Which image would you choose? A or B

.

.

.

let me guess you chose A.. perhaps some chose B

But majority of people would have chosen Face A, and the reason is surprisingly interesting.

Yes, it’s an attractive face but your brain doesn’t notice wrinkles first.

It notices facial structure.

Within milliseconds of seeing a face, your brain is already assessing facial projection, cheekbone definition, lip volume, jawline, and how balanced or symmetrical the features are. These are the visual cues that have long been associated with youth, health, and attractiveness, and they’re what create a powerful first impression.

Only after your brain has processed the overall architecture of the face does it begin to notice finer details like wrinkles, pigmentation, pores, or skin texture.

This is one of the biggest misconceptions in aesthetics. Many people believe that wrinkles are the primary sign of ageing. In reality, one of the earliest and most significant changes is volume loss. As we age, the fat pads beneath the skin shrink and shift, bone structure gradually changes, and facial ligaments loosen. The result is a flatter mid-face, less support around the mouth, and a loss of the youthful contours that our brains instinctively associate with attractiveness.

That’s why someone with a few wrinkles but strong facial structure can often appear younger and more attractive than someone with perfectly smooth skin but significant volume loss.

Beautiful skin certainly matters however its the framework beneath it matters even more. The face is like a house: you can repaint the walls, but if the foundation begins to sink, it’s the structure that changes the entire appearance.

It’s not the fine lines, wrinkles, or uneven skin texture that your brain notices first, it’s the structure of the face.

And that’s what makes understanding ageing so important.

Ageing isn’t just about wrinkles. It’s about the gradual loss of facial support, volume, and definition. As these changes occur, the face loses the contours that our brains naturally associate with youth.

Wrinkles are simply one part of the ageing process. Structure is what your brain notices first.

As we get older, we don’t just develop wrinkles. Beneath the surface, we gradually lose facial fat, bone support, lip volume, and jawline definition.

The structure of the face changes first, and the skin follows. As that underlying support diminishes, the skin has less scaffolding to rest on, leading to fine lines, wrinkles, sagging, and hollowing in certain areas.

Ageing isn’t just a skin-deep process it’s a structural one.

That’s why treating facial ageing with skin treatments alone often misses the bigger picture.

Peels, lasers, and skincare are excellent for improving the surface of the skin, they can soften pigmentation, refine texture, and stimulate collagen. But they can’t replace the structural support that’s gradually being lost beneath the surface.

As the underlying foundation continues to change, the skin above it will continue to change too.

Real facial rejuvenation doesn’t start with the skin it starts with understanding the structure underneath.

So, which face did you choose?

If you picked Face A, you weren’t simply choosing smoother skin—you were responding to facial structure.

Our brains are remarkably good at recognising the subtle features that signal youth: balanced proportions, healthy facial volume, and strong structural support. Wrinkles certainly play a role, but they aren’t the first thing we notice.

The next time you look in the mirror, remember that ageing is more than skin deep. Beautiful skin matters, but it’s only one piece of the puzzle. The true foundation of a youthful face lies beneath the surface.

Understanding that difference changes the way we think about ageing—and, perhaps, the way we choose to treat it.

also, credit to Dr.Rajanimdskincare for images.

Ardor x

Sometimes I question this generation, and at times I’m not surprised.

This fond memory came back to me recently while I was sharing stories with my fellow students during my training.

The experience happened in the early days of my career when I worked at a prestigious doctor’s clinic. I was waiting in the reception area with the receptionist for my next client to arrive when, to my surprise, a fresh-faced young woman walked in with her boyfriend. Both appeared to be barely out of high school around 18 years old, which is the legal age consent for cosmetic injectable treatments.

I welcomed them into my treatment room. My first thought was immediate: she doesn’t need anything done.

She sat on the treatment bed while her boyfriend took a seat on the waiting chair. She was youthful and naturally beautiful, with dark features, neatly styled hair, almond-shaped eyes, full cheeks, and hydrated lips. There was nothing that stood out as needing correction or enhancement.

I asked her what had brought her in that day.

She smiled. An Asian girl with braces on her teeth, she answered confidently, “I want my lips to be bigger.”

I was dumbfounded.

Her lips already looked full. How much bigger could she possibly want them? Any additional volume would begin to look disproportionate to the rest of her features.

She went on to explain that she had already had 1ml of filler previously and wanted more.

Her boyfriend sat quietly in the corner behind me, smiling politely but somewhat awkwardly. Looking back, it almost seemed as though he didn’t want her to have the treatment at all. There was something in his expression that suggested he thought she looked perfect exactly as she was.

I turned back to her and said, “Sure, but you really don’t need it.”

She didn’t like that answer.

“I want another 1ml. I feel like they’re too small now.”

I found myself at a crossroads. She was becoming increasingly frustrated each time I told her that she didn’t need more filler, while her boyfriend’s eyes seemed to be silently pleading with me from across the room. At the end of the day, she was determined to proceed. After discussing the treatment and ensuring she understood the risks, she signed the consent forms.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

As I began the procedure, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t need a full 1ml. Her lips already had good volume and balance. I ended up using only a small amount, strategically placing a few injections where I felt there was room for subtle improvement.

Part of me knew that the inevitable swelling would make the result appear much fuller in the coming days. Combined with the small amount of product I had placed, she would likely feel she had achieved the look she was after without becoming overfilled.

Sometimes in cosmetic medicine, the challenge isn’t creating volume, it’s knowing when enough is enough.

I discarded the remainder of the filler.

I felt awful and relieved at the same time. Awful because I wasn’t being entirely transparent about how much product I had used, but relieved because I genuinely believed a full 1ml would have been too much for her face. Sometimes, especially with young clients, perception can be more powerful than reality. If she believed she had received the result she wanted, perhaps that was enough.

The moment I handed her the mirror, her face lit up.

She was ecstatic.

Her smile stretched from ear to ear as she admired her reflection. Across the room, her boyfriend finally uncrossed his arms and walked over to her. As she angled her face from side to side, posing in front of the mirror that faced toward the reception area, he appeared relieved.

Happy, even.

But there was still a faint glimmer in his expression that seemed to ask me, Why did you do that to her?

Guilty.

We walked out to reception for payment. I began explaining the aftercare instructions, reminding her about swelling, bruising, and what to expect over the next few days.

She didn’t hear a word.

She was already on her phone, taking selfies, recording videos, and inspecting her lips from every possible angle.

When it came time to pay, the receptionist smiled and said, “The total today is $600.”

Holding the EFTPOS machine out, she pointed it towards the client.

The young woman didn’t move a muscle.

She slowly lowered her phone and simply looked at her boyfriend.

I remember standing there, amazed.

Surely not, I thought.

Surely he’s not going to pay for this.

And then, without hesitation, he reached for his wallet.

And he did.

He pulled out a worn black Velcro wallet and slowly reached for his credit card.

I still remember the look in his eyes.

It wasn’t excitement. It wasn’t enthusiasm. It wasn’t the expression of someone happily treating his girlfriend.

It looked more like resignation.

She stood there staring at him, almost expectantly, as though the outcome had already been decided. There was no discussion about who was paying. No offer to contribute. No hesitation.

Just an unspoken expectation that he would cover the bill.

And he did.

My heart broke for the young man.

There was something uncomfortable about watching someone feel obligated to pay for something they clearly didn’t seem enthusiastic about especially at 18 years old. An age when most people are working casual jobs, studying, saving what little money they have, and trying to figure out who they are.

Perhaps I was reading too much into the situation. Perhaps he genuinely wanted to pay. But standing there, it didn’t feel that way.

What struck me most wasn’t the payment itself. It was what it represented. Here was a young woman, only 18 years old, already convinced that naturally full lips weren’t enough. Already chasing a beauty standard that social media had convinced her she needed. And here was a young man seemingly willing to sacrifice his own comfort to keep her happy.

It made me ache for this generation.

A generation more connected than any before it, yet often more disconnected from themselves. A generation raised on filters, comparison, validation, and impossible standards. At 18 years old, she was already sitting in a cosmetic clinic asking for more filler when she didn’t need it.

And he was standing beside her, paying for it.

Part of me wanted to take the EFTPOS machine from his hand and place it in hers.

You want it?

You pay for it.

Don’t expect an 18-year-old boy to fund insecurities that never should have existed in the first place.

And that is another problem.

This generation seems to be growing up far too fast.

At 18 years old, many young people already carry the beauty standards, insecurities, and pressures that I would normally expect to see in women in their late twenties or thirties. Throughout my career, I have witnessed countless examples of adults chasing perfection, obsessing over tiny flaws, and seeking treatments they simply didn’t need.

But watching it unfold in someone so young felt different.

It was heartbreaking.

Maybe he had been saving that money for something else. Maybe it represented weeks of work, long shifts, and sacrificed weekends. Instead, it was spent on a treatment for someone who, from my perspective, didn’t seem to appreciate either the gesture or the cost behind it. I never saw that client again.

Happily, I might add.

But the experience taught me a valuable lesson.

When I was 18, cosmetic procedures weren’t even on my radar. I certainly wasn’t thinking about lip filler, and I never would have expected a boyfriend to pay for it. Perhaps that comes from growing up in a different era, where I was taught to earn my own money and take responsibility for my own wants.

Maybe that sounds old-fashioned.

But after years of observing clients, trends, and the changing face of beauty, I often find myself questioning where society is heading.

Not because young people care about their appearance we all do to some extent,

but because so many seem to be carrying an overwhelming pressure to look perfect before they’ve even had a chance to discover who they are.

What I have noticed over the years is that the clients most focused on themselves are often the least happy. The more someone seeks validation from their appearance, the more likely there is an underlying dissatisfaction that no amount of filler, Botox, skincare, or cosmetic treatments can truly fix.

Cosmetic treatments can enhance confidence, but they cannot create self-worth.

That has to come from somewhere deeper.

As I watched that young man hand over his card, I couldn’t stop thinking about the hours he may have worked to earn that money. Perhaps he was stacking shelves, flipping burgers at McDonald’s, studying during the day and working at night, simply trying to make his girlfriend happy.

And yet nobody seemed to stop and ask whether he could afford it, whether he wanted to pay for it, or whether it was even necessary in the first place. Maybe that’s what stayed with me all these years later. Not the filler. Not the treatment.Not even the client.

It was the reminder that in today’s world, effort often goes unnoticed. We admire the result but rarely appreciate the sacrifice behind it. We celebrate the bigger lips, the filtered photos, and the perfect selfies, yet overlook the hard work, money, and emotional cost that may have gone into achieving them.

And perhaps that’s the saddest part of all.

There’s a difference between beauty standards and being manipulated, and to me this felt like a clear example of the latter.

Perhaps I was only witnessing a brief moment in their relationship. Perhaps there was more to the story than I could see. But it left an impression on me nonetheless.

I often find myself wondering where this generation is heading and whether we’ll ever return to the idea that less can be more. In a world of filters, fillers, and constant comparison, sometimes the most beautiful thing a person can have is the confidence to leave themselves alone.

Maybe that’s just the cosmetic nurse in me talking.

Or maybe it’s simply what years of watching people chase perfection has taught me.

Either way, for now, I’ll keep writing my stories.

Love,

Your Friend

I figured it would be easier to put together one protocol covering all the treatments you should be investing in (and yes, it includes injecting) during winter. Part two — the summer edition — is coming later. But honestly, the colder months are when you should be doing the majority of the work.

If you don’t know yet, I’m based in Sydney, and right now we’re in the middle of winter. I’ve seen — and had done on myself — every one of these treatments this season, specifically so my skin has time to heal, absorb, and glow before summer. Here are a list and a timeframe when you should be starting to invest in your skincare journey.

Here’s what’s best done during winter:

Weeks 1-2 RESET + EXFOLIATE

• Skin needling / Microneedling

  How it works: Fine needles create controlled micro-injuries in the skin, triggering your body’s wound-healing response, which means new collagen and elastin production. It also improves how well your skin absorbs active ingredients afterward, since those tiny channels let product penetrate deeper.
  Who it’s suitable for: Almost everyone, which is part of why it’s a great starting point. Particularly good for acne scarring, enlarged pores, fine lines, and overall texture. Not ideal for anyone with active acne breakouts, rosacea flares, or a history of keloid scarring — those cases need a modified approach.

• Dermaplaning

  How it works: A blade is used to manually exfoliate the top layer of dead skin cells while also removing vellus hair (peach fuzz). This instantly smooths texture and, because there’s no more fine hair or dead skin in the way, allows skincare products and subsequent treatments to absorb more effectively.
  Who it’s suitable for: Almost everyone it’s one of the lowest-risk treatments on this list, with zero downtime. Not recommended for anyone with active acne, since the blade can spread bacteria across the skin. A great “in-between” treatment to slot in when skin needs a reset but isn’t due for anything more intensive.

Week 2-5 RESURFACE + TREAT PIGMENTATION

• IPL laser (Intense Pulsed Light)

  How it works: IPL uses broad-spectrum light that targets pigment in the skin — sun spots, redness, broken capillaries — and breaks it down so the body clears it away. It’s not a single wavelength like a true laser, which is why it can treat multiple concerns in one pass.
  Who it’s suitable for: People with sun damage, pigmentation, or redness who have lighter to medium skin tones. IPL isn’t recommended for darker skin tones (Fitzpatrick IV–VI 4-6) because it can’t distinguish between target pigment and melanin in the skin itself, risking burns or pigment changes. This is also why winter timing matters so much — any sun exposure post-treatment increases the risk of rebound pigmentation.

• Chemical peels

  How it works: These use acid solutions to remove damaged outer layers of skin, triggering faster cell turnover and revealing fresher skin underneath. Medium-depth peels go further than a surface-level glow peel, meaning more visible peeling and a longer recovery, but also more noticeable results for texture and pigmentation.
  Who it’s suitable for: People with sun damage, pigmentation, or textural concerns who can handle several days of visible peeling. This is very much a winter-only treatment — freshly peeled skin has almost no barrier protection and burns easily, so sun exposure afterward can undo the results or cause worse pigmentation than you started with.

• Fractional CO2 or erbium resurfacing laser

  How it works: These lasers create a grid of microscopic injury columns deep into the skin, leaving surrounding tissue untouched to speed healing. The controlled damage triggers a strong collagen response and resurfaces the treated areas, making it one of the more dramatic texture treatments available.
  Who it’s suitable for: People with deeper texture concerns — acne scarring, more significant fine lines, or sun damage — who are prepared for several days of redness and peeling. This is the treatment where winter timing isn’t just preferable, it’s essentially required, since UV exposure on newly resurfaced skin carries real risk of scarring or pigment changes.

Week 5-7 TIGHTEN + LIFT

• HIFU (High-Intensity Focused Ultrasound)

  How it works: HIFU delivers focused ultrasound energy beneath the skin’s surface, down to the same depth a surgical facelift would target. That heat triggers new collagen production over the following months, gradually tightening and lifting.
  Who it’s suitable for: People starting to notice mild to moderate sagging, particularly around the jawline, neck, and brow, who aren’t ready for (or don’t want) surgery. It’s not a replacement for a facelift in cases of significant laxity, and results build gradually rather than immediately.

Month 2+ BUILD LONG TERM COLLAGEN

• Sculptra- biostmulator for collagen building

  How it works: Sculptra is a biostimulator, not a filler. It’s made of poly-L-lactic acid, which stimulates your own fibroblasts to produce collagen over time. Results build slowly over 2–3 months as the collagen forms, rather than showing up immediately like traditional filler.
  Who it’s suitable for: People dealing with overall volume loss and thinning skin rather than one specific wrinkle or fold. Because of the delayed timeline, it needs to be planned in advance — which is exactly the “start now for spring” logic behind the winter protocol.

• Polynucleotides

  How it works: Derived from purified DNA fragments (often from salmon sperm, which sounds odd but is a well-established source), polynucleotides work by supporting tissue repair and hydration at a cellular level. They stimulate fibroblast activity and improve the skin’s ability to retain moisture, with a strong focus on repairing damaged or thinning tissue rather than adding volume.
  Who it’s suitable for: People with thin, crepey, or fragile skin — the under-eye area is the classic use case, since it’s notoriously hard to treat with fillers without risk of puffiness or discoloration. Also good for anyone wanting overall skin quality improvement rather than a specific line or fold addressed. Like Sculptra, results build over weeks to months, so it needs the same forward planning.

• Exosomes / growth factor treatments

  How it works: Exosomes are tiny vesicles that carry proteins, growth factors, and signaling molecules that tell cells to repair and regenerate. Applied topically or injected after a treatment like microneedling or RF needling, they essentially amplify the skin’s own healing response, meaning faster recovery and potentially better collagen output from whatever treatment they’re paired with.
  Who it’s suitable for: People already investing in microneedling or RF needling who want to maximize results, and who are comfortable with a premium price point given this is a newer, less standardized category. Worth being upfront with followers that the research is still evolving compared to more established treatments on this list.

  ---

  Ongoing - LAYER IN MAINTENANCE

• Red light therapy

  How it works: Low-level red and near-infrared light penetrates the skin and is absorbed by the mitochondria in your cells, boosting cellular energy production. This supports collagen synthesis, reduces inflammation, and can improve overall skin tone.
  Who it’s suitable for: Essentially everyone — it’s one of the gentlest treatments on this list, with no downtime and minimal risk. Great as a maintenance treatment layered around bigger in-clinic procedures.

  Infrared saunas -

• How it works: Unlike traditional saunas that heat the air around you, infrared panels heat your body directly. This increases circulation and encourages sweating at a lower ambient temperature, which some people find supports detoxification and skin clarity.
  Who it's suitable for: Most people, though anyone with cardiovascular conditions, low blood pressure, or who is pregnant should check with their doctor first, since it does raise core body temperature.

• Blue light therapy

  How it works: Unlike red light, which works on collagen and healing, blue light targets the bacteria that contribute to acne (specifically C. acnes) by producing a reaction that kills the bacteria at a cellular level. It’s an antibacterial tool, not a collagen-building one.
  Who it’s suitable for: People dealing with active acne or breakout-prone skin. Worth being clear with followers that this isn’t a swap for red light — they’re solving different problems, and some devices/clinics offer both in the same session for that reason.

