No need to look old no matter what age

Written by Joe Pisani
Wednesday, 15 February 2012 00:00

For the first time in my life, I went to a dermatologist. Next week, I’ll be bungee jumping.

I always thought the dermatologist was a doctor for celebrities, vain women and kids with pimple problems. My wife and daughters go more often than I change my car oil.

Growing up in Pine Rock Park, we were too poor for dermatologists, so my mother bought me a tube of Clearasil to treat my zit collection. Actually, she bought a case of Clearasil that lasted well into my 30s, and there still are some half-empty tubes in the medicine cabinet.

At this stage in life, going to the dermatologist was like bringing my car in for a 25,000-mile checkup at 125,000 miles and getting a new paint job.

During my annual physical, my “PCP” — I know all the insider jargon — examined my hair-deprived head, which is the politically correct term for “bald,” and spotted some stuff that resembled alligator skin. He got a serious expression on his face and said I needed to have the stuff “looked at.”

Generally, I ignore this kind of advice to do my part in controlling healthcare costs; however, I didn’t want to end up like some bald guys who have strange colors all over their heads, so I made an appointment with the dermatologist where one of my daughters gets Botox for wrinkles on her earlobes. Botox is bigger than Victoria’s Secret with young women.

When I got to the office, the guy suddenly pulled out a gadget that looked like he was going to mix frozen daiquiris on my head and started blasting away with liquid nitrogen until it felt like Cold Stone Creamery up there. The nitrogen freezes and destroys superficial skin problems, he explained.

When he finished, he advised me to start wearing one off those wide-brimmed plantation hats and put sunscreen on every day, and then he sent me across the hall to the skilled technician, who does microdermabrasion, Botox and laser treatment.

After putting on a pair of biker sunglasses, she pulled out her laser gun and started shooting at capillaries that had gotten out of control, which happens when you age. Even though she said no one would notice, when I got to work, someone asked if I fell off a barstool.

She also wanted to give me a little Botox to get rid of the wrinkles that appear when I furrow my brow, which I apparently do a lot.

“See,” she said. “You did it three times in 50 seconds!”

I turned down her offer but promised never to furrow my brow again. I’ve always believed wrinkles and cats’ paws or crows’ feet, or whatever they call those things, are a sign of manhood and maturity. Can you imagine Clint Eastwood getting Botox? He’d have the body of an 80-year-old with the face of the Gerber baby.

Nevertheless, I was so impressed by my visit to the dermatologist that I plan to return as soon as I can save up the money. I’m on the road to a more youthful look. In fact, I feel younger already ... by about 72 hours.

Joe Pisani can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .