Last week, I paid $70 to re-up on my favorite toner and facial moisturizer, an expense that I’ve always deemed entirely worth it (and honestly, a lot of you guys are paying a lot more for skin care products.) As anyone who has ever suffered the unbearable hell of problematic skin can confirm, there is no price too high for attaining the calm confidence that comes from having your face game under control. Like, it can literally change your life. So I’ve always considered paying for the good goopy shit to be a legit self-care investment.
That is, until this beautiful fountain of cerulean-swathed wisdom changed my world: I’ve been paying all this money for products when GOD’S SKIN CARE has been living in my boyfriend’s balls this whole time? (Question: Does jizz lose it’s magical skin-fixing potency if you scoop it out of a condom, or does it need to be, like, a “farm-to-table” situation?)
Side note: I feel like when Stella Ravioli says, “All you need for this therapy…is a lover. So if you don’t have one, you know what to do”, she is vastly overestimating our collective ability to get laid. We don’t know what to do, Stella. We do not. But judging by Stella’s unstoppable glamour, she knows a lot of things that we basic babies do not. I’m inclined to listen to anything she tells me about how to be beautiful.