• RF (Radiofrequency) skin needling

  How it works: This combines the micro-injury from needling with radiofrequency energy delivered through the needles themselves, heating the deeper layers of skin. You get the collagen-triggering effect of both treatments in one session, with more tightening than microneedling alone.
  Who it’s suitable for: People wanting more noticeable tightening than standard microneedling but who aren’t ready for HIFU or surgical options. Good for early-to-moderate skin laxity plus texture concerns at once.

On schedule - MUSCLE + HYDRATION + VOLUME

• Botox

  How it works: Botox is a neuromodulator/ muscle relaxant— it temporarily blocks the nerve signals that tell specific muscles to contract. Less muscle movement means the lines those muscles create (like frown lines or crow’s feet) soften over time.
  Who it’s suitable for: Anyone noticing dynamic lines (the ones that show up when you move your face) who wants them softened, or anyone interested in prevention before those lines become static. Not suitable during pregnancy or breastfeeding.

• Skin boosters

  How it works: These are injectable hyaluronic acid treatments, but unlike filler, they're not designed to add volume or shape. They're distributed just under the skin to improve hydration, elasticity, and overall glow from within.
  Who it's suitable for: Anyone with dehydrated, dull, or crepey skin who wants improved skin quality rather than a change in facial contour. Often paired well with the other treatments on this list since it works on skin health rather than structure.

• Hydrafacials

  How it works: A multi-step treatment that cleanses, exfoliates, and extracts congestion using a vortex suction device, then infuses the skin with hydrating serums. It's gentle enough to have zero downtime.
  Who it's suitable for: Almost anyone, and a great option to slot in between more intensive treatments to keep skin calm, hydrated, and prepped.

For a full in-depth Winter Protocol- Click on the link below and download

Winter Protocol

14.2MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Start with one or two of these, not all nine — your skin (and your bank account) will thank you. Ardor lovelies, go glow responsibly. 🤍

Ardor x

COVID was such an interesting time.

My experience as an injector during COVID was, to say the least, unforgettable. Looking back, there are moments from that period that still stand out in my memory.

In Sydney, just before the first lockdown, people started behaving differently. Clients would come into the clinic asking whether we were still treating patients. Some seemed completely unconcerned about the risks, while others chose to reschedule their appointments.

Then the first lockdown was announced. Only essential workers were supposed to continue working. Because cosmetic injectables were classified as a medical treatment rather than a beauty service, we remained open.

At the time, I was working in a questionable clinic that was already a difficult place to work. Even as restrictions were introduced, they continued booking large numbers of clients and paid little attention to the recommended safety measures. Very little care for their employees. The atmosphere became increasingly uncomfortable. Eventually, someone reported the clinic.

When the police arrived, my heart dropped. At the same time, I felt a sense of relief because I knew the situation couldn’t continue the way it was. After a intense discussion, the police warned the questionable clinic that breaches of the public health orders could result in fines worth thousands of dollars.

The inexperienced manager argued back, soon after quickly changed her tune at the thought of a fine. Not long after, the clinic finally closed its doors.

The first lockdown was a breather.

For the first time in what felt like years, I had time to read, exercise, and simply breathe. I felt human again.

By that stage, I was completely burnt out from the stress of working at that questionable clinic. The thought of not having to go to work filled me with relief. I could sleep in, eat properly, train, go to the park, and read the books that had been gathering dust on my shelf. It was a genuine mental break.

As nurses, we need those periods of rest. Burnout is very real. I had been carrying it for so long that being at home, surrounded by peace and quiet, felt like a gift. There were no client complaints, no unrealistic demands, no workplace drama, just space to recover.

The first lockdown only lasted a few weeks.

Then came the dreaded phone call.

“Sarah, you’re back at work next week.”

I remember replying, “No, only essential workers are returning.”

The response came back immediately.

“No, beauty services are reopening, and we already have bookings.”

Just like that, the brief pause was over.

The thought of returning filled me with dread. While most people were cautiously emerging from lockdown, all I could think about was walking back into the same chaotic environment I had been so grateful to escape. The peace I had finally found was about to be replaced by appointment books, client demands, and a workplace that seemed determined to pretend nothing had happened.

My stomach sank.

I really didn’t want to go back to work.

I had fallen into a routine that felt healthy and sustainable. I was training regularly, meditating, reading, and still getting paid. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was recovering from the burnout that had been building for years.

I had no intention of going back.

Then D-Day arrived.

Reluctantly, I walked back into the clinic.

This time, everything felt different.

The clients seemed more demanding, more anxious, and at times downright unreasonable. I was asked some of the most absurd questions and requests. Some clients arrived wearing masks and immediately wanted to know whether I was vaccinated. Everyone was hyper-vigilant. Every cough, every sneeze, every interaction felt loaded with tension.

Yet despite all the fear and uncertainty, business was booming.

I was seeing up to 20 clients a day. People had spent months trapped inside their homes, staring at themselves through Zoom calls and bathroom mirrors. Suddenly, every line, wrinkle, hollow, and perceived flaw had become impossible to ignore.

Bottle after bottle of botox was being used. Box after box of filler disappeared from the shelves. It was unlike anything I had ever witnessed.

People would come in wanting everything done at once. Their lips would be filled, their faces treated, their concerns addressed one after another. Then they would pull their masks back on, thank us, and walk straight out the door.

It felt surreal.

Outside, the world was in the middle of a global pandemic. Inside the clinic, demand for cosmetic treatments was exploding. The contrast between the fear on the news and what I was seeing every day in the treatment room was something I struggled to make sense of.

COVID changed many things, but one thing it certainly didn’t slow down was the appetite for aesthetics.

Then came the second lockdown.

This time, the clinic closed indefinitely. There was no need for the police to step in. The situation had become far more serious, and businesses across Sydney were shutting their doors.

I was relieved.

Once again, I found myself with time to breathe. Part of me was genuinely happy at the thought that I might never have to return to that clinic.

During the second lockdown, I had even more time to reflect. My training continued, I attended online webinars, kept up with the latest trends in aesthetic medicine, and waited to see what would happen next.

It was during this period that I realised how narrowly focused I had become on injecting. Somewhere along the way, I had stopped enjoying the journey.

At first, I thought it meant I was falling out of love with the industry. But the more I reflected, the more I realised that wasn’t true at all. I still loved injecting. I still loved learning about new products, studying anatomy, attending educational events, and watching training videos. My passion for aesthetics hadn’t disappeared.

It was the environment.

It was the clients, the workplace culture, the constant pressure, and the toxic energy that surrounded me every day. That was what had been draining me. That was what had pushed me towards burnout.

The second lockdown gave me enough distance to finally see it clearly.

And I knew what I would be going back to when restrictions lifted.

I had already had a glimpse of it after the first lockdown, and I wasn’t looking forward to returning.

Meanwhile, the world outside felt increasingly surreal.

People were behaving in ways I had never seen before. Masks became part of everyday life. QR code check-ins were everywhere. Movement was restricted, and for a period of time you couldn’t travel more than five kilometres from your home. There were checkpoints, police patrols, daily case numbers, and constant press conferences.

At times, it felt less like Sydney and more like something out of a dystopian film.

The streets were quieter. Businesses were shuttered. Everyone seemed to be living in a state of uncertainty, waiting for the next announcement, the next restriction, the next piece of news.

Looking back now, it feels almost unreal.

But in the middle of it, it was simply life.

I had never experienced anything like it.

Then came the pressure surrounding the vaccine rollout.

At the time, I was hesitant. My plan was simple: I would wait until I was required to return to work and then make a decision. But as restrictions eased, the calls started coming.

Phone call after phone call.

“Sarah, when are you coming back?”

Each call filled me with dread.

By that stage, I was mentally exhausted. Months of lockdown, uncertainty, and the repetitive routine of being stuck at home had taken their toll. While I was grateful for the time to reflect, I also felt emotionally drained from living in limbo, waiting for life to return to normal.

Eventually, I returned to the clinic.

The demand was unbelievable.

I kid you not, I think I developed some form of carpel tunnel injury from injecting so much. My hand constantly ached. Sometimes it would cramp, and other times it would shake from fatigue. Day after day, I was injecting at a pace I had never experienced before.

The post-lockdown rush was relentless.

Clients who had spent months waiting suddenly wanted appointments all at once. The schedule was packed, and the pressure was immense.

So when I was told that I wouldn’t be the only nurse on duty anymore and that another injector was joining the team, I felt an enormous sense of relief.

For the first time in a long while, some of the weight was lifted from my shoulders.

The responsibility wasn’t mine alone anymore.

After months of carrying the workload, the pressure, and the emotional exhaustion, having another injector beside me felt like finally being able to come up for air.

Despite having another injector on the team, my workload barely changed.

I was still seeing between 10 and 20 clients a day, almost every day. The demand hadn’t slowed down. If anything, it had intensified.

What struck me most was how difficult consultations had become.

After months of isolation, social media scrolling, Zoom calls, and staring at themselves in mirrors, many people seemed to have developed a hyper-awareness of their appearance. It became increasingly difficult to separate genuine concerns from unrealistic expectations.

The consultation would often begin the same way.

A client would sit down, grab the mirror, and hold it inches from their face. They would stare intensely at every line, every shadow, every perceived imperfection.

“I need everything done,” one client told me.

“I feel so ugly. My anti-wrinkle treatment has worn off. I need filler everywhere.”

Comments like that became more common than I ever expected.

Meanwhile, the clinic owner was making more money than ever. Appointments were booked solid, treatment rooms were full, and demand showed no signs of slowing down.

Yet my hands were paying the price.

Some days they ached so much that the thought of holding another syringe felt unbearable.

Within a week, I was burnt out again.

The complaints, demands, and unrealistic expectations kept piling up. Clients arrived with screenshots from Instagram, heavily filtered photos, and lists of procedures they believed would transform their lives.

At times, I found myself wondering what had happened to us as a society.

It felt as though authenticity had become unfashionable.

No one wanted to look like themselves anymore. No one wanted to embrace the natural changes that come with being human.

Instead, many were chasing a version of themselves that existed only on a screen—filtered, edited, and impossible to achieve in real life.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

The world had just lived through a global pandemic. People had experienced isolation, uncertainty, fear, and loss. Yet as soon as restrictions lifted, many rushed back through the clinic doors searching for more anti-wrinkle treatments, more filler, and more procedures.

As an injector, I understood the desire to look and feel your best.

But during that period, something felt different.

It wasn’t confidence people were chasing. For some, it felt more like they were trying to fix something that no syringe could ever reach. It was the hardest and most dystopian period of my injecting career.

One client, in particular, has stayed with me all these years later.

She was 19 years old. After spending months at home during lockdown, she came into the clinic wanting everything done. More anti-wrinkle treatment. More filler. More changes.

In the background, the manager was practically cheering. Meanwhile, I sat there feeling as though my moral compass was being tested.

I remember looking at this young woman and thinking, You don’t need any of this.

I tried so many times with young girls like her.

“You don’t need treatment.”

“You’re beautiful as you are.”

“Let’s wait.”

“Let’s be conservative.”

But those conversations were becoming harder to have.

The culture had shifted.

People were arriving armed with filtered selfies, Instagram screenshots, and unrealistic expectations. They weren’t seeing themselves anymore. They were seeing edited versions of faces that didn’t exist in real life.

And many of them genuinely believed they needed fixing. That was the part I struggled with most. Injecting had never been the problem. I loved the artistry, the anatomy, the science, and the continual learning. What I didn’t love was feeling pressured to treat people who didn’t need treatment, particularly when they were so young.

The clinic wanted bookings.The clients wanted transformations.

And I was stuck somewhere in the middle, trying to hold onto my professional ethics.

COVID didn’t just change society. It changed the aesthetics industry too.

Isolation, social media, Zoom calls, endless selfies, and constant exposure to filtered images seemed to amplify insecurities that were already there. By the time people walked through the clinic doors, many had spent months scrutinising every detail of their appearance.

What I witnessed wasn’t vanity. For many, it felt more like anxiety. Anxiety disguised as self-improvement. Anxiety disguised as beauty.

And for the first time in my career, I started questioning not whether I wanted to continue injecting, but whether I wanted to continue working in an environment that profited from those insecurities.

That was the real turning point for me.

“Yes, I do,” they would reply.

No matter how much education I provided, it often felt like it went in one ear and out the other.

I would explain facial anatomy, realistic outcomes, the importance of treating conservatively, and why more product wasn’t always the answer. But many clients had already made up their minds before they even sat in the chair. As time went on, I became increasingly aware of what was happening around me.

The body dysmorphia was becoming impossible to ignore.

There were moments when I wanted to challenge what I was hearing, to push back harder, to encourage clients to see themselves differently. But after having the same conversations over and over again, I often found myself staying quiet. It felt as though my words weren’t reaching anyone.

At times, all I could do was perform the treatment and move on to the next patient. Yet some of the behaviour I witnessed was extraordinary.

Clients became increasingly impatient and demanding. One client became so upset about waiting for their appointment that they left and immediately posted negative reviews online.

I remember apologising and explaining, “I only have two hands. I’m going as fast as I can.”

What many people didn’t understand was that these treatments cannot be rushed.

Every face is different. Every consultation requires assessment, planning, and careful execution. Injecting isn’t like ordering coffee and waiting for your name to be called. The moment you rush, mistakes happen. But patience seemed to be in short supply. Everyone wanted immediate results, immediate appointments, immediate answers.

Looking back, it felt as though the entire world had become more anxious, more reactive, and less willing to wait. And as the pressure from clients increased, so did my awareness that something wasn’t right.

The exhaustion I was feeling wasn’t simply from the long hours. It was from constantly being caught between what people wanted and what I believed they genuinely needed. Eventually, I reached a point where I never returned to that clinic.

I had enough.

Enough of the environment. Enough of the clients. Enough of the constant stress, unrealistic demands, and the feeling that I was slowly losing myself in the process. By that stage, I had developed anxiety. Between COVID, the restrictions, the uncertainty, and the toxic workplace culture, I felt emotionally exhausted. For the first time in my life, I put my foot down.

And I walked away.

It felt like escaping.

The moment I left was the first time in years that I could truly exhale. The complaints stopped. The stress stopped. The constant criticism and degradation stopped.

Of course, the world was still in the middle of a pandemic. There were restrictions, masks, check-ins, and uncertainty everywhere. But despite all of that, I felt lighter than I had in a very long time.

COVID taught me many lessons, but there were three that stayed with me.

Firstly, you are entitled to your own life. No job, employer, client, or industry owns you. You always have a choice, even when it feels like you don’t.

Secondly, the way you treat yourself teaches others how to treat you. If you constantly put yourself last, eventually everyone else will too.

And thirdly, no matter how important you think your role is, you are replaceable. Businesses move on. Clinics continue operating. Someone else will always fill the position.

That isn’t meant to be depressing.

It’s meant to be freeing.

Because if we are all replaceable at work, then perhaps we should stop sacrificing ourselves for places that would replace us tomorrow. The older I get, the more I realise that time is the most valuable thing we possess. We spend so much of our lives chasing money, chasing recognition, chasing perfect outcomes, chasing good reviews, and trying to make everyone else happy.

But time keeps moving.

And when you look back, what remains are the experiences, the lessons, the people you met, and the person you became along the way.

Thats what the Covid experience taught me - resilience.

It taught me courage. It taught me boundaries.

Most importantly, it made me more aware of the woman I was becoming.

The world can be a difficult place. Sometimes it can feel cruel, chaotic, and overwhelming. Yet even in the darkest periods, there are moments of clarity hidden amongst the mess. For me, that clarity arrived the moment I walked away. I took a deep breath, stepped into the unknown, and began the next chapter of my career.

I never looked back. And if you’ve ever found yourself in an environment that drains your spirit, makes you question your worth, or leaves you dreading each day, remember this: You are allowed to leave.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is walk away from what is hurting you and trust yourself enough to start again.

Love,

Your friend.

“Stop. What are you doing?” she said. Confused, I looked at her.

“Don’t spray it on your skin. Spray it on your clothes instead. Perfume can cause pigmentation, and you’re exposing your skin to unnecessary fragrance chemicals.”

I had heard this before or perhaps I’d read it somewhere but I’d never had someone physically stop me from spraying perfume on my skin.

And it got me thinking...

Could your signature scent be causing pigmentation? Or exposing you to potentially harmful ingredients? Surprisingly, yes but not for the reasons most people think. The real culprit isn’t necessarily the perfume itself. It’s the combination of certain fragrance ingredients and sunlight. Some perfumes contain plant-derived compounds called furocoumarins (try saying that five times quickly), which are naturally found in citrus oils such as:

• Bergamot

• Lemon

• Lime

• Grapefruit

When these ingredients sit on the skin and are exposed to UV light, they can trigger what’s known as a phototoxic reaction essentially making the skin far more sensitive to the sun. This reaction doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it’s as subtle as mild redness, itching, burning, or irritation.

As the skin heals, inflammation can stimulate melanocytes the cells responsible for producing pigment leading to post-inflammatory hyperpigmentation (PIH).

That’s why some people develop mysterious brown patches on their neck, chest, or wrists without ever connecting the dots back to their daily perfume habit.

But keep reading...

A quick spritz behind the ears. One on the neck. Maybe another on the wrists.

It’s a ritual many of us perform without a second thought.

Yet lately, social media has been flooded with claims that spraying perfume on your skin can cause permanent pigmentation, damage your skin, and even make you sick.

So... is there any truth to it?

What surprised me most was discovering that this isn’t some new TikTok trend or social media scare campaign. Dermatologists have actually known about this phenomenon for decades.

In fact, there are medical names for it: Berloque Dermatitis and Pigmented Contact Dermatitis, also known as Riehl’s Melanosis.

Historically, these conditions were commonly linked to perfumes containing bergamot oil. People would develop streaks or patches of brown pigmentation exactly where perfume had been sprayed before heading out into the sun. What may have started as a simple fragrance ritual ended up leaving behind a lasting reminder on the skin.

The good news is that modern perfumery is significantly safer than it was decades ago. Fragrance manufacturers now follow strict safety standards, and many potentially phototoxic ingredients have been reduced or reformulated.

However, that doesn’t mean the risk has disappeared entirely.

Some fragrances particularly those containing natural citrus essential oils or certain niche formulations may still carry phototoxic potential. While fragrances sold in regulated markets undergo ingredient safety assessments, some individuals can still experience irritation, allergic reactions, headaches, asthma symptoms, or photosensitivity depending on their personal sensitivities.

