Hello, Darling.

We finally meet. Ironic, I know, since for years, you’ve claimed to slather me all over your fifty-year-old face three times a day. Please be gentle with me during this commercial shoot, and try to keep yourself from laughing. Because you and I both know the truth.  

Even I’ve seen thirty years of pictures of you sunning your face in Cabo sans sunscreen, drinking like a lush at every industry party, snorting coke in bathrooms, and exhaling cigarette smoke from your lungs like exhaust emitting from a diesel-powered truck. How the heck do consumers honestly believe that all that hard living didn’t damage your skin, and that me, a $9.99 cream, is the reason you look twenty years younger than your actual age?

Even a face cream without a brain isn’t that dumb.

For one, your cheeks look like you’re storing nuts for the winter. Eyebrows are meant to move, not stand still like tree stumps. And I’ve seen canvases with less paint than your face.

Oh my God. Did you really just tell the camera that looking young only takes two minutes? I’m pretty sure it took more than two minutes to get your recent surgery in France. Did you forget? You accidentally left me in your bag when you snuck into that French dermatologist’s office, and reemerged ten hours later looking like a mummy.

And I can’t believe you’re still going around raving about ceramides, peptides, Vitamin A, and Shea Butter. If only it were that simple. Unless all those ingredients can take the place of Botox and chemical peels, people are better off rubbing tap water on their faces than me.

What did you tell that Vogue journalist? That your beautiful skin is from drinking plenty of water? Please. The only thing I’ve seen you drink ‘plenty of’ is wine, and I’ve been in the bottom of your bag for over a year.

Why am I doing this, you ask? Although I’ve recently made Allure’s best face moisturizers under $10 list thanks to you, I want more. More glamour. More prestige. More fame. My dream is to star in a midnight infomercial with Cher.

To make this happen, I need your help. For one, I need a better container. Wouldn’t I look good in glass with a gold lid? So beautiful. Second, I’d like to cost more than $9.99. To get an infomercial, I’ll need to be at least $29.99 a month. While you’re at it, can you whip me around a bit? The whipped cream look is uber sexy these days. Maybe then I’ll be beautiful enough to gift me to your girlfriends.

So, what will it be, Starlet? Tabloid fodder or fame for your favorite face cream? I’ll be waiting. You know where to find me.