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Although I love being a beauty writer, the pressure to have perfect skin 24/7, 365 days of the year, can get incredibly taxing.
For most of my life, I've been lucky. Part Asian genes, part diligent skincare routine, my skin has always been generally smooth and drama-free.
Even during my teenage years, I never had anything beyond the occasional pimple. Sounds pretty great, right?
Well, the downside of having non-problematic skin your entire life is that when something does happen, it feels like your whole world has come undone. Which is exactly what happened to me at the ripe age of 29.
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It started subtly as little bumps along my cheeks and jawline that I brushed off as clogged pores, and I thought some good AHA and BHAs would do the trick. But soon they spread to my forehead and transformed into angry, inflamed acne. Some were even full-on pustules.
It was demoralising. No, worse. Soul-crushing! Tragic! Traumatic! My confidence hit rock bottom.
I avoided all social events, dodged mirrors and bad lighting, and even refused to leave the house for two months straight. Yes, MONTHS! My days became an exhausting cycle of over-exfoliating, picking, crying and making my skin even angrier.
In desperation, I visited countless GPs. Each one had a different theory, from stress, to hormones, gut issues and allergies. One even told me I had PCOS… without running a single test. (Spoiler: proper labs confirmed I definitely did not.)
I tried every cream, gel and pill these GPs threw at me, but nothing worked, and some treatments even made my skin worse.
OK, you're probably wondering why I didn't just go and see a dermatologist. Trust me — I tried.
Waitlists in Sydney were months long, and when I finally did get in to see one, the advice I got was to use Proactiv, take (more) medication and apply a certain expensive cream that "might make me purge." Not exactly reassuring, if you ask me.
My skin experiencing adult acne flare. Image: Adore Beauty/Supplied.





