And it’s not just perfume.

Body mists, hair perfumes, fragrance oils, and even scented body lotions can contain ingredients capable of triggering irritation or increasing sensitivity to sunlight.

So, how can you enjoy your favourite scent while reducing the risk?

✔ Spray perfume onto clothing rather than exposed skin.

✔ Apply fragrance to areas that are typically covered by clothing or receive minimal sun exposure.

✔ Spray scarves, jackets, or shirt collars instead of your neck and chest.

✔ Avoid applying fragrance directly to the skin before prolonged sun exposure.

✔ Wear sunscreen on your neck and décolletage daily.

✔ If you notice itching, irritation, or pigmentation where you regularly apply fragrance, stop using the product and consult a dermatologist.

✔ Or my personal favourite: spray the perfume into the air and walk through the mist. You still get the scent without saturating one specific area of skin.

As cosmetic professionals, we often spend hundreds sometimes thousands of dollars treating pigmentation with skincare, peels, lasers, and energy-based devices. Yet one small daily habit may be quietly contributing to the very concern we’re trying to correct. Sometimes skin health isn’t just about what we add to our routine. It’s also about the habits we choose to change.

Spray Your Clothing Instead

Perfume tends to last longer on fabric because the scent molecules aren’t affected as much by body heat and skin chemistry.

Popular areas include:

• The collar of a shirt

• Scarves

• Jacket lapels

• The inside lining of clothing

The downside is that some fragrances can stain delicate fabrics, particularly silk, satin, or light-coloured garments, so patch testing is wise.

Apply to Covered Areas of Skin

If you prefer fragrance on the skin, consider areas that receive minimal UV exposure, such as:

• Behind the knees

• The torso

• The lower abdomen

• Under clothing

This may reduce the risk of phototoxic reactions compared with repeatedly spraying the neck or chest.

Consider Perfume Oils

Perfume oils are often marketed as a gentler alternative because they contain little or no alcohol, which can reduce the immediate drying effect associated with traditional fragrances.

However, it’s important to note that perfume oils can still contain the same fragrance compounds responsible for irritation or photosensitivity. Natural essential oils, particularly citrus oils, may still trigger pigmentation if applied to sun-exposed skin.

The key issue isn’t necessarily whether a product is an oil or a spray—it’s the ingredients and where you’re applying them.

Hair Fragrance

Many brands now offer dedicated hair perfumes formulated specifically for hair fibres.

Hair is not capable of developing pigment in the same way skin does, making it a useful alternative for those wanting a fragrance trail without repeatedly applying scent to the neck and décolletage.

If you're prone to pigmentation, melasma, sensitive skin, or post-inflammatory hyperpigmentation, consider treating fragrance the same way you would active skincare ingredients. Be mindful of where you apply it, especially on areas exposed to daily UV radiation. Your neck, chest, and hands are often the first places to show both sun damage and fragrance-related pigmentation.

Hope this advice has helped you in some way or another

Ardor x

You may find this story unsettling, but it is true. I write from experience.

At the time, I was working at a clinic that raised more than a few questions. The majority of the clientele came from non-English speaking or Arabic backgrounds, so cultural traditions, religious beliefs, and expectations around cosmetic treatments were often part of everyday conversations.

One day, a woman of Arabic background arrived for an appointment. As she walked into the clinic, her face was covered. She wore a hijab, with only her eyes visible and a cloth covering the lower half of her face.

She approached reception, gave her name, and checked in. I should mention that it wasn’t uncommon for some clients to use names that didn’t seem to match their appearance. For example, a booking might be made under a name like “Sally Smith,” yet the person arriving would be completely covered from head to toe.

I welcomed her into the treatment room as I would any patient, professionally and respectfully.

The moment I closed the door, she removed everything.

To my surprise, she really was a Sally Smith beneath all those layers.

She had blonde hair, a slim face, and a petite figure. As she removed the coverings, she let out a long exhale, as though she had finally been allowed to breathe. The transformation was striking not because of her appearance, but because of the visible relief that came with shedding the layers she had been wearing.

She sat down in the treatment chair looking completely natural. No makeup. No glamour. No attempt to impress.

Just a woman sitting in front of me, ready to talk.

I asked her what she was hoping to have done today?

“Perfect English,” I thought to myself, quietly relieved. The last thing I wanted was a consultation complicated by a language barrier, especially when discussing medical treatments, expectations, and consent.

She told me she wanted anti-wrinkle injections and dermal filler.

I remember an ironic thought briefly crossing my mind: Why would you need it? You’re covered anyway.

Of course, those were my personal thoughts, thoughts that never left my head and certainly never entered the consultation. My role was not to judge but to listen and understand what had brought her here.

With her hair pulled back, she studied herself in the mirror.

Then she said something that caught me completely off guard.

“This will be my last treatment before I get pregnant.”

There was no excitement in her voice. No smile. No glow of anticipation that often accompanies conversations about starting a family. If anything, she looked defeated.

“That’s fine,” I replied. “Do you have children already?”

She nodded.

And that’s when the conversation took a turn I wasn’t expecting.

She turned away from the mirror and looked directly at me. There was an exhaustion in her eyes that was impossible to miss.

“I’ve got five at home.”

“Oh wow,” I replied.

“Tell me about it,” she said. “I don’t want another one, but my husband wants one.”

She turned back toward the mirror, studying her reflection.

She told me she wanted her entire face refreshed and toned, along with lip filler.

“Sure, we can do that,” I said. Then, perhaps naively, I added, “But if you don’t want another child, you don’t have to.”

I kid you not.

She looked at me again, this time visibly annoyed.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t have a say.”

At that moment, I sat back in my chair and stayed silent. As a woman raised in Australia, where independence and personal choice are often taken for granted, I struggled to comprehend what she had just said. Yet sitting in front of me was a woman telling me, quite plainly, that the decision wasn’t hers to make.

A short time later, we called in the doctor for the consultation.

The doctor was male.

Before he answered the FaceTime, she immediately put her hijab back on and covered her face once again. The blonde hair disappeared. The face I had been consulting moments earlier was hidden. Only her eyes remained visible.

The contrast was striking.

The doctor, reviewed the treatment plan, confirmed that everything was appropriate, and obtained consent. The entire interaction lasted only a few moments.

Then he left.

As soon as the phone call ended, the coverings came off again.remember sitting there, processing what I had just witnessed.

On one hand was a woman spending money on anti-wrinkle treatments and dermal fillers, investing in her appearance and how she felt about herself. On the other hand was a woman who had just told me she had no choice in whether she would have another child.

It was one of those moments that stayed with me long after the appointment ended.

Not because of the treatment.

But because it reminded me that freedom, autonomy, and choice are things many of us assume everyone possesses until we meet someone who doesn’t.

The paperwork was completed, the photos were taken, and we began the treatment.

When we finished, I smiled and said, “I wish you all the best. Hopefully you get pregnant soon, and then you can come back and see me afterwards.”

She gave me a half-smile.

She paid, thanked me, and walked out the door.

I never saw that client again.

Sometimes I still think about her. I wonder whether she went on to have that sixth child, or perhaps even more after that.

But it wasn’t the treatment that stayed with me.

It was those words.

“I don’t have a choice.”

They haunted me.

As someone who has grown up believing that every person has the right to make decisions about their own body, their future, and the direction of their life, hearing those words was confronting.

Of course, I only knew a small part of her story. I don’t know the full circumstances of her life, her marriage, or the conversations happening behind closed doors. But what I witnessed that day was a woman who appeared exhausted, overwhelmed, and resigned to a future she did not seem excited about.

That sat heavily with me.

The experience taught me two valuable lessons.

The first was to be careful with my words. What may seem like a harmless comment or assumption can land very differently depending on someone’s circumstances.

The second was a reminder that not everyone experiences the same level of autonomy or freedom. While many of us have the ability to make choices about our careers, relationships, bodies, and families, there are still people in the world who feel they have little say over the course of their own lives.

I believe every person deserves to have a voice.

Every person deserves to be heard.

And every person deserves the right to make decisions about their own future.

Years later, I still think about that appointment. Not because of the anti-wrinkle injections or the dermal filler, but because of the woman sitting in front of me and the quiet sadness behind her eyes.

Sometimes the treatments fade, but the conversations stay with you forever.

Love,

Your friend.

Tech Neck are those horizontal lines that develop across your neck aren’t simply a result of aging. While aging certainly plays a role, the repetitive action of looking down at our phones, tablets, and laptops places constant strain on the skin and muscles of the neck.

Over time, this repeated folding of the skin, combined with sun damage, collagen loss, dehydration, and natural aging, can create the appearance of permanent horizontal neck lines aka tech neck.

The good news? There are several treatment options available to help improve the appearance of these lines.

but there is help, here are few of the alternatives with injectables and non-injectables.

Injectable Treatments

Skinvive by Juvéderm

One of the newest options available is Skinvive by Juvéderm. Unlike traditional dermal fillers that add volume, Skinvive is a microdroplet hyaluronic acid injectable designed to improve skin hydration and smoothness. By increasing moisture within the skin, it can help soften the appearance of fine lines and crepey texture often seen in the neck area.

PRP (Platelet-Rich Plasma)

PRP involves using a patient’s own blood, which is processed to concentrate growth factors before being injected into the skin. These growth factors may stimulate collagen production and tissue repair, helping improve skin quality and fine lines over time.

Sculptra

Sculptra is a collagen-stimulating injectable that works gradually by encouraging the body to produce its own collagen. For patients experiencing skin thinning, laxity, or deeper neck lines, Sculptra can help improve skin structure and firmness over several months.

Anti-Wrinkle Injections

For some individuals, tightening the platysma muscle can improve the appearance of the neck and jawline. A treatment commonly known as the “Nefertiti Lift” uses anti-wrinkle injections to relax specific portions of the platysma muscle, which may help soften vertical neck bands and create a more defined jawline.

Non-Injectable Treatments

Retinoids and Retinol

Retinoids remain one of the most researched topical ingredients for aging skin. Regular use may help stimulate collagen production, improve skin texture, and reduce the appearance of fine lines over time.

Microneedling

Microneedling creates controlled micro-injuries within the skin, stimulating collagen and elastin production. A series of treatments can help improve skin texture, firmness, and the appearance of neck lines.

Red Light Therapy

Red light therapy has gained popularity for its ability to support collagen production and reduce inflammation. While results tend to be gradual, it can be a useful adjunct treatment for maintaining skin quality.

Chemical Peels

Gentle chemical peels can help improve skin texture, pigmentation, and overall skin quality on the neck, particularly when sun damage is contributing to an aged appearance.

Radiofrequency Treatments

Radiofrequency devices work by delivering heat into the deeper layers of the skin, stimulating collagen production and improving skin tightening. These treatments can be beneficial for individuals experiencing both lines and mild skin laxity.

There are also lifestyle habits that can help combat those lines

Lifestyle Habits That Can Help

While treatments can certainly help, prevention remains important.

• Be mindful of your posture when using phones and laptops.

• Raise screens to eye level where possible.

• Wear SPF on your neck every day—not just your face.

• Keep the neck well moisturized.

• Stay hydrated.

• Avoid smoking, which accelerates collagen breakdown.

• Sleep in a position that minimizes excessive neck creasing.

• Incorporate strength and mobility exercises that encourage better posture.

Why Does the Neck Age Faster Than the Face?

One of the biggest misconceptions in skincare is that the neck ages at the same rate as the face. In reality, the neck is often one of the first areas to show signs of aging. The skin on the neck is thinner and contains fewer oil glands than the face, making it more prone to dehydration, fine lines, and crepey skin. It also has less structural support and is constantly moving throughout the day as we turn, bend, and look down.

To make matters worse, many people invest heavily in facial skincare but stop at the jawline. Sunscreen, retinoids, antioxidants, and moisturisers are often applied diligently to the face while the neck is unintentionally neglected. This results to sun damage, collagen loss, and repetitive movements that begin to show up as horizontal neck lines, skin laxity, pigmentation, and changes in texture.

In today’s digital world, prolonged screen time has accelerated this process. The average person spends several hours each day looking down at a phone, tablet, or laptop, repeatedly creasing the skin in the same location. Over time, these temporary folds can become permanently etched into the skin, creating what we now know as tech neck.The neck is also an area where collagen and elastin decline with age. From our mid-twenties onward, collagen production gradually decreases each year, reducing the skin’s ability to remain firm, smooth, and resilient. This natural process, combined with environmental factors such as UV exposure and lifestyle habits, contributes to the visible signs of neck aging.

For this reason, many practitioners now encourage patients to treat the neck as an extension of the face—applying sunscreen, active skincare ingredients, and preventative treatments to both areas rather than focusing solely on facial rejuvenation.

A simple rule I often tell patients is: “Whatever goes on your face should also go on your neck.”

This includes your cleanser, vitamin C serum, retinoid, moisturiser, and most importantly, your SPF.

To conclude: Tech neck is one of the most common concerns I see emerging in younger patients. What was once considered an age-related concern is now appearing in people in their twenties and thirties due to the amount of time we spend looking down at screens.

The encouraging news is that there isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution. Whether it’s skincare, collagen-stimulating treatments, energy-based devices, or injectables, there are now multiple ways to address both the cause and the appearance of tech neck.

As always, the most appropriate treatment depends on the severity of the lines, skin quality, and your individual goals.

Ardor x

Have you ever felt like you didn’t belong somewhere simply because of the colour of your skin? As a Caucasian woman, I never expected to experience that feeling in a professional medical setting. But I did. At the beginning of my cosmetic nursing career, I accepted a position at a culturally focused clinic. At the time, I wasn’t aware that I would be the only Caucasian working in the practice. I was told I would gain experience and receive training in cosmetic injectables. That was the goal, and I had my eyes firmly fixed on it. Like many people trying to break into the aesthetics industry, I was willing to put my pride aside and do whatever it took to gain experience. I knew it would be a long journey, but I was determined.

The clinic was owned and operated by Asians, and I was the only Caucasian staff member. Looking back now, I probably should have paid more attention to the dynamics from the beginning. The clinic was located in an area of Sydney with a large Asian population, but at the time none of that mattered to me. I was there to learn.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for things to change. Through conversations, looks, body language, and subtle comments, it became painfully clear that I wasn’t viewed as an equal. There was an unspoken feeling that I didn’t belong. I was the only person speaking fluent English, yet somehow I felt like the outsider.

For the first time in my life, I understood what it felt like to be treated as a second-class citizen in your own country.

It wasn’t one major incident. It was a collection of small moments, expressions, and behaviours that slowly chipped away at your confidence and made you question your place in the room.

And while people often assume racism only moves in one direction, the reality is that discrimination can come from anyone, towards anyone. Experiencing it firsthand was both confronting and eye-opening.

I remember one particular morning when I was scheduled to see a client. I’d only been at the clinic for a couple of months, so I was still trying to understand how everything worked.

What started out as promises of training quickly turned into something else. One day it was learning about skin, products, and treatment techniques. The next day I was being told not to come in because no one had booked with me. That morning, I was booked with an Asian client for a simple facial. Nothing exciting. Just another treatment that reminded me how far away I was from the career I thought I was building. To be honest, I hated doing facials.

I hadn’t spent four years completing a nursing degree so I could cleanse faces and apply masks. I had entered this industry to learn cosmetic medicine, to inject, to treat patients, and to develop my skills as a nurse. Instead, I found myself standing in treatment rooms performing beauty treatments while pretending not to notice the whispers happening around me. The clinic owner would often speak quietly in her native language with the other staff members. Maybe the conversations had nothing to do with me. Maybe they did. The truth was, when you’re the only person who doesn’t understand what’s being said, your mind fills in the blanks. And when you’re already feeling like an outsider, every glance, every laugh, and every whispered conversation feels personal. I would stand there smiling, trying to be professional, while internally questioning whether I was ever truly welcome in that clinic at all. To this day, I still can’t believe I agreed to take that job.

But anyway, moving on. One morning, I was booked in with a client for a facial. What I didn’t realise at the time was that she apparently had no idea I was Caucasian. The moment she walked into the clinic and saw me, her entire expression changed. I hadn’t even said a word. I simply smiled, pretending I was thrilled to see her. Inside, I was probably already rolling my eyes.

Trying to remain professional, I asked, “Is something wrong?”

She looked me up and down before saying something in her native language. I had no idea what she said, but I knew it wasn’t good. Within minutes, I was told to go on my break.

My break.?

I’d barely started my shift.

No explanation. No discussion.

Just, “Go on break.” So I picked up my bag and went for a walk.

As I walked around the block, I knew something was happening behind my back. You don’t have to be a genius to work that one out.

When I returned, the clinic owner pulled me aside. The client, I was told, didn’t realise I was white. She had requested an Asian therapist instead. Apparently, she didn’t want a white girl touching her face.

I remember just standing there in disbelief. Imagine if the roles were reversed. Imagine walking into a clinic and refusing treatment because the practitioner wasn’t the race you preferred.

The outrage would have been immediate. But somehow, in that moment, everyone acted as though this was perfectly acceptable.

No one challenged it. No one defended me. No one even seemed surprised.

The solution was simply to remove me and give the client what she wanted. I wish I could say I was shocked, but by that stage I was already beginning to understand how little I mattered within that clinic. I remember feeling a wave of anger rush through me.

What exactly was I supposed to do? Change my skin colour?

I wouldn’t want to anyway. I am who I am. This is how God created me, and I’ve never felt the need to apologise for that. What hurt the most wasn’t even the client’s reaction. It was the response that followed. There was no apology. No acknowledgment that the situation was inappropriate. Instead, I was left standing there feeling as though I had done something wrong simply for being who I was. Confused, I asked ‘why the client didn’t want me treating her.?’

The explanation I received left me speechless. I was told that because I was white, I wouldn’t understand Asian skin. That because I was white, I might make her look different. Even now, years later, I still struggle to comprehend that answer. As a nurse, I had spent years studying anatomy, physiology, skin health, and patient care. My ability to perform a treatment had nothing to do with the colour of my skin and everything to do with my education, training, and competence. Yet in that moment, none of that seemed to matter.

All that mattered was that I didn’t look the way the client expected me to look. It was one of those moments in life that stops you in your tracks. You realise that no matter how hard you work, no matter how qualified you are, some people will judge you before you’ve even had the chance to introduce yourself. Standing there, listening to that explanation, I knew something had shifted inside me.

