You Do. You Do Need the Sunscreen.
|My gnome is the only thing that will survive this season.|
But apparently others do. Because Tina immediately launched into an impassioned, “You don’t understand, Ann. There are people. On Facebook. Debating—DEBATING—about wearing sunscreen. Some think it’s toxic. Some think it’s unnecessary. People don’t like science.”
|I can't believe this is even an issue.|
So I get it. There’s a lot we don’t know about sunscreen. Commercial sunblocks may be rife with skin irritants and chemicals that are difficult to metabolize. This may result in disease.
Better to let your flesh burn like a butane lantern.
Because the sun is so much worse. Omg. SO MUCH WORSE. Please tell me you all saw this article in the Huffington Post?
|I didn't start wearing sunblock until I was 26 and now my face looks like this all the time.|
But what about vitamin D? Sure, the sun is essential for kicking off photolysis, so that your body can manufacture vitamin D on its own, but your vitamin D level isn't necessarily the direct effect of sun exposure. This would require ignorance as to the complexity of vitamin D synthesis and metabolism, which is why so many elderly persons are lacking in vitamin D, regardless of their sun exposure—not to mention people with autoimmune disorders, renal or parathyroid dysfunction, those lacking in commensal gut bacteria, or persons who suffer from low cholesterol which, in the form of 7-dehydrocholesterol, is necessary for the synthesis of vitamin D.
|On my best days, I look like an advertisement for Miralax.|
Basically, anyone who is trotting about saying, “I never wore sunscreen a day in my life, and here I am, at thirty-five, cancer FREE!” is pretty much akin to my friend, an avid chain-smoker, who is rapidly approaching ninety years of age and still brags about his lack of cancer even though he’s lived long enough to contract every other disease in the Merck Manual.
Stuff is brewing.
Stuff is brewing.
Like, congratulations on not having skin cancer at a relatively youthful age. Come back and talk to me when you’re seventy-five, but I'll bet my pants that right now, you already have sun-related freckling on your arms. Seriously. Look down at your forearms. Are they spotted? Showing signs of uneven pigmentation? Broken capillaries? Are there noticeable white splotches where your skin cells have basically just said, “#$% tha police” and refuse to produce melanin altogether?
|I thought maybe changing the filter on my camera phone would make me more attractive, but that's really asking too much from this face.|
And you will feel bad. You will. You think you won’t, because you’re strong. You’re practical. You grew up on a farm, so you know the virtue of hard work. The callous beatings of afternoon sun. You bear the regal insignia of actinic keratosis on your cheeks. But when confronted with the buttercream complexion of Isla Fisher, who is 40, but looks like a fetus because she wears Supergoop, you won’t feel regal, YOU WILL FEEL BAD. You don’t know what it’s like to run into these people on La Cienega and have them look at you like you’re a massive melanomic boulder.
TRUST ME. I DO.
TRUST ME. I DO.
And only then will you realize that your skin is failing you, because you have failed it. But it’s too late, because the world’s biggest IPL laser can’t abolish the evils metastasizing on your dermis. You might as well drink 10 liters of toxic sunscreen and call it a life—truly a better way to die than the prostrate misery of premature aging.