Aging gracefully is so twentieth century.
There may be a legitimate use for Botox. Perhaps it can aid an idealistic district attorney who was horribly disfigured by toxic chemicals. Other than that, it seems to make people look like they just got beat across the face with a bag of sweet Valencia oranges.
Hey, nobody likes wrinkles - except geriatric porn fetishists - but are wrinkles so bad that you want to become a swollen-faced freak?
For the extremely vain, haven't we tortured enough rabbits to come up with a decent concealer? For example, if a few gray hairs really bothered me, I could either touch them up with something like Just For Men (the concealer route) or shave my head and wear an outrageously bogus looking toupee (the Botox route). It doesn't seem like that tough a decision. I do neither, because three or four gray hairs is the least of my problems, but I'll save that for another post.
About five years ago my brother and I were at a local casino in Las Vegas playing the Wheel of Fortune quarter slots (we are big time gamblers!). In my periphery I could see the quintessential Vegas "old broad" heading our way. She had skin like saddle leather, a Botoxed face with the requisite bee-stung lips, GIGANTIC fake breasts, and held a cigarette in one hand and a gin martini in the other. She may have been quite the showgirl back in her day, but by 2005 she was a walking cautionary tale.
As she approached, we hit a minor "jackpot" on the slot machine; and I mean minor as in a few dollars. The woman stopped, looked at us, and said in a voice that suggested she gargled with molten lava, "Everybody wins when April Diamond walks by."
And she was right. We were the big winners. We were the big winners in the casino that night. That is unintentional comedy gold for the win.