This wasn’t the place for me. For the first time, I seriously questioned whether I wanted to stay at all. It wasn’t long before I was told there were no more shifts available for me.

The explanation was simple: the majority of the clinic’s clientele were Asian, and many preferred to be treated by someone they felt could better relate to their skin concerns and cultural expectations.

Whether that was the real reason or not, the message I received was clear—I wasn’t the right fit for the clinic. Just like that, my shifts disappeared. There was no real conversation. No acknowledgment of how the situation had unfolded.

No apology. Just a brief, “All the best with your studies.” And that was it.

Looking back now, I learned a valuable lesson from that experience. Not every workplace is meant for you. Not every opportunity that looks promising on the surface will help you grow. At the time, I felt rejected, frustrated, and disappointed. I had walked into that clinic eager to learn, willing to work hard, and determined to build a career in aesthetics.

Instead, I walked away with something entirely different.

I learned the importance of knowing your worth.

I learned that qualifications, skill, and character matter more than trying to force yourself into an environment where you don’t feel respected. Most importantly, I learned that sometimes life’s greatest gift is a closed door. Because if that door had remained open, I may never have found the opportunities that were waiting for me elsewhere.

closed

Australia likes to see itself as a country built on fairness, equality, and opportunity for all.Yet my experience taught me that racism can come in many forms, and it doesn’t always look the way people expect it to. I had never felt so unwelcome in my own country.

What hurt wasn’t just the rejection. It was the assumption that because of the colour of my skin, I couldn’t possibly understand skin, beauty, or the needs of a particular client.

As a nurse, I knew that skill, education, and experience mattered far more than ethnicity. Yet in that environment, it felt as though none of those things counted. I wasn’t being judged on my knowledge.

I wasn’t being judged on my work ethic. I wasn’t being judged on my character.I was being judged on how I looked. That was a difficult lesson to learn. The way my employment ended was equally disappointing. There was no meaningful conversation, no acknowledgment of what had occurred, and no apology. Just a polite farewell and a reminder that I was no longer needed.

At the time, I felt angry. I felt dismissed. I felt as though my time, effort, and commitment had meant very little.But as the years passed, I realised that experience taught me something valuable.

Racism is real. Prejudice is real. And it can affect anyone. My experience doesn’t diminish the experiences of others. It simply reminds us that making assumptions about people based on race, culture, appearance, or background is wrong, regardless of who is on the receiving end. If you’ve ever found yourself in a situation where you felt judged, excluded, or made to feel like you didn’t belong, don’t allow someone else’s opinion to define your worth.

Be proud of who you are. Be proud of where you come from.

Be proud of the journey that made you who you are. Never shrink yourself to make others comfortable, and never allow anyone—regardless of their culture, background, or beliefs—to convince you that you don’t belong. Because you do.

Love,

Your friend

For those who don’t know me I’m a cosmetic nurse, and I stab people for a living. Everything I write, comment on, and share is based purely on my own experience and expertise. I always recommend seeking professional advice from other health professionals too.

I hear it constantly: “It didn’t last me.” “It wasn’t enough, I need more this time.” “What product did you use?” “I paid so much and it’s not lasting it must be the product.”

Nine times out of ten? It’s not the product. It’s the patient.

To put it simply: Botox is botulinum toxin a medicine that works as a muscle relaxant. It temporarily stops muscles from contracting, which means wrinkles don’t appear on the surface. Over time, with preventative use, those lines become finer and muscle movement appears less dramatic. That’s the basic foundation of the treatment. But here’s what most people and honestly, a lot of injectors — aren’t talking about: where you live could be playing a major factor in your results.

I give the same aftercare advice every single time. No rubbing. No massaging. No pressure on the area. No gym for 24 hours. No hot saunas or hot yoga for a couple of days. Stay out of the sun. I go on and on… and it goes in one ear and straight out the other. (lucky for those aftercare cards).

So let me back up this up with some actual science.

The Research

A 2024 study published in Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery the official journal of the American Society of Plastic Surgeons compared Botox outcomes between women in sunny Malta and women treated in London during winter. The result? Women in the high-sun climate needed significantly more units to achieve the same level of muscle relaxation. The researchers concluded that injectors may need to adjust their dosing protocols based on climate. Mind-blowing, right?

Here’s why it happens:

The squinting effect. In sunnier climates, we’re constantly squinting putting chronic stress and movement through the upper face. Think lifeguards, outdoor workers, anyone spending serious time in the sun. More muscle use = more resistance to the toxin.

UV breaks down the product. Sun exposure may actually degrade neuromodulators more quickly. UVB rays in particular have been shown in research to impact the efficacy of botulinum toxin, so every hour you’re soaking up rays, you could be shortening your results.

Heat disperses it faster. UV exposure causes flushing by dilating facial blood vessels and increasing circulation. This causes Botox molecules to disperse at a faster rate, reducing absorption in the nerve endings essentially washing away your investment.

High activity accelerates breakdown. If you’re active, outdoorsy, or hitting the gym regularly, your increased blood flow and metabolic rate can speed up how quickly your body processes the toxin. Botox is highly sensitive to heat; saunas, steam rooms, hot yoga, even just a very warm climate all of it can cause it to deteriorate faster.

Living in Sydney

Sydney is a warm climate. In summer, it’s unbearable — and if you’re spending your weekends at the beach, in the sun, squinting behind your sunnies, your Botox is working against all of that. I’d honestly think twice about getting tox in peak summer if you’re planning to be outdoors constantly. Timing and lifestyle matter just as much as the product and the dose.

What I Noticed in Europe

I recently came back from Europe, and something struck me. Wrinkles are just… normal there. People look good for their age in a different way — in Italy, the Nonas have wrinkles, but they read like happy lines, smile lines, almost like memories etched into the face. Not too deep, just the right amount.

Maybe being in a warmer climate without the UV intensity we cop down here in Sydney has something to do with it. The ozone situation over Australia is genuinely different, and our UV exposure is more aggressive than most people realise.

Then a friend in Europe made me laugh — she said: “In the Netherlands, hardly anyone has Botox. Have you noticed they’re all wrinkled and orange? They ride their bikes, they get tanned, the wrinkles are deep — but they don’t believe in sunscreen, let alone injectables. They’re all about the minimal approach.”

And honestly? There’s something in that. Culture, climate, lifestyle — it all intersects with how we age and how we respond to treatment.

My Takeaways for You

So next time you’re sitting in my chair complaining that “the product must be faulty,” let’s have a quick chat about your last six weeks first. Were you living your best beach life? Hot girl walks in 35-degree heat? Three sauna sessions and a “quick” trip to Bali? Yeah. That’s not the Botox failing you — that’s you, the sun, and your social calendar teaming up against it.

A few practical things worth knowing:

If you’re someone who’s outdoors a lot, especially over an Aussie summer, you might genuinely need a slightly higher dose or more frequent top-ups than your friend who works in an office and avoids the sun like it owes her money. That’s not a sales tactic it’s just biology meeting climate.

Timing matters too. If you know you’ve got a beach holiday, a few hot yoga classes, or a week of squinting through a heatwave coming up, that’s worth mentioning to your injector beforehand, not after you’re disappointed with the results.

And maybe — just maybe — the SPF lecture isn’t just about ageing skin. It’s about protecting the very treatment you paid good money for.

At the end of the day, Botox isn’t magic, and it’s not bulletproof either. It’s a medicine reacting to a body that’s reacting to its environment. So next time someone tells you the Netherlands has the right idea with their wrinkly, sun-kissed, sunscreen-free approach to life — maybe they do. Just don’t expect the same results from your tox if you’re living that lifestyle too.

Based on the climate-and-sun-exposure logic from the research, here's how it'd likely break down by country.

Likely “lasts longer / needs less” countries (low-sun, cooler, less outdoor squinting):

• UK / Ireland — the actual “low-sun” control group in the original study

• Netherlands, Belgium, Denmark, Norway, Sweden — low UV index, overcast climates, though as my friend pointed out, plenty of outdoor cycling still happens

• Canada (most of it) — long winters, lower year-round UV

• Northern parts of Japan, Germany — similar logic

Likely “wears off faster / needs more” countries (high-sun, high UV, outdoor lifestyle):

• Malta — the actual “high-sun” group in the study

• Australia — notoriously high UV index, thinner ozone layer over the Southern Hemisphere, huge beach/outdoor culture

• Spain, Italy, Greece, Southern France — Mediterranean climate, lots of squinting and sun exposure

• UAE, Saudi Arabia — extreme heat plus intense sun

• Southern US states (Florida, Arizona, California, Texas) — high UV, outdoor lifestyle, plus added heat exposure

• Brazil, parts of Southeast Asia — high UV index near the equator

So next time your Botox doesn’t last as long as you’d hoped, before you blame the product, have a think about your last few months. Were you living it up in the Sydney sun? Squinting your way through summer without sunnies? Sweating it out in hot yoga or smashing back-to-back saunas? That’s not bad luck, and it’s definitely not a dodgy batch — that’s just biology doing exactly what the research says it’ll do.

And that brings me back to where we started: where you live could genuinely be affecting your Botox results. It’s not just an attention-grabbing headline, it’s backed by actual research, actual UV data, and actual atmospheric science. Sydney sits in one of the harshest sun environments on the planet, which means we’re fighting a different battle to someone getting the same treatment in London or Auckland.

So if you want your results to go the distance, the boring aftercare advice I rattle off every single appointment isn’t just me filling time. Sunscreen, shade, and skipping the sauna for a few days might be the difference between getting your money’s worth and being back in my chair six weeks earlier than you should be.

Ardor, x

There comes a time when you’ve been in a toxic environment long enough that you become fully aware of your surroundings. You start noticing the red flags, the dysfunction, and the things you’ve been trying to ignore. Eventually, you realise it’s time to move on.

That’s exactly what happened to me.

I saw it as a sign, and deep down, I knew I had to leave. At the time, I was working at a prestigious doctor’s clinic housed within a beautiful heritage-listed building. From the outside, it was impressive a grand structure that had once operated as a bank in its prime. It carried history, charm, and character. But appearances can be deceiving.

Inside, the clinic felt old, stuck in the early 2000’s, and neglected. The walls needed fresh paint, the furniture was dated, the lighting was poor, and the entire space was crying out for a modern renovation. While the building itself had incredible potential, it felt as though it had been frozen in time.

The receptionist often commented on it. “We really need to update this place,” she would say. New lighting. Better furniture. Modern fittings. Even replacing old fans seemed like a challenge. Every suggestion was met with an excuse. There was always a reason why it couldn’t be done.

The reality, however, seemed much simpler. Any improvements would require money, and spending money appeared to be something the owner struggled with. We all knew he had the resources to invest in the clinic, but whenever renovations or upgrades were mentioned, his expression would change instantly.

You could almost see the pain behind his eyes. Not because the clinic wasn’t in need of improvement, but because every suggestion represented a dent in his bank account. And that mindset seemed to extend far beyond the peeling paint and outdated furniture.

We called it an investment.

He called it a heart attack.

Any conversation involving money seemed to cause him physical discomfort. After working at the clinic for more than two years, it became obvious that renovations were never going to happen. Instead of replacing worn-out furniture, he would occasionally find pieces left on the side of the road or near rubbish collections and proudly bring them into the clinic. I not even kidding.

“It’s still good,” he would say.

To him, it was being resourceful.

To the rest of us, it was another reminder that spending money was his least favourite activity. The same attitude extended far beyond the furniture. Hidden away in a back storage cupboard, out of sight from patients, sat boxes of consumables that had long passed their expiry dates. Whenever we pointed out that something was years out of date, there was always an excuse.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s still sterile.”

“It hasn’t been opened.”

No matter what the concern was, there was always a justification. *eye roll*

Then there was winter. Anyone who has worked in an old heritage building knows they can be freezing. The thick walls and high ceilings might look beautiful, but they aren’t exactly known for retaining warmth. On cold mornings, we would turn on the heat; air conditioning to make the clinic comfortable for patients. The moment he walked through the door, however, it would be switched straight off.

“I like it cold,” he would say.

When staff explained that patients were complaining about the temperature, he would simply shrug.

“Wear a jumper.”

That was his solution.

Never mind that patients were sitting in treatment rooms wearing thin clothing. Never mind that comfort is part of the patient experience. If he was comfortable, that was all that mattered. Let’s just say he had developed quite a reputation over the years.

Frugal would have been the polite description. Tight-fisted would have been the honest one. In fact, I often joked that perhaps his extreme reluctance to spend money was exactly how he’d managed to own such an impressive heritage building for so many years. Every dollar seemed to have a personal relationship with him, and he wasn’t willing to let a single one go without a fight.

I arrived early, opened up the clinic, turned on the lights, put some music on, and began opening the blinds throughout the building. It was part of my usual morning routine.

Now, these blinds were ancient. They were probably twenty or thirty years old, dating back to the 1980s. They still had the old pull-cord system attached to the side of the window—the kind you had to gently pull to lift the roller blind.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I gave the cord a normal pull. Not a forceful yank. Not an aggressive tug. Just enough pressure to lift the blind as it had been lifted thousands of times before. Then, within seconds, chaos erupted. Without warning, the entire aluminium roller blind detached from the wooden window frame and came crashing down.

The heavy blind struck my foot before bouncing off and crashing into the treatment room floor with a deafening bang. For a moment, everything stood still. Then the adrenaline kicked in. I remember standing there frozen, staring at what had just happened. My foot was throbbing, my heart was racing, and I instinctively placed my hands over my face in complete disbelief.

Did that really just happen?

I couldn’t believe it. One second I was opening the clinic. The next, a decades-old blind had nearly taken me out. Shock washed over me.

I was shaking. Not just from the pain, but from the suddenness of it all. And the worst part? I was completely alone. There was no one there to help me. No one to ask if I was okay. No one who had witnessed what had happened. Just me, standing in the middle of an old treatment room, staring at a roller blind lying across the floor and wondering how a normal morning had gone so spectacularly wrong.

In that moment, all I could think was: This place is literally falling apart. I looked up towards the top of the window where the blind had been attached and noticed a metal support beam still firmly screwed into the wall.

That’s what saved me. At least, that’s what I told myself. Had that support beam failed as well, the entire roller blind easily weighing close to 50 kilograms, could have come crashing directly onto my head. The thought alone sent a chill through me. My leg was throbbing. My hands were shaking. The adrenaline was still coursing through my body as I cautiously walked back into the room to assess the damage. The examination bed had somehow escaped unscathed.

The old wooden floor wasn’t so lucky. Deep scratches marked the surface where the blind had crashed down, and the roller blind itself had snapped into two pieces. It looked like a disaster zone.

Without even thinking, I pulled out my phone and started taking photos. Every angle. Every scratch. Every broken piece. My heart was still racing, but something else had begun creeping into my mind. A thought. A feeling. A realisation.

As I stood there looking at the wreckage, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just an accident. It felt like a sign.

Not because a blind had fallen from a window. But because, for years, I had ignored the smaller signs. The outdated building. The lack of maintenance. The constant cutting of corners. The unwillingness to invest in staff, patients, or the workplace itself. And now, quite literally, the place was falling apart around me. Standing there in that room, staring at a broken roller blind on the floor, I had a moment of absolute clarity.

This is a sign.

A sign that I don’t belong here anymore. A sign that I’ve outgrown this environment. A sign that no matter how hard I worked or how much I cared, I couldn’t fix a culture that didn’t want to change. For the first time in a long time, leaving no longer felt like a difficult decision. It felt like the only decision. Call it what you want.

Coincidence. Bad luck. Poor maintenance. But for me, it felt like something more.

I’ve always believed that life has a way of sending signs when we’re willing to pay attention. Sometimes they’re subtle, and sometimes they’re impossible to ignore. This one felt impossible to ignore. Standing there, staring at the broken blind scattered across the floor, I couldn’t shake the feeling that God was trying to tell me something.

Leave.

Not next month. Not next year. Leave. Now

Whether anyone else believed it or not didn’t matter. It was what I felt in that moment. After years of questioning my environment, overlooking red flags, and convincing myself to stay, this felt like the final message I needed. I had asked for clarity, and somehow, clarity had come crashing down from the window.

Quite literally.

Still shaken, I picked up the phone and called the receptionist from our other clinic. I explained what had happened , the blind collapsing, my foot being hit, the damage to the room, and the shock I was still trying to process. There was a brief pause before she responded.

“Leave it exactly as it is,” she said.

“And call the doctor straight away.”

The seriousness in her voice told me everything I needed to know. This wasn’t just another maintenance issue. This was something much bigger. If I’m being honest, I was dreading that phone call. The last thing I wanted to do was tell him what had happened. At that point, I didn’t want a solution. I just wanted to walk out the door and leave. Thats how much of a distaste I had for this doctor.

Reluctantly, I picked up the phone and called him. He answered, and after I explained what had happened, there was a strange lack of concern in his voice. I sent him the photos as requested, expecting some sort of reaction.

“Can you move it?” he asked.

I paused.

“The roller blind?”I asked

“Yeah,” he replied. “Can you move it under the desk so the clients don’t see it?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Then again, part of me wasn’t surprised.

A roller blind weighing close to 50 kilograms had just fallen from a window and struck me. My leg was still sore, I was visibly shaken, and the room looked like a construction site. Yet his primary concern wasn’t whether I was okay. His concern was whether the evidence could be hidden before the clients arrived.

Move it under the desk.

That’s what stuck with me.

Not “Are you alright?” Not “Do you need medical attention?” Not “That could have seriously injured you.”

Just move it so the clients don’t see it.

I immediately refused. “No way,” I said. “I’m not touching it.”

Physically, my leg hurt. Emotionally, my heart hurt more. Because in that moment, I realised something. When people show you who they are, believe them. The lack of concern wasn’t shocking anymore. It was familiar. Felt like the new normal. The building was more important than the people inside it. The appearance of the clinic was more important than the wellbeing of the staff. And hiding the problem was more important than addressing it.

I hung up the phone feeling disappointed, but not surprised.

I closed off the treatment room and walked back to the reception desk. Then I sat there quietly, trying to process everything that had just happened. The falling blind. The fear. The phone call. The response.

All of it.

And as I sat there staring into space, one thought kept repeating itself over and over again.

