I won’t speculate why my facebook page is showing me so many ads for cosmetic neck creams except to point out that there is a camera on my laptop, and who knows where it goes at night? One of the ads promises to give you a “neck that turns heads.” It’s called Système 41. The Système makes it Frenchy, and the 41 makes it sciencey.
You’d think turning a head would be the bare minimum we should expect out of a neck, but there’s no guarantee of it, and I know that first-hand. The family still remembers that camping trip during which my sister had to extract me from my own sleeping bag like string cheese from a wrapper because my neck had completely locked up. That was the most acute episode of the story, but the problem persisted for a number of years that can be measured in chiropractic bills. I did finally fix my neck, but not in a way anyone else would notice.
This particular ad was for a product that could make my neck lovely enough to attract favorable attention. My head would float like a wine goblet on a delicate stem, and heads would, presumably, turn.
Heck, they turn anyway. My neck is an anatomical wonder. My head bobs around on it like a cherry on a bowl of tapioca. Over time, it has developed interesting topographical features including crevasses and pillow lava and, dead center in the throat region, an awesome sinkhole. Under magnification, face mites can be seen fleeing its vortex. (This is visible with the naked eye during a Zoom meeting.)
All of this was easily predicted. Whatever my finer physical attributes may have been, my neck was never among them. It’s as if God wanted me to have a tiny but dense head and gave me a handy cushion to rest it on. At this stage my neck is merely fulfilling its destiny.
The particular cream that promises to turn heads is made, it says here, of four different manufactured peptides, or protein fragments, plus a bonus ingredient made of stem cells from a grape. They excitedly note it costs far less than $150 neck creams, but, I contend, it costs a whole lot more than a homemade protein patch of Spam stem cells derived from the goo layer at the bottom of the can.
There really is something to be said for plant stem cells in cosmetics. Plant stem cells are good at regeneration; if you cut a stem, you’ll get new buds. Liberally applied to the neck, they might produce a crop of energetic skin tags waving like sea anemone fingers at low tide. Stem cells in general are capable of turning into almost any kind of cell. Grape stem cells do not have to worry about turning into livers or hearts or urinary tracts but can concentrate on becoming miles and miles of grapevine. I hesitate to apply grape stem cells to my neck in case I fall asleep in my recliner and my neck puddles up, crawls over the chair, and vaults onto the computer desk.
Human stem cells would probably work even better, but the industry has focused on plant cell technology because an economically significant percentage of consumers balk at using embryo bits, even for such a desirable result as turkey-neck improvement, although market studies show that resistance is largely overcome if we throw in the possibility of thicker, more luxuriant hair.
In any case, the development of an effective neck cream is a laudable use of resources now that we’ve got world hunger, disease, and environmental degradation under control. As for me, I have my own beauty regime for my neck. I discovered it last year.
There have been times when I was relieved to have to wear a mask in public. About a month ago, I had some pizza that had an incredibly concentrated, acidic tomato sauce on it. Paul and I both had an upset stomach but I had the bonus of also getting canker sores on the inside of my mouth, which swelled the area between my nose and lips, and also my upper lip and the glands in my neck. I looked like an aging Paris Hilton with an overbite who was storing nuts for the winter. The swelling went down in a few days, especially once I got the bright idea to cut out all other acidic comestibles for a while. (Dur!)
Is there any pizza left?
Thanks! I sewed up about a dozen for us originally and now we're down to about six. I don't know where they go, but I'll bet they're playing with our orphan socks.
My make-up use has gone way down. 1. I rarely go outside my house. 2. Wearing a mask means most makeup would smear.
Time to cut yourself loose from makeup forever, I'm thinking. Freedom.
When turkey neck cream works on turkey necks, I might try some.
Turkeys! Kid stuff. I'm in vulture territory.
Hey, In the last picture if you holding a wine glass, your neck looks fabulous!
While you gals are thinking about Freedom from Makeup, I'm contemplating never touching a razor to my face again. But every time I don't shave for a week or so, the salt-and-pepper stubble gets to the point of fuzziness where it looks like I've put vaseline on the lense of my zoom camera. It just doesn't have that sharply-defined, sexy-stubble look that younger men (mostly in the movies) are able to sport…
I think you have to let it go a LEETLE longer.
Not me, baby. I've always loved tweaking my look. When I discovered Doctor Who, I found a kindred spirit (except, of course, for the time travel.) As Oscar once said: “To be natural is such a very difficult pose to keep up.”
Not if you're lazy, it's not.
Oh, Ed, I've personally known only one man whose look was improved by not shaving. Stubble, mustache, or beard of any sort would be grounds for divorce IMHO.
Thanks, Ed, for shaving. Stubble is not a style. It’s just a lousy look. Same with Rapunzle hair for women. Not flattering after age 14.
I like stubble. And I've never seen Dave's upper lip!
In my twenties I discovered I could hide my chin, which I didn't like and still don't, with a beard. In my sixties I discovered I could also hide much of my neck, which I no longer like, with a beard. It's like having built-in make-up!
Also, Ed, you hit on the magic word: young men. Young men and women are able to pull off all sorts of bad grooming with aplomb, while we in our latter years just look slovenly. Although even when I was younger, I hated guys with stubble. Sure, they were hot, but their stubble abraded my face while we were snogging in the workplace bathroom, and I'm sure that one didn't have to be Hercule Poirot to know what we were doing.
The workplace bathroom? That's gross. We just raised the cage on the elevator to stop it halfway up.
You had a different workplace. There are no elevators in restaurants. One uses what is available.
The other thing about the layer of goo at the bottom of the spam can is that you can't slather it on your neck without immediately attracting every dog within a 2km radius and probably a few cats as well.
I'm ignoring my neck as much as I can, as long as it continues to hold my head up, that's good enough for me.
I would like to know how you know about the dog/cat issue, myself.
I remember how our dog would appear from nowhere when we opened the spam can even a quarter inch.
Thanks for making me actually LOL. Your commenters are also pretty clever!
I likes 'em!
Wine versus Grape Stem Cells applied to the Neck Region just sounds like a better option. Give those in close proximity enough Vino, and I'm sure any of us would look even better to them thru the haze of being in a drunken stupor.