Holy Cow! Did you know you can have spots and still be beautiful? Because I didn’t for most of my life, still struggle with it, we’re getting there. I started breaking out when I was nine. I hadn’t even noticed until a classmate asked me about it in the school yard and I had no response. I didn’t even regularly look in the mirror at that age, what for? By the time I reached middle school my skin had exploded. I became equally obsessive with and avoidant of mirrors. I became faithful to my ever evolving facial regimes morning and night. It didn’t matter how tired or short on time I was, I was doing a steam and face mask thank you very much.

I can confidently say my life’s biggest money drain has been skin care. I’m talking tens of thousands of dollars on cleansers and creams from drug store brands to high end designer skin care. I’ve gone for facials in sketchy back alley beauty parlours and exclusive spas alike. I would beg my mum to call the toll free number every time a Proactiv commercial came on TV, “But Kendall Jenner is promoting it now, that must mean it works!” It didn’t feel like an optional expense but an obligatory one. My skin became a question of morality, it was “bad” skin. I wasn’t doing the right things, using the right products and that’s why it acted up. I felt as though others thought my skin was my “fault”, like I was dirty, when in fact I took better care of and knew more about the largest organ of our bodies (our skin) than anyone I knew.

I’ve had my skin poked and prodded, zapped and scorched. I would lie on the roof of my house as a teenager in my bathing suit until my skin blistered, hoping to sear my bacne off. I had learned to equate pain with progress, if a product burned that must mean it was working. I cut out dairy, sugar, gluten, all with zero effect. I considered risky hormonal treatments my dermatologist strongly advised me against.

I’ve dealt with so many comments on my skin over the years, from straight up insults, to unwanted advice, and more subtle remarks that came from no place of malice made by friends and family. Comments like “Your skin’s gotten so much better, I barely recognized you!” acknowledging how much worse it used to be, or moments like the time my grandmother dropped off a bag of Clinique products with an attached note that read “Good luck!” To me this was the equivalent of gifting me diet pills and yet at the time I felt grateful. It’s always been difficult hearing friends complain about their own skin, next to mine whose good skin days were beyond their wildest nightmares.

All my other physical insecurities bow down to my acne, disappear in it’s shadow. Sadie is thus a very special character in the series for me. Where my acne can feel loud and offensive, she is soft and pretty, angelic. Acne has become such a part of my identity and with this illustration I wanted to gain a perspective of not loving the way I look despite of my skin but because of it. It’s called tonal variance babe, let’s add a pop of colour to this greyscale world.

Hi, hello, I would like to order one cute little button nose like Cindy Lou Who, with a ski jump flick at the end please.

Instead I got a nose with a bulbous tip and nostrils that flare to an impossible size, that my mother used to joke I could rent out for parking when I was a child. If you make me laugh hard enough you might see what I mean.

It seems that being a human on this earth comes with an obligatory dislike for ones own nose, automatically. Why do we have such contempt for this part of our bodies? I’ll admit I don’t even hate my nose that much, it just seems like something that’s par for the course.

When I broke my nose I’d be lying if I didn’t think it was the perfect excuse to undergo rhinoplasty, and considered asking my 2nd cousin where she’d gotten hers done.

My dad lost his sense of smell when I was younger due to complications with his sinuses, and I’m convinced that my own sense of smell heightened due to his lack thereof. I can tell if my roommate’s boyfriend has been over because her sweater smells like his cologne, the scent of expired food will stay with me long after the garbage has been taken out, and the slightest whiff of burning firewood can launch me in to childhood memories.

I focus on breathing through my nose during my daily yoga practices, when I’m trying to fall asleep, and when attempting to stop crying or laughing uncontrollably.

My nose looks like my mother’s, and hers in turn like her own mother’s. A family heirloom passed down.

Tulip is a bright faced cutie who comes rushing at the smell of dinner on the stove, whose nose is also perfect for being boop-ed.

I always had pretty perfect teeth. I’ve never had a cavity, never needed braces, floss every night, maintain a close relationship with my dental hygienist (shout out Carmel), but my right canine tooth has always been a little too pointy...#TeamJacob4life

Darlene is fierce and knows it, crawling in to any room smiling, she’s always ready to take a big chomp out of life.