This place isn’t for me. I’m over it.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t questioning whether I should leave. I was questioning why I had stayed for so long. You don’t even matter here. That was the thought running through my mind. Not the falling blind. Not the damaged room.Not the fact that I could have been seriously injured. Just the overwhelming realisation that, in that environment, people were often treated as an afterthought.

So I made a decision.

I took the clinic keys from my pocket, placed them on the desk, and left a note.

It simply read:

“And I’m the problem. x”

Then I walked away. And honestly? That day, I felt free. For the first time. I left everything behind and moved on. I never stepped foot in that clinic again. I never heard from anyone there again. And that was perfectly okay with me.

Some people will say it was a coincidence. Others will say it was just a workplace accident. But for me, it felt like a calling—a sign from above telling me it was time to leave.

I was grateful that nothing serious happened to me. Looking back, I don’t think I could have handled the alternative. Instead, I chose to see it as a doorway out. A way of escaping a place I had wanted to leave for a very long time. The arguments. The excuses. The constant undermining. The criticism. The feeling that no matter how hard you worked, it was never enough.

Eventually, I realised that none of it was worth the mental energy anymore. Life is far too short to remain in a toxic environment surrounded by people who fail to recognise your value. And perhaps that’s the lesson I was meant to learn all along. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do isn’t staying and fighting. Sometimes it’s knowing when to walk away.

That day, I finally recognised my worth.

And once I did, I never looked back.

Love,

Your friend.

Recently, I became a clinical trainer in aesthetic medicine, and my journey as a trainer has been incredibly fulfilling. But if I’m honest, I wasn’t always passionate about teaching. Over the years, after treating countless faces and gaining a wide range of experiences, I realised something: why not turn my knowledge and experience into a way of helping others while creating another income stream?

Of course, some people may see it as a threat to their career—teaching others the skills and techniques of injecting and helping them build their own businesses. But I firmly believe that success in this industry isn’t determined by technical skills alone. It’s about your personality, the experience and service you provide, and even factors such as location.

At the end of the day, there is enough room for everyone to succeed. Sharing knowledge doesn’t diminish your value; it strengthens the industry and helps raise the standard of patient care.

I wasn’t always interested in teaching or sharing my knowledge, mainly because I never saw myself as someone with enough expertise to teach others. It wasn’t until I found myself working in a questionable clinic that I was thrown into the deep end.

The manager at the time informed me that I would be responsible for training a newbie nurse. Of course, I didn’t have much say in the matter, nor was I asked for my opinion. To be honest, I was completely opposed to the idea at first.

I didn’t even know where to begin. Do I start with anatomy? Products? Injection techniques? Patient consultations? Managing complications such as a vascular occlusion? The responsibility felt overwhelming. I remember feeling incredibly anxious at the thought of someone learning from me. This wasn’t just about teaching a new skill—it was about patient safety. In aesthetic medicine, one mistake can have serious consequences, and the thought of an inexperienced or overconfident nurse being let loose with a syringe was enough to keep me awake at night.

At the time, I didn’t realise that the very experiences making me feel unqualified were the same experiences that had equipped me to teach. I had spent years treating patients, navigating complications, solving problems, and learning lessons that couldn’t be found in a textbook. What felt ordinary to me was actually valuable knowledge that a new newbie desperately needed.

But once the training began, I realised something surprising: I actually knew my shit.

Excuse the language, but it’s true. Years of experience had given me a level of knowledge and confidence that I hadn’t fully recognised in myself. I had handled difficult patients, managed complications, navigated challenging situations, and developed clinical judgment that only comes from being in the industry day after day.

Imposter syndrome set in… and because of that, I was strategic about what I taught. With only two weeks to train this newbie, my focus wasn’t on making them an expert injector overnight. My goal was to give them solid foundations. If they left understanding the basics, patient safety, and professional standards, then I had done my job.

The experience came with its own learning curve—not just for them, but for me. I quickly realised that I had to change the way I communicated. The casual clinic jargon I used every day had to be translated into professional, educational language. Suddenly, I wasn’t just an injector; I was a teacher. We covered anatomy, consultation skills, bedside manner, patient communication, and the precision required for safe injecting. There were moments when I became frustrated, and I think that’s a normal part of teaching. I lost count of how many times I watched them hold a syringe like a dart, as though they were preparing to throw it in their faces rather than carefully place a product into tissue.

There were also times when they would speak about a patient’s concerns in front of the patient, unintentionally highlighting every flaw and insecurity the person had. Those moments taught me that being a great injector is about far more than technical skill. It’s about professionalism, empathy, communication, and understanding the responsibility that comes with treating another human being.

So I taught them not only how to inject, but how to carry themselves as a professional. I wanted them to walk into a training session with experienced clinicians and feel confident, competent, and respected—not embarrassed by bad habits that should have been corrected from the beginning.

That experience taught me something valuable about myself. While I had doubted my ability to teach, I discovered that I genuinely enjoyed helping others grow. More importantly, I realised that knowledge becomes far more valuable when it’s shared.

I remember one particular moment that stopped me in my tracks.

The questionable manager casually walked into the treatment room one day and mentioned that the newbie would soon be learning how to perform tear trough treatments using a cannula.

For those unfamiliar with aesthetic medicine, tear troughs are the hollow areas beneath the eyes that can create the appearance of eye bags, dark circles, or tiredness. A cannula is a long, blunt-tipped instrument used to place filler beneath the skin in this delicate area.

The moment those words left her mouth, fear hit me.

The newbie had only just started learning the basics. We had barely covered foundational injecting techniques, and they were only beginning to gain confidence with treatments such as anti-wrinkle injections and lip filler. Yet now there was talk of moving on to one of the more advanced procedures in aesthetic medicine.

In a well-structured clinic, tear trough treatments are not typically introduced to a beginner injector. Most practitioners spend months—often a year or more—developing their skills, understanding facial anatomy, recognising complications, and refining their technique before progressing to advanced areas of the face. This newbie had been training for barely a week.

I remember thinking, surely this is too soon.

The under-eye area is unforgiving. It requires precision, anatomical knowledge, patience, and clinical judgment. More importantly, it requires an injector who knows their limitations. The concern wasn’t whether the newbie could physically place a cannula beneath the skin. The concern was whether they truly understood what they were doing and, more importantly, what could go wrong.

For the first time since becoming a trainer, I realised that my responsibility wasn’t just to teach. It was also to advocate for patient safety. No amount of business pressure, profit, or ambition should ever outweigh the importance of proper training. Patients place enormous trust in practitioners, and that trust should never be treated as a shortcut to experience.

At that moment, I wasn’t worried about the newbie failing. I was worried about a system that expected someone with only a week’s worth of training to perform a treatment that experienced injectors approach with caution. But not surprised since this questionable clinic only cared about the $ at the end of the day.

Fear. Anxiety. Stress.

Those three emotions summed up exactly how I felt.

Despite my concerns, I did my best to teach them. I kept things as safe and controlled as possible because, in my opinion, they still hadn’t developed the technique required to confidently handle a cannula, let alone master the fundamentals of a syringe. My focus remained on building solid foundations rather than rushing into advanced procedures.

Unfortunately, the questionable manager wasn’t satisfied with the pace of learning. Remember it’s the $ that counts not the patient with these people.

As it often happened in that clinic, they decided to take matters into her own hands.

Looking back now, that experience taught me one of the most important lessons of my career: I would never train people this way.

About a week into the training, I was told to take the weekend off. I didn’t question it. In fact, I was relieved. I remember thinking, great, two days away from this place.

When Monday morning arrived, I walked back into the clinic and went straight into our training session. The newbie nurse seemed excited and eager to tell me about their weekend. That’s when they casually mentioned that the questionable manager had spent the weekend teaching them how to perform tear trough treatments.

I remember feeling my stomach drop.

Not because I was offended that someone else had trained them. My concern had nothing to do with ego. It was the realisation that a newbie nurse who had only been injecting for a matter of days had now been exposed to one of the most advanced areas of aesthetic medicine.

I sat there trying to process what I had just heard.

The previous week, we had still been working on the basics—how to hold a syringe correctly, patient communication, treatment planning, and injection technique. Now, somehow, we had skipped several chapters and jumped straight to advanced procedures.

It wasn’t confidence I felt in that moment.

It was concern.

Because training isn’t about teaching someone the most exciting treatment as quickly as possible. It’s about building competence layer by layer, ensuring that every new skill is supported by knowledge, experience, and good clinical judgment.

What I was witnessing wasn’t education. It was acceleration.

And in aesthetic medicine, those two things are not the same.

I don’t think I could have started sweating any faster.

When the newbie nurse told me they had been taught tear troughs over the weekend, I immediately asked, “What do you mean they taught you?”

The questionable manager wasn’t a medical professional. They weren’t a nurse, a doctor, or a qualified health practitioner. They simply were the clinic (questionable) manager—or at least that was their title. In reality, because it was a family-run business, the lines between management and clinical practice seemed completely blurred.

The newbie nurse looked uncomfortable as they explained what had happened.

They admitted that they had been terrified throughout the procedure. In fact, they told me that when they got home that night, they cried genuinely believing they have disfigured someone’s face. At this point they didn’t feel comfortable performing the treatment and knew deep down that they were not ready.

Hearing that broke my heart. Not because they lacked potential, but because they’ve been put in a position, that never should have happened.

At that point, I didn’t say anything to the questionable manager. I wanted more information before drawing conclusions. Part of me hoped there had been some misunderstanding.

Then, eventually, the questionable manager brought it up herself.

With a sense of pride, they casually mentioned that they had taught the newbie nurse how to perform tear trough treatments.

I remember asking a series of questions.

What product was used?

How much product was injected?

Who was the model?

The answers became progressively more concerning.

Then came the answer that completely stopped me.

The model. A 14-year-old girl.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

My mind immediately went to the ethical, legal, and professional implications of what had taken place. Not only was a beginner injector being rushed into an advanced procedure, but the treatment had allegedly been performed on a minor.

To make matters worse, the person overseeing and teaching the procedure wasn’t medically trained. Wasn’t a doctor. wasn’t a nurse. let alone a healthcare professional. Yet they were instructing someone on products, injection depths, technique, and treatment protocols without any formal clinical education or qualifications.

Everything about the situation felt wrong. Evilly wrong.

As healthcare professionals, we are taught that patient safety must always come first. Training should be structured, supervised, and evidence-based. Every procedure should be performed with a clear understanding of anatomy, risks, complications, and informed consent.

What I witnessed was the complete opposite.

In that moment, I realised that my concerns about the clinic weren’t exaggerated. They were justified.

And more importantly, I realised exactly the kind of trainer I never wanted to become.

A good trainer doesn’t rush people into advanced treatments to satisfy business demands. A good trainer builds confidence, competence, and clinical judgment. They know when a practitioner is ready—and they know when they’re not.

Because at the end of the day, aesthetics isn’t about selling treatments.

It’s about protecting people. I mean any normal person in this situation would know their moral compass was spinning crazy.

My heart sank.

For a moment, I completely froze. Inside, my mind was racing through every possible scenario that could have gone wrong. But years of working in healthcare had taught me how to maintain a professional poker face. No matter what I was thinking internally, I didn’t let my emotions show.

The reality was that I felt sick.

Ethically, I knew the situation raised serious concerns. But I also knew how complicated things could become. I found myself caught between what I believed was right and the reality of the environment I was working in.

So instead, I quietly said a little prayer to myself and hoped that no one had been harmed.

I hoped that no complications would arise.

I hoped that everyone involved would walk away safely.

From that moment on, however, something became crystal clear.

I knew exactly what kind of trainer I wanted to be. And the kind-of people we were dealing with.

Ironically, I had genuinely enjoyed those two weeks of training. Despite my initial self-doubt, I found satisfaction in teaching, mentoring, and watching someone slowly develop confidence in their skills. Seeing those small moments of growth was incredibly rewarding. But that incident taught me more than any training course ever could.

Looking back, it’s no surprise that I was conveniently given the weekend off. Whether intentional or not, my absence meant there was no experienced healthcare professional present to witness what had taken place.

It also became clear that I wasn’t training the nurse according to their standards.

And that was because our standards were completely different.

My standards were centred around safety, education, competency, and responsibility.

Their standards appeared to be centred around speed, profit, and getting someone treatment-ready as quickly as possible. $$$

We were playing two entirely different games.

I wanted practitioners to understand anatomy before advanced procedures. I wanted them to recognise complications before they occurred. I wanted them to develop confidence through competence, not through being thrown into situations they weren’t prepared for.

The clinic wanted results.

I wanted responsibility.

The clinic wanted speed.

I wanted safety.

The clinic saw training as a pathway to revenue.

I saw training as a duty of care.

And that’s when I realised that being a trainer wasn’t just about teaching someone how to inject. It was about teaching them how to think, how to make safe decisions, and how to respect the trust patients place in our hands.

To this day, that experience remains one of the biggest influences on how I teach. Because if there’s one thing that questionable clinic taught me, it was exactly what not to do.

A few years later, and a long way from that questionable clinic, I found myself looking back on those experiences with a different perspective.

The good, the bad, and everything in between had taught me valuable lessons—not only about aesthetic medicine, but about leadership, responsibility, and the kind of professional I wanted to become.

That’s when I realised I genuinely wanted to teach.

I wanted to take the knowledge, skills, mistakes, and lessons I had accumulated over the years and use them to help others build successful and safe careers in aesthetic medicine.

Today, I have the privilege of working for an academy that values professionalism, education, and patient safety. It’s an environment that aligns with everything I believe good training should be.

I get to teach practitioners injecting techniques while educating them on far more than just where to place a needle. We discuss product selection, anatomy, facial assessment, treatment planning, placement techniques, complication management, and, most importantly, patient safety.

But some of my favourite conversations aren’t always about injecting.

They’re about the realities of being a nurse, a business owner, and a leader. We talk about confidence and imposter syndrome. We talk about difficult patients, boundaries, burnout, communication, and the emotional intelligence required to navigate this industry. We discuss the challenges of running a business while still trying to be a compassionate healthcare professional.

Because being a great injector isn’t just about technical skill.

It’s about judgment.

It’s about communication.

It’s about professionalism.

And it’s about understanding that every face you treat belongs to a person who has placed their trust in you.

Looking back, it’s funny to think that I once doubted whether I had anything worth teaching. The truth is, every patient, every challenge, every mistake, and every success contributed to the knowledge I now share with others. And while I may teach injecting techniques, what I really hope to teach is something much bigger:

How to become a safe, confident, ethical practitioner who never loses sight of why they entered this industry in the first place. And don’t do this for money.

Being a trainer is honestly one of the hardest jobs I’ve ever had.

The only thing I would place above it is managing people’s emotions and mental health when they’re sitting across from you in a therapy session. But standing in front of a room filled with nine or ten doctors and nurses, teaching them about anti-wrinkle treatments, dermal fillers, anatomy, and safety, brings a completely different kind of pressure.

When I first started, I was terrified.

My mind would race before every training session.

What if they ask me something I don’t know?

What if I explain something incorrectly?

What if someone calculates the wrong dose?

What if a complication occurs during training?

What if a model develops a vascular occlusion? What would I do?

The thoughts seemed endless. I think that’s the funny thing about stepping into a new role. No matter how much experience you have, self-doubt has a way of creeping into the room before you do.

Then one day, I was thrown straight into the deep end. There wasn’t time to overthink it. There wasn’t time to analyse every possible outcome.

I remember thinking to myself, Okay, I’m a big girl. I signed up for this. I knew what I was getting into.

So I walked into the room and faced it head-on.

At first, I spoke far too quickly. My nerves had taken over, and I felt like I was trying to get through the presentation as fast as possible. But as the session progressed, something shifted.

I slowed down. I relaxed. I stopped focusing on myself and started focusing on the people sitting in front of me.

Instead of worrying about whether I sounded knowledgeable, I simply shared what I knew. And then something unexpected happened.

I realised I could talk about this topic for hours.

Years of experience, lessons, mistakes, successes, patient consultations, complications, and clinical observations were all sitting in my mind waiting to be shared. The knowledge I had spent so many years collecting suddenly flowed naturally.

Before I knew it, time had flown by.

Questions were answered. Topics were covered. Discussions were sparked. And for the first time, I stopped seeing myself as someone pretending to be a trainer.

I realised I actually was one.

Not because I knew everything—nobody does. But because I had enough experience, enough knowledge, and enough passion to help others learn. And that, I discovered, is what a great educator really is. It made me realise that I genuinely enjoy training and educating people.

In many ways, it feels like I’ve finally found something that I’m truly meant to do. There is something incredibly rewarding about watching someone’s confidence grow, seeing them understand a concept they once struggled with, or helping them become a safer and more competent practitioner.

And then there’s the feedback.

At the end of a long training day, hearing positive feedback from your students makes every moment of preparation, every nerve, and every responsibility worthwhile.

It’s now been about six months since I started teaching regularly, and what once felt intimidating has become second nature. The role has transformed me into a far more confident speaker, educator, and leader than I ever thought I could be.

I’ve had the privilege of teaching doctors, nurses, and healthcare professionals from all different backgrounds. But one thing I’ve learnt along the way is that education isn’t one-sided. While I may be the trainer in the room, I am constantly learning from those around me as well.

At the end of the day, we’re all human. We’re all learning. We’re all growing. And often, the difference isn’t what you know—it’s how you approach people, situations, and challenges.

Recently, one of my nurse trainees shared something with me that I’ll never forget.

They told me that one of the things they appreciated most about my teaching style was how calm and composed I remained. They mentioned that when I explained injection techniques, I did so with confidence and poise. More importantly, they said that I made them feel safe—that they knew they could rely on me if needed guidance or support.

I don’t think they realised how much those words meant to me.

Because beyond the anatomy lessons, product discussions, and injection techniques, that’s exactly the kind of trainer I strive to be.

Someone who creates a safe learning environment. Someone who supports rather than intimidates. Someone who teaches with patience rather than ego.

Hearing that feedback filled my heart with genuine joy. Not because it validated my knowledge, but because it reminded me that I had made a positive impact on another person.

And when I really think about it, that’s what this journey has always been about.

Not awards.

Not recognition.

Not status.

Just making a difference.

Because even if I’ve only made an impact on one person, that’s enough for me to know that I’ve done something right in this world.

And sometimes, that’s all the success we need.

