nose again a year later, and now almost three years on, the results remain. That nose — never quite good enough — is finally perfect by my standards. The only ones that matter.

My latest practitioner, Dr. Jimmy Sung at Tribeca Aesthetics (212.452.2800), suggested a fat graft as a permanent alternative. (Stay tuned, he’s going to be RRF’s first podcast guest.) He goes to Korea regularly and is often the first to get all of the latest treatments and techniques from there. I don’t currently have the patience or the capital, but I’m thinking about it. One of my most impactful recent treatments: Superjection at Beauon k (347.368.4742) in Flushing, N.Y. — a type of microneedling that’s huge in Korea right now. (Can’t make it to flushing? Try this cream from the makers of the needle version and it’s amazing.)

Oh, and if you don’t know you need to get regular microneedling to maintain your collagen and everything else on your face. (Start with three sessions every month, and then maintain with quarterly sessions.) I’m still hoping I get to go to see Christina Ramsey (310.400.6024) at Contrapposto Clinics in Los Angeles too for her microneedling. Emily Sundberg from Feed Me, is a fan, so naturally so am I. And, my little cousin, Sabrina Barrow, is a derm PA in Los Angeles and she too did a fabulous microneedling session with Benev exosomes on me last fall — the glow, y’all.

But I digress. Back to Dr. Sung. He’s doing a series of Pico, Potenza and SoftWave treatments to tackle some really stubborn hyperpigmentation after a vicious acne outbreak last summer that just won’t stop, despite the Winlevi, Onexton and ClearStem resolving about 80% of it. (Should I micro-dose Accutane like all the celebs? Lmk your thoughts.)

I’m also onto a series of three PRP (they spin your own blood in a centrifuge and then inject it back into your face) and PFRM sessions alternated at OVME in Darien (475.277.6863) for under eye circles and skin integrity. Happy to report that three weeks post my first session, my skin has never been glowier, even if it has to fight through the fog of the hyperpigmentation. Plus, I’m so relieved to have finally found an injector I can trust in Fairfield county. Once that’s done, we’re doing Sculptra. I’m nearly 40 ladies.

That’s the whole game.

When people who haven’t seen me since before Scarlett was born— before the glow up, before the endless maintenance, they always stop and stutter a little in their tracks. Wow. You look really, really good, they say. Then they pause. I pause with them, daring them to ask. They never do. Too unsure. And that’s exactly what you want.

You don’t want to look younger or more beautiful. You want to look like the best version of you — so seamlessly yourself that no one can put their finger on why. That’s what makes a doctor worth it.

So here’s what I want you to take from all of this. Not the specific products or the specific doctors — though I’ve shared all of their phone numbers and I’ll be launching a directory soon, organized by city and services, à laAllure in the ‘90s — but, BUT that none of all this work is visible. I just look better.

The nose at eighteen. The illegal toner. The SPF. The tret. The filler. The Botox. The lasers and the PRP. Services in Paris. The liquid nose, chin and cheek job. None of it announces itself.

That’s restraint.

That’s taste.

That’s knowing when to stop. My beloved Oma once lovingly told me I had a moon face. So what. I used it as the blueprint.

— Sade