My Bacne Confessional

I wrote a piece for the New York Times about my problems with body acne. I've suffered from acne most of my adult life. My skin was great when I was a teenager, but, then again, I didn't really hit puberty until I was in college (seriously). I've seen a lot of dermatologists over the years, tried a ton of products and even modified my diet in hopes of bettering my skin.

Nothing has cured me, but I've found that some things do seem to help--namely, products with benzol peroxide (though many doctors find this ingredient too drying for older skin) and salicylic acid. Recently I've also become a big fan of a serum with ferulic acid and retinols because it has anti-aging benefits (promotes collagen growth) and helps fade the brown spots my blemishes leave behind.

Another big find, recommended to me by my editor at Marie Claire, is a sunscreen from a brand called Elta. Most sunscreens clog my pores, so in the summer I'm generally faced with a dermatological sophie's choice: Protect my skin from harmful UV rays and deal with ongoing breakouts for three months, or forgo the sunscreen and get that much more wrinkled and sun-damaged at summer's end. Thanks to this one product I can slather on the SPF and not worry about having a faceful of zits by nightfall.

Anyway, for this piece, I really focused on body acne and how it can often be even more challenging to deal with than acne on the face. As an intro into the piece, I started with a rather personal anecdote about my struggle...

It started with a racerback top. I bought it to show off my newly toned arms and back, byproducts of the twice-weekly cardio sculpt classed I had been taking at my gym. In that top — black and made of silky cotton — I felt buff and sexy, as close to Angelina Jolie in “Tomb Raider” as I was going to get.

My husband, Max, came home to find me cooking at the stove. “Hi,” he said simply, a twinkle in his eye. I blushed. He had noticed. Dropping his briefcase, he sidled up behind me. “Hold still,” he said in my ear. Then he stuck his fingernail deep into what must have been an angry red blemish on my upper back. It was hardly the reaction I was hoping for. (Plus, ouch!)

You can read the whole piece HERE.