Ardor x

Another experience that stands out from my time at this questionable clinic involved a regular client. She was what I would call a “frequent flyer” because I saw her almost every month having something done. She spent a significant amount of money at the clinic, which, unsurprisingly, made her one of the manager’s favourite clients.

Most clients who brought their children to appointments would arrive with their child in a pram. Any parent can appreciate the convenience of bringing a child in a pram rather than carrying them in their arms. It made the appointment easier for everyone involved.

On this particular day, however, this frequent flyer arrived carrying her child in her arms. That’s perfectly fine, but I honestly wasn’t sure how she expected to be treated during her appointment.

In my opinion, there should be some form of disclosure or policy regarding children attending cosmetic appointments. If a client brings a child, they should ideally have another adult present to supervise them, or schedule their appointment for a time when childcare is available. This clinic was not designed to be child-friendly, nor was it an environment where children could be safely supervised while treatments were being performed.

As medical professionals, our primary responsibility is patient safety. Trying to perform cosmetic procedures while simultaneously accommodating an unsupervised child can create unnecessary distractions and risks for everyone involved.

This version keeps the setup and leads naturally into whatever happened next in the story.

Moving along, she arrived with her son in her arms. He was about one or two years old. She was a lovely client, but she had a way of persuading practitioners into giving her the treatments she wanted.

That day, I welcomed her into the treatment room with her son still in her arms. At first, he was sleeping peacefully. We completed the consultation, and she told me she wanted her tear troughs treated.

Immediately, panic started running through me.

It wasn’t because I didn’t know how to perform the treatment.

It was because I couldn’t understand how she expected me to safely perform it while she was holding a toddler. Trying to avoid the situation altogether, I gently steered the conversation elsewhere.

“Honestly, you don’t need tear trough filler,” I told her. “Your under-eye area looks great.”

“No, no,” she replied. “I have hollowing. I need it done.”

“Okay, maybe a tiny amount,” I said. Internally, my mind was racing.

A tiny amount of what? There’s practically nothing to fill. She’s already got a beautiful result. Looking back, I suspect she struggled with an unhealthy perception of her appearance. No matter how good the outcome was, she always seemed to find another flaw that needed correcting - clearly she had BDD (Body dysmorphia Disorder).

The problem was that I worked in a clinic where saying “no” wasn’t really an option. Remember when I said that declining treatment wasn’t encouraged?

This was one of those situations. As practitioners, we are trained to assess whether a treatment is appropriate, necessary, and in the patient’s best interests. However, in this clinic, the expectation was often to give clients what they wanted, even when it made you uncomfortable.

I found myself caught between professional ethics and workplace pressure. On one hand, I wanted to uphold the standards required to protect my registration and practise safely. On the other hand, I knew that refusing treatment could create conflict with management, who prioritised client satisfaction above almost everything else. And standing there, looking at a mother holding a sleeping toddler while requesting an elective cosmetic procedure, I knew I was about to be placed in an impossible position.

So, off we went with the consent forms. I completed the consultation, scripting was sent, and secretly thought there was a good chance the doctor would decline treatment.

He didn’t.

He approved her, and we were cleared to proceed.

What happened next genuinely scared me. Before starting, I approached the manager at the front desk and asked if she could watch the child for a few minutes while I performed the treatment. Unfortunately, she was busy chasing up outstanding client payments and couldn’t assist.

I returned to the treatment room and looked at my client.”How am I supposed to inject you while you’re holding your son?” I asked.

To me, it seemed like a reasonable concern.

She simply lay back on the treatment bed, still holding him, and said, “No, go ahead. It’s fine.”

At first, her son remained quiet. But the moment I picked up the needle and prepared to inject, he woke up and started crying uncontrollably.

My heart sank.

There I was, standing over a client with a needle in my hand, while a distressed toddler squirmed and cried in her arms.

Every alarm bell in my head was going off.

“No, keep going,” she said. “I’ll calm him down.” But all I could think about was what could happen if he suddenly jerked, grabbed at her, or caused her to move unexpectedly while I was injecting around one of the most delicate areas of the face.

Tear trough treatments require precision, concentration, and patient cooperation. The under-eye area is highly vascular and carries significant risks if not treated correctly. The last thing any practitioner wants is a sudden movement at the exact moment a needle is being placed.

Yet there I was, being encouraged to continue as though nothing was wrong. In that moment, I felt trapped between what I knew was safe practice and the pressure to keep the client happy. I remember thinking, If something goes wrong here, it won’t be the manager, the doctor, or the clinic owner standing before the nursing board. It will be me.

And that thought terrified me. She continued rocking her son in her arms while I tried to remain focused. In my hand was a cannula, and I was attempting to carefully treat the tear trough area beneath her eye.

“I’m fine,” she said. “He’s fine.”

I wasn’t convinced.

To minimise the risk, I decided to inject the smallest amount possible. I carefully placed a tiny amount of filler and immediately removed the cannula. The entire time, I was sweating. My hands felt tense, my stomach was in knots, and my mind was racing with every possible scenario that could go wrong. I wasn’t worried about performing the procedure itself—I was worried about the circumstances surrounding it.

As soon as I finished one side, I tried to convince her that the other side looked great and didn’t need any treatment.

She was holding her son with one arm and a mirror with the other.

“No,” she said. “It doesn’t look right. I need the other eye done.”

For the life of me, I couldn’t see much of a difference. Dermal filler produces an immediate result, but she had been having treatments for so long and so frequently that it was difficult to identify any noticeable change between her before and after. To me, she looked exactly the same.

By this stage, my stomach was hurting. Her son had gone from crying to screaming. He was looking directly at me while she continued trying to settle him.

“No, go ahead,” she kept saying. “Just finish it.”

Every instinct I had was telling me this wasn’t the right environment to be performing a cosmetic procedure. Then, at the exact moment I thought I couldn’t take any more pressure, the manager walked into the treatment room and took the child from her arms. I don’t think I have ever been happier to see that manager.

The relief was immediate.

For the first time during the appointment, I could focus entirely on the treatment in front of me. There were no distractions, no crying, and no constant fear that a sudden movement would compromise the procedure. I completed the treatment with ease.

Looking back, what stands out most isn’t the filler itself. It was the unnecessary risk that everyone seemed willing to accept except me. That experience reinforced something I already knew: patient safety isn’t just about knowing how to inject. It’s about recognising when the environment is unsafe and having the confidence to speak up, even when nobody else sees a problem.

Unfortunately, in that clinic, speaking up often felt like the hardest part of the job.

As I stood there injecting, the thoughts running through my mind were relentless.

What if I make her blind?

I’m done.

Finished.

I’ll lose my registration.

I won’t be able to work in this industry anymore.

I’ll lose my job.

You know those dark thoughts that race through your mind when you’re under pressure? They weren’t walking through my head—they were sprinting.

Yet somehow, on the outside, I kept a straight face. By the end of the treatment, there wasn’t a significant difference in her appearance. She was happy with the result, and that was all that mattered to her.

Her son was handed back to her while she paid for the treatment, and as she walked out the door, I finally felt a wave of relief wash over me.

It was over.

The manager looked at me and said, “Why didn’t you call me?”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“I did,” I replied. “You were busy on the phone.”

She responded, “I would have taken the baby from the beginning.”

I remember giving her a look that probably said everything I was thinking. Moments earlier, she had clearly signalled for me to leave her alone because she was busy. Now she was telling me she would have. helped all along.

The entire situation left a bitter taste in my mouth. That experience taught me several lessons.

The first was that nobody cares about your professional registration as much as you do. If something had gone wrong that day, I would have been the one answering questions—not the client, not the manager, and not the clinic.

The second lesson was that some people become so focused on what they want that they fail to recognise the risks around them. In this case, a cosmetic treatment seemed to take priority over creating a safe environment for both the procedure and the child.

The third lesson was that ignorance is very real. What felt like an obvious safety concern to me barely registered as a concern to anyone else involved.

And finally, I learnt to trust my skills.

Despite the anxiety, distractions, and pressure, I remained focused. My training, experience, and technique allowed me to complete the procedure safely and efficiently while protecting the client from harm. Looking back, that isn’t a situation I am proud of participating in. If anything, it reinforced the importance of setting boundaries and advocating for safety, even when it is uncomfortable.

To this day, whenever I perform a tear trough treatment, this memory flashes through my mind. Years later, I still can’t believe it happened.

Perhaps the most fascinating part of the story isn’t the treatment itself.

It’s how differently people can view the same situation.

One person saw a routine cosmetic appointment.

Another saw a child, a needle, a high-risk area of the face, and a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe that’s the lesson. Maybe this story isn’t about dermal filler at all.

Maybe it’s about responsibility, priorities, and the reality that not everyone sees risk the same way.

I hope it makes you think.

Love,

Your Friend

We all know that injectables are not permitted during pregnancy, yet some people still don’t seem to understand the message.

This experience happened when I was working in a questionable clinic. There was one particular client who had been a regular. She went from being a typical student, dressed in normal clothes, to converting to a particular culture.

I remember the last time she came in dressed in her usual outfit. She had just started a YouTube channel and mentioned that she had met the love of her life. After that, she returned one day completely covered — her hair was covered, she was dressing very conservatively, and she wanted to dissolve some of her filler.

The change was drastic.

Some time later, she returned once more. This time, she wanted to redo all the dermal filler she had previously dissolved, along with a top-up of anti-wrinkle treatment. She arrived dressed head to toe in a loose, kaftan-style outfit, fully adapted to her new lifestyle.

By this stage, she considered herself a beauty and skincare influencer. I had seen her videos online. She spoke confidently to her followers, but it was clear she lacked a true understanding of what she was discussing. Watching her spread misinformation was unsettling, especially knowing the responsibility that comes with an online platform.

Yet in person, she was the same bubbly, friendly individual.

She had her lips refilled, cheeks restored, and jawline filler. We then proceeded with her anti-wrinkle top-up. She mentioned she wasn’t sure when she would return and wanted everything done in one session.

Consent forms were signed. Clinical photos were taken. Treatment was scripted and carried out as usual.

…..

A few months passed, and one day I saw online that she had given birth.

Instinctively, I began calculating the timeline. I counted back to her last appointment with me.

Something just didn’t sit right with me.

If she had just given birth, that would mean she had been around four or five months pregnant when she came in for treatment.

My heart sank.

The realisation made me feel physically sick.

I went straight back to the drug book for dates and reviewed her clinical notes. Everything was documented correctly. The dates were accurate. Consent forms were signed. Photographs were logged.

And yet, the timeline suggested she had been approximately four months pregnant at the time of treatment.

There had been no disclosure. No indication. No mention of pregnancy.

What made it even harder to process was knowing that I had administered botulinum toxin during that appointment.

Looking back, I remember a subtle feeling that something wasn’t quite right. When she mentioned she didn’t know when she would be back and wanted everything done in one session, it lingered with me. At the time, I couldn’t place why. (Clearly my intuition was trying to tell me something and I didn’t listen.)

She had all of her treatments carried out while she was growing a human being.

Thankfully, from what she later shared publicly, there appeared to be no abnormalities. The baby seemed healthy in the photos she posted. But that didn’t take away the impact of the realisation.

I felt angry.

Angry at her, for not disclosing something so significant. But also angry at myself.

Even though the paperwork was correct. Even though the medical history was completed. Even though pregnancy had not been declared. To protect her privacy — or perhaps to avoid questions — she had worn very loose clothing. Her neck and much of her face were covered with a scarf. There were no visible physical changes that suggested pregnancy. She didn’t appear pregnant at all, from memory.

Still, I couldn’t believe the situation.

The idea that someone would knowingly undergo elective aesthetic treatments while pregnant, potentially placing their unborn child at risk — was deeply unsettling.

That experience completely turned me off doing injectables and, if I’m honest, it made me wary of people in general.

It made me question my own intuition. Had I missed something? Were there other clients who may have done the same, hidden behind loose clothing, covered necklines, carefully chosen outfits which may have lead me to believe they weren’t pregnant?

That thought unsettled me deeply.

The consent forms clearly state that these treatments are not permitted during pregnancy. Clients are asked directly. It is written in black and white.

And yet, she still proceeded.

It forced me to confront an uncomfortable reality: in aesthetic practice, we rely heavily on patient honesty. We can document thoroughly, ask the correct questions, and follow protocol — but we cannot see what someone chooses not to disclose. For a long time, I carried frustration and self-doubt. But over time, I began to understand something important.

You can control your standards.

You can control your documentation.

You can control your questioning.

You cannot control someone else’s integrity.

That experience didn’t just change how I practised. It changed how I viewed responsibility, consent, and the limits of professional oversight.

And it has stayed with me ever since.

From that moment on, I questioned myself constantly. I began double-asking patients, making sure and then making sure again that they were not pregnant before proceeding with any treatment.

Over time, I came to realise something uncomfortable: some people are willing to risk almost anything in the name of vanity.

That is a difficult mindset to comprehend.

Because the reality is this — if something had gone wrong, if there had been harm to the child and it had been linked back to treatment, my career would have been on the line. My registration, my reputation, everything I had worked for could have been gone. Regardless of documentation, regardless of signed consent, the weight of that would have fallen on me.

That thought alone was enough to change how I practise forever.

Since then, I have crossed every “t” and dotted every “i.” I don’t rush conversations. I don’t rely solely on forms. I ask directly. I clarify. I document thoroughly. And if there is ever doubt, I don’t proceed.

This experience taught me a valuable lesson about the aesthetics industry — about the lengths some people will go to, and the mindset that can exist beneath the surface.

For a while, it made me question whether I was a poor judge of character. But with time, I’ve reframed that thought.

It didn’t make me naïve.

It made me safer.

It made me more vigilant.

And ultimately, it made me a better nurse.

Love,

Your friend

The “alien look” became the trend: heavily sculpted cheeks, exaggerated ergo grooves, smaller eyes from excessive cheek filler, frozen faces, and empty 100-unit Botox bottles piling up in clinic bins. Skin was hidden beneath layers of makeup, and at the time, very few people were truly talking about skin health or the effect appearance can have on your confidence and psyche.

Fast forward to the present day, and the industry looks very different. Terms like Baby Botox, skin boosters, glass facials, Emsculpt, and biostimulators are now dominating conversations around beauty and ageing. The focus has shifted from transformation to optimisation healthier skin, softer enhancements, prevention, and natural refinement.

Which brings me to the rise of quiet aesthetics.

So, What Exactly Is Quiet Aesthetics?

Quiet aesthetics is a movement centred around subtle enhancements, skin quality, longevity, and looking effortlessly refined rather than obviously “done.” It’s the kind of beauty that makes people wonder: “I know she’s had something done… but what?” or “Has she had anything done at all?”

It’s the beauty equivalent of quiet luxury - understated, refined, and recognisable only to those who understand it. Instead of making cosmetic work obvious to the world with frozen foreheads or overfilled features, the goal is seamless, undetectable enhancement. Almost unnoticeable.

The face still looks like you — just fresher, healthier, and more well-rested. Like you’ve had the best sleep of your life.

Quiet aesthetics isn’t about changing your face; it’s about refining it. Soft movement, balanced proportions, healthy skin, and subtle treatments have replaced the exaggerated trends that once dominated the industry. The focus has shifted toward prevention, maintenance, and skin health rather than dramatic transformation.

The modern aesthetic patient no longer wants to walk into a room and have people notice their filler first. Instead, they want compliments like: ‘You look refreshed.’ ‘Your skin looks amazing.’ or my favourite ‘Have you been away?’

This Trend Focuses On:

• Natural facial movement

• Skin quality over excessive volume

• Strategic, personalised treatments

• Long-term maintenance and prevention

• Enhancing what you naturally have, rather than chasing unrealistic beauty standards shaped by society

I’ve noticed recently that more patients are moving away from overdone beauty and focusing more on skin health. Honestly, I love this shift. I’m all for glowing, healthy skin even if it means putting the syringe down a little more these days.

Patients are becoming far more educated, and with platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and ChatGPT, information about aesthetics is everywhere. I’ve even had clients come into consultations and test my knowledge.

I remember the era of the “Instagram face,” when almost every client walking into my room looked the same — the same face shape, the same brows, the same nails, and often the same attitude. That phase of aesthetics is fading.

There’s now greater public awareness around cosmetic treatments, and patients are becoming more cautious about overfilled or frozen results. Instead, they’re seeking softer, more harmonious treatments that will age naturally and evolve well with their face over time.

I’ve recently returned from travelling through Europe, and one thing I noticed immediately when coming back to Australia was just how saturated the beauty industry has become, especially in Sydney. I can walk down my own suburb and pass two or three cosmetic clinics within minutes.

Yet when you’re wandering through a small town in Italy, surrounded by history and ruins, beauty clinics are almost invisible. Even in glamorous cities like Milan or Monte Carlo, aesthetic clinics exist, but they’re discreet. Hidden. Private. Subtle. They’re there when you need them, but they’re not constantly in your face the way they often are in Australia.

And to me, that perfectly reflects the European ideal of beauty: quiet aesthetics.

Beauty in Europe feels effortless. The treatments are there to enhance rather than announce themselves. Much like the women walking through the streets of Rome — minimal makeup, fresh skin, natural movement, and individual facial features that haven’t been altered to fit one trending aesthetic. Everyone still looks uniquely like themselves.

I’m not saying Australia or Sydney doesn’t have beauty standards rooted in natural enhancement, because it absolutely does. But as both an injector and a consumer, there are times when the industry here can feel overwhelming and heavily commercialised.

Quiet aesthetics represents the shift away from makeup-heavy beauty and aggressive correction, and toward healthy skin, longevity, and subtle refinement. In 2026, the conversation is no longer just about fixing flaws or chasing trends. We’re seeing a major focus on skin longevity, regenerative aesthetics, collagen stimulation, and personalised treatments that work with the individual rather than masking them beneath layers of filler or overcorrection.

What these Treatments With Quiet Aesthetics Include:

• Biostimulators and regenerative treatments

• Energy-based devices and collagen-stimulating technology

• Glass facials

• Minimal or “Baby” Botox

• Skin boosters and deep hydration treatments

• Potent medical-grade skincare ingredients

• Blood work and internal health optimisation

• Red light therapy

But let me be clear: quiet aesthetics is not anti-treatment.

This isn’t about going completely “natural,” rejecting cosmetic medicine altogether, or taking a strictly holistic approach — although each to their own. Quiet aesthetics is not about abandoning treatments; it’s about intention.

