It was the shot heard round the world, thanks to Botox. In 2002, the Euro debuted, Elon Musk launched SpaceX, and Halle Berry became the first Black woman to win an Oscar for Best Actress. But I also remember it as the year the F.D.A. approved a new cosmetic injectable, a simple shot from a skinny needle that would profoundly shift how we all view aging—and how I personally assess my face to this day. As I like to say, you never forget your first prick.
At 34, I generally looked pissed off, even though my life was pretty rad. I worked as a Los Angeles–based staff writer at InStyle magazine, profiling actors and covering beauty. My chestnut hair was still as shiny as a new penny and my neck hadn’t yet collapsed like a folding chair. But two pesky etches between my eyebrows—also known as glabellar lines—gave me a perpetual scowl. Every mirror seemed to reveal a woman who’d just gotten a parking ticket. So when a dermatologist invited me to be one of her first patients to try a new miracle cure for wrinkles, I leapt quicker than a gazelle.