It’s about choosing treatments that work with your natural features rather than against them. Treatments that preserve facial identity instead of replacing it. The goal is no longer to look dramatically different after one appointment, but to look consistently healthy, refreshed, and well-maintained over time.

The modern patient still wants to feel confident, youthful, and attractive — but they want to achieve it in a way that feels softer, more personalised, and sustainable long-term.

Patients still want to look refreshed, healthy, and confident — but they want it done in a way that preserves their identity and individuality. The future of beauty appears to be moving away from “look at my filler” and toward “you look amazing, but I can’t tell why.”

And honestly, that’s probably where aesthetics was always meant to go.

Tell me if I’m wrong, but if this is the direction aesthetic medicine is heading in, then perhaps we are finally shifting toward intuition, health, balance, and safety instead of endlessly chasing trends.

Ardor x

Let’s go back to my nursing days, when I was a junior student and lived with anxiety almost every day while studying nursing.

As a junior student nurse, you’re sent to clinical placements organised by the university for the duration of the four years of study. It felt like a lottery—you could end up in aged care, mental health, maternity, or therapy, anywhere in any hospital. You had to take time off for these scheduled placements, and mind you, it was a full-on, full-time job—working for free. And the nurses often took full advantage of that.

I was in my final year of nursing, almost on my last placement before graduating. I had completed all my assessments and exams; all that was left was placement. When I found out I’d been selected for operative theatres, my stomach dropped. The thought of being present during live, open operations on real patients made me feel sick.

I wasn’t a fan at all. At one point, I even considered changing paths. But I was told I was lucky—some students were sent to nursing homes or aged care, stuck in administrative roles. This, they said, was a rare opportunity. I would learn and see the inside of the human body.

This placement was only four weeks—easy, I thought.

Afterwards, I realized it was the longest one month of my life—and it’s still burned into my memory today. I remember getting up at 4 a.m. to be at the hospital by 6:30 a.m., attending handover, changing into scrubs, and being inside the operating theatre by 7 a.m. Everything was scheduled to the minute.

On one side, you had the scrub nurses; on the other, the anaesthetic nurse and doctor. Then there were the “big players”—the senior surgeon, the assistant, and junior surgeons learning. The room sometimes held 10–15 people, all moving with purpose. You had to be on your game at all times.

I remember one particular morning: I changed into my scrubs and put on a red cap to show everyone I was a junior nurse learning. Everyone else employed by the hospital wore blue, and the surgeons would often wear green. Each person had their own colour—a literal, visual schedule of who was who. Hierarchy.

I came in with another student nurse, and we were told to shadow our assigned nurse and just observe. We opened the sterilized instruments and consumables and stood on the side, taking it all in.

Sometimes, I watched in fascination—whether it was a skin cancer being removed, a breast augmentation, or skin grafts. At times it was genuinely interesting. Seeing the inside of the body took some getting used to, and at moments, I couldn’t even breathe—especially during an abortion.

Other times, I watched in amazement at the advanced machinery and the delicate, thread-like sewing techniques the surgeons used. It was an incredible skill. But alongside that skill came their god-like personalities. They looked down on the nurses and sometimes treated the patient like a piece of meat. (Hence why I refer to surgeons as butchers). The world seemed to shrink to the scalpel in their hands as they cut and stitched, all while listening to German hip-hop music in the background and laughing about their next holiday destination.

It was a man’s world in that room—dominated and masculine. You could feel it the moment you walked through the doors. Men owned that space, and it seemed like they always would.

Sure, there were female surgeons, but the hierarchy was clear: she’s female, let’s make fun of her. I was bewildered and, at the same time, felt disrespected while being in that room. At times you would witness a female surgeon doing the easier part of the surgery, while the males were guided with complicated treatments.

One day, I was standing on the side of the room while the patient was having a tumor removed. I was there to learn, and I had my red cap on to clearly show everyone I wasn’t a paid employee—I was just a student.

Well, one doctor clearly didn’t get the message.

They removed the specimen and were calling down to diagnostics to get it tested (to see if it was cancerous etc). At first, I didn’t even realize the doctor was yelling across the room at me. I was in lala-land, just watching everyone else move and work, I think I was amazed at the size of the tutor to bear witness some lunatic doctor yelling across the room at me.

“You, over there! Don’t you hear me?!”

I snapped back to reality. My face burned red—probably matching my hairnet cap.

“Yes, you!” His anger was in his eyes as he pointed at me.

Me? I looked confused and glanced around, just to be sure he was talking to me.

He was getting more furious, still yelling across the room as if I were some animal trying to get his attention. I froze—I had no idea what he wanted from me.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it!” he barked, waving the phone at me.

Coming to my rescue, my shadow nurse said, “She’s a student. She doesn’t work here.”

Not even a sorry. He went back to his corner, never making eye contact with me.

I thanked her. She said, “Just make sure you’re engaging. If the doctors ask you to do something, just try.” I nodded. Inside, I felt like I had died a little. I couldn’t believe a human being could behave like that. let alone the stature of something that claims to be some superior intelligence.

On the outside world, everyone thinks being a doctor or surgeon is such a respectable job—you’re saving lives (we get it !). But that day, I saw the truth. I saw how angry someone could get in just a matter of minutes, and how quickly you could be made to feel invisible. That day, I lost some of my respect for doctors. I saw the real reality of the hierarchy, the ego, the unchecked authority—and it scared me. It turned me off. I even mention this story to clients and friends if there considering dating a doctor or surgeon.

It’s memories like these that remind me of how grounded and self-aware I am compared to some people in this industry. The medical industry has both its pros and cons, and like any profession, situations can become challenging. But it’s how you manage people and handle difficult moments that truly defines you and your mentality as an individual. There’s a saying: it’s not the situation itself, but how you handle it that matters.

Remembering these moments from my nursing career. I don’t know if it was God showing me the hard road I had to continue traveling, or if it god was showing me the real world—to open my eyes to reality. But it taught me a valuable lesson: to be brave. To be strong. Because at any moment, someone will test you or challenge you, and you have to be on your game—especially in life. It’s how you handle the situations that determines the kind mindset you have.

Love,

Your friend

The Cowboy Injector

I like to call the newbie cosmetic nurses ‘cowboy injectorss’—because they don’t have a clue what they’re doing, yet position themselves as high rollers- clearly inexperienced.

This particular memory has always sent chills down my spine. I constantly reiterate to all beginner injectors: don’t do this for the money. This isn’t your average nursing job—there’s so much more to it. I know I sound like a broken record, but it needs to be said.

This incident happened at a questionable clinic. I was told to train a newbie nurse and teach her the foundations—the absolute basics—of injecting by the questionable manager at the cliic. The newbie was an ED nurse (emergency department) with only one year of nursing experience. Realistically, she had very little life experience to draw from.

She walked in tall, blonde, and ready to learn. I’ll give her that—she was eager. But she didn’t even know the difference between filler and tox, which wasn’t a great start.

I was expected to teach her everything in a matter of days( 2 weeks to be exact). Mind you, I wasn’t getting paid anything extra for this training. All the responsibility was placed on me—if she messed up, I was responsible for her mistakes. That added a level of stress I absolutely didn’t need. And having no say, as I was constantly treated by the questionable manager. I felt like I had no choice.

Day one was a mission. I had to teach her the foundations of tox and filler and how they differ. I remember thinking it would be best to stick to theory and have her shadow for the first day. But I was told by the questionable manager that she needed to inject patients immediately. Horror filled my eyes.

She injected.

I still remember the way she held the syringe—like a dart, as if she were about to throw it into someone’s face.

It wasn’t until about day four or five that she was introduced to the jawline- Dermal filler. Personally, I would never let a cowboy injector anywhere near a jawline. That’s an advanced area and should only be approached once someone has truly mastered the basic foundations—like cheeks and lips. (or at least 1 year experience of dermal filler) But she had to be “thrown into the deep end,” or so I was told by the questionable manager.

The model was male—friendly, warm, almost like a girl’s best friend. He wanted his jawline to look sharper and more defined. The cowboy injector seemed excited, but the fear was written all over her eyes. I don’t think she even believed she was ready for the jawline herself.

But this clinic wasn’t about safety or standards. It was all about the dollar.

The way this clinic operated was - You had to learn all techniques within a two-week training period in order to make X amount of money for them. That’s how it worked. That’s the deal you signed with the devil.

As I marked him out, I explained that we would be using a combination of needle and cannula—needle on periosteum (bone), and cannula along the mandibular border (jawline). Consent was done, the script followed, and photos were taken.

*Side note: Needle is sharp, while Cannula is a blunt needle.

I started with the needle on bone along the chin to define it.

*Pro tip: when injecting the chin with a needle, blending along the sides helps create a more defined and masculine chin and jawline.

I remember saying to her, “Go down to bone, aspirate— watch for a negative result—then inject and gently pull out.”

*Another pro tip: when we aspirate, we’re checking whether we’ve entered a blood vessel. A positive result means blood is present, and that’s your cue to move away and inject in a safer zone.

As she pinched his chin and went down to bone, I asked her, “Are you 100% sure?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Now aspirate.”

She held the syringe like a dart, pulled the plunger back, then injected. She repeated this along the chin area.

Next, we switched to the cannula. By the end, the client was thrilled. He said he wanted more, but due to budget—for now—he was happy with the result.

We explained all aftercare thoroughly and made sure everything was understood. He knew this was a training, that results could vary, and that if anything happened, he was to contact us immediately and go straight to a local medical centre or hospital in an emergency.

Twenty-four hours later.

I walked into the clinic that morning and was told one of the clients had ended up in ED.

My gut dropped. I just knew it. I had a feeling there would be one—and it turned out to be the jawline model.

Without hesitation, I called him to check on him and asked him to come back to the clinic as soon as possible.

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By the time he arrived back at the clinic, the cowboy injector was walking in as well—completely unaware of what had happened.

I pulled her aside and said, “You may have caused a vascular occlusion in the jawline model. We need to dissolve immediately.”

She froze. She didn’t say a word—to me or to the client. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and I could see tears pooling in her tear ducts.

I reassured the client, began dissolving straight away, and called the doctor. I sent a vascular occlusion report to the prescribing doctor as well. Thankfully, it was minor—but he told me he had already been turned away by three places: one medical centre and two hospitals.

By the time we intervened, it was approximately seven hours later. He was in incredible pain. There was mottling, pallor, and bruising along the area.

I used Hyaluronidase—about two vials—along the jawline and around the mouth. I monitored him closely in between seeing other models, checking repeatedly to make sure he was stable. After two to three hours, once I was confident he was improving, I allowed him to go home to rest, with strict instructions to return for review within 24 hours.

*Side note: Hyaluronidase is a dissolving agent used in emergency situations. It contains an enzyme that breaks down hyaluronic acid, allowing the filler to dissolve. This helps restore blood flow if a vessel has been compromised.

She said, “I’m so sorry.”

I told her, “It’s okay—these things happen.” I added, “If you need to go to the bathroom and take a moment, that’s fine.”

A moment turned into an hour.

When she came back, it was clear she’d been crying—red eyes, red nose. Training stopped. She told me she didn’t want to touch another person, which was completely understandable. I took over and finished all the remaining models myself.

By the end of the day, I spoke to her one-on-one, without the questionable manager lingering nearby. I told her, “If you don’t think this is for you, you don’t have to continue.”

She nodded and said, “Emergency is so much easier than injecting.”

I told you so echoed quietly in my mind.

The following day, she resigned. When the questionable manager told me, I wasn’t surprised. It was probably for the best.

I learned a few valuable lessons from that experience. First, I realised just how far I had come in my injecting career. Being able to train someone and manage a vascular occlusion under pressure showed me that the hard work had paid off.

I also learned that I genuinely love educating and teaching. It gave me a sense of purpose—especially in moments when it mattered most. Coming to the clinic to train, rather than just being the hands and making money for someone else, taught me more than I expected.

I also learned that even though I knew she wasn’t suited to this work, I still chose to stay positive and supportive. Even when my heart already knew the outcome. That, in itself, was a lesson.

I learned many things from this experience, but what makes me rethink this memory most is just how challenging and unique this job truly is. It isn’t for the faint-hearted, and not many people are cut out for it. But that’s what makes it different—what gives it meaning.

It made me a far more confident injector from this experience, especially when it comes to training others and stepping in during an emergency. No matter what life throws at you, embrace it with a smile. There’s always something to learn and room to grow, even in environments that feel bleak.

Love,

Your friend

For anyone who has had lip filler or “lip volumisers” (as stated by Australian guidelines), you’ll know the swelling effect can look quite dramatic. From my perspective as a cosmetic nurse, that initial volume is largely due to injury and inflammation. I’ve seen the healing process from day 1 through to day 14—typically, it takes about two weeks for the swelling to fully settle.

I figured I might run down the “dramatic” process and discuss some key tips if you are considering getting your lips done.

For first-time or “virgin” lip patients, education and consultations are key. When I explain the process, I always emphasise this: the initial result can look intense, but it’s simply your body’s natural healing response.

A few important points to keep in mind:

• There’s technically no such thing as “lip fillers”—they are dermal fillers designed for soft tissue areas, such as the lips.

• First-time treatments can feel sensitive or uncomfortable, so numbing will be your best friend.

• And lastly… once you start, you might find it hard to stop—so consider this as your expensive hobby. Welcome to the dark side!

All dermal fillers are made from hyaluronic acid (HA), a substance that closely mimics what is naturally produced in our bodies. This synthetic HA is designed to integrate safely into the skin.

Hyaluronic acid is incredibly hydrophilic, meaning it attracts and binds water—up to 1,000 times its own weight. This is why lips can appear very full and swollen immediately after treatment. Increased hydration can also enhance this effect, as more water is drawn into the treated area.

During the procedure, small injections are made into the lips. Because the lips are highly vascular, this can trigger an immediate inflammatory response. Essentially, the body recognises this as a form of injury and begins the healing process. Signals are sent to the area, increasing blood flow and fluid accumulation—resulting in swelling.

More fluid = more swelling, which is why the initial result can appear quite dramatic before it settles.

In the first 24–48 hours, your lips will be swollen. In fact, they can look noticeably bigger just a couple of hours after treatment—and often even more so by the 48-hour mark. This is usually when I start getting the worried messages and phone calls: “This isn’t what I wanted—they’re too big, I want them dissolved.”

DO NOT PANIC! Trust the process..

What’s actually happening is the healing process underneath the surface.

You’ve got swelling, increased blood flow, and the presence of a foreign substance (the dermal filler) in a highly vascular area. Everything is adjusting, settling, and finding its place. When you combine all of that in such a small, delicate space, it creates a very intense, temporary reaction.

It might look dramatic, but it’s not the final result.

Once the inflammation subsides and the filler integrates, the lips soften, settle, and reveal a much more natural outcome.

From day 2 (around 48 hours) through to days 5–6, the lips will begin to settle and the swelling should start to calm down. By this stage, any bruising usually fades from purple to yellow before returning to normal.

You might notice some unevenness, as well as small lumps or bumps—don’t panic, this is completely normal. It’s simply the filler settling into the tissue, and your lips adjusting during the healing process. At this point, you’re about halfway to your final result.

During this stage, avoid massaging or rubbing the area—let the filler settle naturally.

However, if you notice lumps that feel very firm, painful, or unusual, don’t hesitate to contact your health professional and arrange a review. In most cases, I prefer to wait the full two weeks before reassessing and deciding if any massage or adjustment is needed, as the filler is designed to integrate smoothly into the tissue over time.

That said, if there are signs of incorrect placement (such as being too superficial), or more serious concerns like a vascular occlusion (VO), seek medical attention immediately.

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Aftercare: Expert Tips from a Cosmetic Nurse

Taking care of your lips after treatment is just as important as the treatment itself. Here are some key tips to help with healing and achieving the best result:

• Stay upright & elevated
  Try to keep your head elevated, especially in the first 48–72 hours. Avoid lying flat or sleeping face-down—you don’t want to put pressure on your lips while the filler is still settling. Keeping upright also helps minimise swelling and bruising.

• Ice smart (short intervals)
  You can apply ice or a cold compress shortly after treatment to help with swelling. Use it in short intervals—around 10–15 minutes at a time. Avoid prolonged or direct pressure on the lips.

• Stay hydrated
  Drink plenty of water and fluids to support the healing process. Since hyaluronic acid attracts water, staying hydrated can also help maintain a smoother result.

A little tip some clients swear by: pineapple juice. It contains enzymes (like bromelain) that may help reduce bruising and inflammation—while not essential, it can be a helpful addition.

• Watch your sodium intake
  Consuming high amounts of sodium can lead to fluid retention, which may prolong swelling and delay the healing process. Try to be mindful of what you’re eating and drinking during the first two weeks post-treatment.

• Limit movement & pressure on the lips
  Activities like kissing, drinking, and smoking can increase circulation to the area, which may worsen swelling and extend healing time.

  • Kissing: Best avoided for at least 24–48 hours. The lips are delicate after treatment, and added pressure can worsen bruising and irritation.

  • Alcohol: Try to avoid it in the early stages, as it can increase bruising and swelling, slowing down recovery.

  • Smoking: Ideally, avoid smoking altogether during the initial healing period. If you can’t, wait at least 24 hours and be mindful of the pressure you’re placing on your lips. Repeated pressure in certain areas can contribute to unevenness and may affect how the filler settles. And this applies to vapes, shisha or bongs.

  Overall, the less pressure and irritation you place on the lips during this time, the smoother your healing process will be—and the better your final result.

• Avoid heat exposure
  Heat can trigger and prolong swelling after treatment. This includes hot yoga, saunas, steam rooms, hot showers, and even very hot weather.

  When your body is exposed to heat, blood vessels dilate, increasing blood flow to the area. This can make swelling and bruising worse, and slow down the healing process.

  For both anti-wrinkle treatments and dermal fillers, it’s best to avoid excessive heat for at least a few days post-treatment.

  I always remind clients—try to stay cool. I’ve seen people get their lips done and then head straight to the beach on a 30+ degree day… and then wonder why their swelling is worse.

  Keeping yourself in a cooler environment and avoiding heat exposure will help minimise swelling and support a smoother healing process.

• Avoid exercise (initially)
  This brings me to my last point—exercise. It’s best to avoid working out for at least 24–48 hours after your treatment, especially anything strenuous like bootcamp-style sessions or high-intensity training.

  Increased heart rate and blood flow can worsen swelling, increase bruising, and even cause a throbbing sensation in the lips. This can ultimately prolong the healing process and delay your final result.

• Support healing with topical care
  One of my go-to recommendations is arnica—available as a cream, tablets, or spray. Arnica is a natural remedy commonly used to help reduce bruising and inflammation.

  It may make the area look a little more noticeable in the first 24 hours as it works, but by around 72 hours, you should start to see the bruising settle and improve.

  Other alternatives, such as Hirudoid cream, can also help support the healing process and reduce bruising.

Final thoughts

When it comes to getting your lips done, the process can feel quite dramatic—especially if it’s your first time. This is why a thorough consultation is so important. Your health professional should explain the treatment, the product being used, and what to expect during the healing process.

For lip treatments, softer and more flexible dermal fillers are typically used, as the lips are a highly dynamic area. Most modern fillers also contain lidocaine to help numb the area and make the procedure more comfortable.

Because multiple injections are made into such a vascular area, swelling, bruising, and increased redness are completely normal. The key thing to remember is that the initial result is not the final outcome.

• Day 2: Usually the most swollen and the stage that feels the most dramatic

• Day 5–6: Around halfway—swelling starts to settle

• Day 10–14: Lips should be fully settled, with a more natural, refined result

Trust the process. Be mindful of what you eat, drink, and apply during healing, and give your lips the full two weeks to settle before judging the final result.

Hope this was helpful. Any free or paid subscribers is helpful in building my substack. Ardor x

The company behind it, Hugel, is a major pharmaceutical company that was originally founded by a chemist in Austria back in the early 1940s. What’s interesting is that it’s still run as a family business today. They make dermal fillers and skin boosters, and are also connected with South Korea’s Letybo (Botox). I honestly had no idea they’d been around this long—this year they’re celebrating 50 years, which is pretty impressive.

I had heard of the company before, but it never seemed to have a strong presence in Australia, with most practitioners tending to favour their usual brands of Dermal fillers and anti-wrinkle. To be completely honest, I haven’t been a particular fan of the South Korean botulinum toxin, Letybo. That said, the dermal fillers—Saypha (pronounced “safer”)—appear to perform very well, particularly depending on the treatment area and the specific outcomes desired. This was evident during the live injecting demonstrations, where the results were both natural and well-executed. While it’s clear that a significant amount of effort and investment went into marketing the event, Hugel still appears to have a relatively limited impact within the Australian market.

After speaking with several injectors at the event, many shared that while they don’t dislike the product or the company’s philosophy, they still tend to prefer and rely on other established brands.

But as I watched the conference unfold, it really started to change my perspective. The big-name, highly hyped doctors took the stage—each one basically a superstar in their own part of the world. One was from Asia (Bangkok), another from Europe (Germany), and the third from the Middle East (Dubai). They were such a smart choice for the symposium—bringing in experts from completely different regions meant you got three very distinct perspectives on beauty, which made the whole experience a lot more interesting.

Hugel 360 Symposium

Interior ballroom - Sheraton hotel

Group discussion about the aesthetic industry

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Day 1: We were greeted by news reporter Tania—I’ve seen her a few times on Channel 7—and she was hosting the event. I knew right away this was a big deal. She introduced all the doctors. I won’t name names here, but each one is a major figure in their own country. ( okay maybe I will: Dr. Rami, Dr. Kostantin and Dr. Rungsima.)

They explored facial anatomy in depth, highlighting how the mechanics of the face work together and emphasising the importance of understanding not only the product, but also the underlying muscles, structure, and bone.

Dr Rami posed the thought-provoking question, “What is beauty?”, while Dr Konstantin focused on anatomy and product distribution. Dr Rungsima delivered an engaging presentation on the mechanics of the upper facial muscles and how they interact with injectable treatments.

One thing I picked up: take your time. When injecting, allow the needle to penetrate slowly. This lets the skin layers expand and the product disperse evenly, giving the tissues time to adapt to the slight inflammation. The result? Less bruising and a lower risk of swelling.

They also went over the proper way to inject anti-wrinkle into the muscles, and how to identify the right candidates for the correct dose and outcome.

Dr. Kostantin - The mechanism of the muscles

Dr. Rungsima - The Anatomy of upper face when treating with anti-wrinkle

Dr. Rami- What is beauty?

Then came the discussion on “What is beauty?” When asked, the audience threw out answers like symmetry, proportions, and so on. But one doctor asked a deeper question: “What is beauty to you?”

It really resonated with me—beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder. Everyone holds different standards, shaped by culture and personal perspective. What is considered beautiful in the West may differ greatly from ideals in Asia, and vice versa. It made me reflect on my own experience in the industry; what I may perceive as beautiful could feel like perfectionism to someone else.

Towards the end of the day, several speakers presented insights into the growth of the Australian aesthetic market and its projected expansion in the coming years. They noted that much of this growth is expected to be driven by increasing migration from countries such as India, Pakistan, and the Philippines—an interesting perspective on how demographics may shape future trends.

This was followed by an expert discussion on the impact of AI in the industry. While it’s unlikely that AI will replace practitioners—given the hands-on nature of the work—it’s clear that it will play a supportive role in enhancing patient care. Technologies such as AI-powered mirrors, which can analyse facial features, assess skin health, and even suggest treatment approaches like anti-wrinkle requirements in real time, highlight just how rapidly the field is evolving.

It’s certainly a fascinating time to be part of the industry.

Dr. Rungsima Engaging presentation of Facial Anatomy

Demographics in Australia

AI in the Aesthetic Industry

Day 2: This was the exciting day. I felt like I really got a better feel for the conference vibe. We were surprised by a live injection demonstration with models, showing exactly how to administer the products and tailor treatments to each patient’s needs.

Key Takeaways from the Symposium:

• Inject slowly—take your time to let the skin layers adapt.

• For Anti-wrinkle, a 5-point injection can be just as effective as a 7-point approach.

• Dermal Fillers don’t lift; their main purpose is to add volume.

• Avoid injecting into high-risk areas like the nose, forehead, and temples.

• Be conservative with Anti-wrinkle dosage—less is often more.

• Tear troughs usually don’t need filler.

• Facial Threads are a no-go if you plan to get a facelift in the future.

• Fillers hydrate the skin—they don’t stretch it.

• Every muscle in the face has a purpose and function.

• Each muscle, fat pad, and bone structure plays a role in facial aesthetics.

• Each artery and vein has a specific depth—knowledge of vascular anatomy is crucial.

• Facial anatomy varies—not everyone is cookie-cutter; some people have more prominent branches, others have minor ones.

Live injecting

Live injecting

Inside Aesthetics Podcast

By the end of the live injection show, we were introduced to the infamous Inside Aesthetics duo—a business owner and doctor who started their podcast years ago. They’ve interviewed countless injectors, nurses, doctors, nurse practitioners, facial surgeons, and more.

This was a live podcast recording with the trio of doctors, covering questions ranging from the most basic to the most controversial. One thing that really stuck with me was what two of the facial plastic surgeons said: never ever invest in facial lifting threads.

PDO threads with barbs—what some call “barbed wire threads”—were described as one of the worst treatments for the deep plane of the face. The surgeons recommended alternatives like Sculptra, which stimulates collagen and remodels the tissue naturally. They explained that fillers can potentially migrate and can last for years, but threads don’t serve a meaningful purpose. If someone considers a facelift in the future, threads can actually make things harder for the surgeon and damage the muscular structure.

I was honestly baffled to hear this straight from the surgeons’ mouths. And yet, I realized I had done training and treatments on past clients during the trend for the “fox eye” look. It just goes to show—trends come and go, but natural and subtle beauty will always be in style. They concluded by emphasising the importance of careful patient selection, precise product placement, and adopting a “less is more” approach. Sometimes, just a few millimetres can make a significant difference in enhancing the face. It’s not about adding volume, but rather about restoring balance and building structure.

To conclude, I’ve attended numerous conferences since I began working in the industry, and I can honestly say this was one of the best and most informative symposiums I’ve experienced. They clearly put a great deal of thought into doctor selection, education, live training, and creating a marketing atmosphere that truly inspires you to explore their products.

The focus on beauty, education, and delivering the best treatments for our patients was evident throughout. I left feeling genuinely inspired, and I can’t wait for the next symposium.

Until next time,

Ardor x

This moment happened during my time working at a prestigious doctor’s clinic. By then, I was quite familiar with how the practice operated, so when we were scheduled for a training session, I assumed it would just be me and the trainer.

The training that day was meant to be focused on dermal filler. However that wasn’t the case. I was already familiar with both the brand and the dermal filler products, so this session felt more like a refresher than anything completely new. Typically, before any training session, models are selected. In this case, I used my own mother as the model — she was always my go-to guinea pig whenever I was short on models, and she loved it. Free treatments meant she was always available.

This particular training session was held at the doctor’s main practice, a beautiful heritage building — stunning on the outside, slightly questionable on the inside. I mention this because the “expert” trainer who came in seemed more fascinated by the building and the gossip surrounding the practice than the actual training session itself.

On this particular day, the doctor wasn’t present for the training session. So it was just myself, my mum as the model, and the friendly receptionist- who also would get treatment whenever we were short on models.

I remember sitting outside in the reception area when the regional sales manager and the “expert” trainer walked into the clinic. First impressions in just 30 seconds: she looked annoyed. Actually, both of them seemed bothered that they had to be there. I thought to myself, maybe they just had a bad morning — only to soon realize that her annoyance had a completely different source.

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I remained professional and introduced myself, but they looked at me like they wanted to eat me alive. No introduction, just

“Is it just you today?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, keeping my voice steady, “it’s just me.”

She looked around the practice and then asked, “Aren’t there any other nurses?” whilst pointing her finger at me.

“No, it’s just me — the nurse here today,” I said.

Puzzled. Although she didn’t look puzzled, from all the botox she had in her frown.Her next question made me pause: “Where’s the doctor that owns this whole building?” whilst looking up at the questionable ceiling in the practice. no eye contact.

We walked into the doctor’s treatment room — the usual spot for training sessions, stocked with all the consumables, with the gas unit right next to the treatment bed. Her mouth dropped. She looked around, almost like she was thinking, “I’m too good to be here.” Glancing up at the ceiling again, she kept repeating, “Does he actually own this whole building? It’s beautiful.” eyes glazed with jealousy at this point.

As the training commenced, her commentary faded into nonstop gossip. Meanwhile, I had positioned my mum (the model) on the treatment bed. Without any assistance started injecting without the trainer noticing. Between questions, she asked repeatedly about who worked there, who owned the clinic, and if the doctor owned anything else in the building. Each question came with a perfectly arched eyebrow. it almost felt like a spy had walked into the clinic and was snooping left right and centre.

The receptionist (also the model) was stepping in and out of the practice room, filming content for the clinic’s Instagram page. At times she was giving me a weird, slightly judgmental look, clearly picking up on the awkward energy in the room.

And then the unthinkable happened during the training session.

Now, I’ve done quite a few of these training sessions in my career. However I had never witnessed this level of comfort — let alone lack of professionalism. This truly was the first time i’ve ever experienced this sort of ‘training’.

I was objectively injecting my mum by myself, with all the women in the room observing. Somehow, the conversation shifted to breast enhancements, and she suddenly seemed very perked up. Without warning, she lifted her top, pulled down her bra, and began showing everyone how unhappy she was with the appearance of her own breasts.

“See what I mean?” she said. “They were done wrong. I have to redo them — I’m not happy.”

I was honestly astonished. I was at this point that I just couldn’t continue injecting, because I felt so uncomfortable with what I just witnessed. Here we were, in a professional training session, and she was more concerned about her personal cosmetic enhancements than the actual training. I didn’t even know what to say — I just kept injecting, while my mum, whispering, “What’s wrong with her?”

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Everyone kept a straight face, but you could see the shock on the other women’s expressions. My mum, ever the trooper, just looked away and said, “Yeah, they’re nice.” Thats not something an elderly woman wants to see during a training session let alone hear nonsense gossip. Eventually, the trainer put her top back on and continued complaining about her breasts, how it happened right after her first child, going on and on.

and on…

At that point, I honestly couldn’t believe the lack of professionalism. She had arrived annoyed, never introduced herself, didn’t speak about the products, and certainly didn’t educate anyone. Instead, her attention was entirely on the building, the gossip, and her own enhancements — which, by the way, were quite large. There clearly was no intention to educate and appear professional by this individual.

After all that, she left without so much as a goodbye, and I never saw this “expert” again in my career.

thank god.

I still remember this moment like it happened yesterday. After she left, the receptionist turned to me and said, “That was weird… she’s pretty comfortable showing off her own assets, considering how annoyed she was with them.”

My mum, the model, just shook her head and added, “How can she even call herself a trainer?” Keep in mind, my mum has been to many training sessions and has seen some of the best trainers out there — and in her opinion, this one ranked as one of the worst experiences she’s ever witnessed.

What I learned from this experience is invaluable. I used to get so angry and depressed, thinking i’d never be good enough to become a trainer myself. I was often tried down and told I didn’t have enough experience -and yet you have these ‘cowboys’.

However, after witnessing this, it further solidified a lesson I had been slowly learning: in this field, sometimes connections matter as much as skill. knowing the right people in high places can get you opportunities - like this so-called “expert” trainer, who, in reality, knew very little and lacked professionalism entirely. I would have made a complaint to the company and completely ruined this trainer but I thought no much would come from this.

What I truly learned is that being professional is everything. To this day, I constantly remind myself to stay poised, knowledgeable, and professional in this industry. I sometimes think back to that memory and tell myself never to stoop to that level of people like that.

Sometimes, life gives you a glimpse of experiences like this to teach you valuable lessons. And because of that lesson, a few years down the track, I became a qualified trainer myself. I would be mortified to behave like she did, but im actually grateful I witnessed it- it showed me a side of the industry id never see again and reinforced the kind of trainer I aspire to be.

Love,

your friend

So, I have another vivid memory from when I worked for a reputable doctor.

At the time, I was still settling into the clinic. I was still learning how everything operated, getting used to new clients. I had become close friends with one of the two receptionists. The other receptionist and I was on friendly terms, but not particularly close.

My close receptionist friend was travelling to Europe for her annual holiday, which meant the clinic was going to be short one receptionist. The other receptionist mentioned that her sister could use some extra cash and was happy to work the days needed.

And that’s exactly what happened.

With no receptionist experience, no proper training, and no onboarding at all, her sister was put straight on the front desk and given the job.

The day before this particular shift, I messaged the sister- receptionist to ask whether there were any clients booked and what time I was starting. The previous receptionist used to message me beforehand with the number of bookings and my start time, which made planning and organising my day so much easier.

That all changed when she came in with her rude, entitled attitude through the text messages.

I asked, and she replied: “No, no one. I don’t know — you need to ask the doctor.”

That felt strange to me. As the receptionist, shouldn’t you know whether clients are booked for the following day? Shouldn’t files be prepared and organised for the doctor?

I was genuinely confused by her behaviour.

I messaged the doctor, but didn’t receive a reply. I was caught between two decisions and didn’t know what to do, so I left it.

I figured that, as a newbie nurse, I probably wouldn’t have many bookings anyway. I was just starting out and hadn’t yet built the trust of clients.

The next morning, I woke up a bit late. I’d left my phone charging, and when I finally checked it- hours later. I saw numerous missed calls and messages asking if I was on my way to work — that my first client was already waiting and where I was.

My heart sank.

I had a gut feeling something like this would happen. I didn’t even fix my makeup — I threw on my scrubs and got on the road immediately. Within forty minutes, I was at the clinic.

I was so angry when I walked in that I couldn’t even look at the receptionist. She didn’t say a word to me either. She just sat there with two computers — one for the doctor’s reception work, and the other for her real online job. She was working online while supposedly working at the clinic.

Clever, maybe. But rude.

The doctor came out and said, “Thank God you’re here.”

I replied, “I’m so sorry, but this isn’t my fault. I did ask, and I was told there were no clients booked.”

The doctor said to me — and I’m not exaggerating — “It’s your responsibility to know if you have clients.”

He then added, “It’s such a shame I had to see your clients on top of my own.”

Not good.

“But next time,” he said, “please be here and ready.”

My stomach turned. I had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom. I felt like a dart had hit my head. I had a nervous, angry pee, tears swelling in my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.

As I came out, I caught her watching me — smiling, almost deviously. She didn’t get spoken to. Not even questioned. Nothing. I got in trouble for something that wasn’t even my fault.

I wiped my tears, walked back out to the front of the clinic, and simply gestured for my next client to come in and follow me.

Thankfully, I had clients to keep my mind busy — otherwise, I might have lost it. It took everything in me not to wipe that smile off her face.

I couldn’t believe the audacity of this woman.

I had messaged her the day before, and she had bluntly told me no, don’t know.

I did try to speak to the doctor about it, but he told me he didn’t have time to discuss matters like this.

That lack of support made me feel completely worthless.

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Disappointed, I finished with my clients and then just walked out. I didn’t even have the energy to eat or talk — I shut down entirely.

I did mention what happened to the sister of the other receptionist, and she admitted she thought her sister’s behaviour was uncool. But nothing came of it. She still got away with it.

It wasn’t until much later that she showed her true colours to the doctor. That was when he fired her immediately and told her never to return.

At some point, I felt a small sense of victory. But did it really matter?

Did it change anything for anyone? No.

Still — for once — it felt good not to be seen as the bad guy.

I learned from that experience that no one really cares about anyone else.

We spend so much time worrying about what other people will do, say, or think — when, in reality, most people are only focused on themselves. No one cares if you’re hurt. No one cares if they make you feel worthless. No one cares if you have an opinion or a voice.

The only thing people truly care about is how they can benefit themselves in any given situation.

That experience showed me a very different working environment. I had never worked with such a disrespectful receptionist (and doctor) — let alone a person like that. She wasn’t just rude and careless; she smiled deviously, as if she were secretly siding with the devil. There was something dark in her eyes — a glint that I had never seen before.

I hadn’t, and still haven’t, come across anything like that since.(thank god, never to be seen or heard again). But it made me want to protect myself from that day forward — to always be prepared (and wear an evil eye). You can’t blindly trust everyone in this world. But that still doesn’t deter me from being a kind human at the end of the day.

Love,

your friend