Is Botox bogan? I thought I wanted an ‘old-money face’, but the real me needs a little help

July 10, 2026 — 9:00am

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Last June, I made a pact with myself to break up with Botox and hair dye. The motivation? I’d decided I wanted to wake up on my 60th birthday this October looking exactly like myself.

It came after a session with my trusted aesthetic nurse, Christine. I’d put my face in her hands for 12 years. Loved her work so much I went to Canberra for it. But something changed after she last weaved her magic just over a year ago.

My face looked pretty good. Fresh, not “done”. It matched the gloss of my fake hair colour, a golden silvery respectable blonde not unlike my childhood’s pale straw.

But I suddenly wasn’t sure it matched who I was, or at least who I wanted to be. Someone fearless about ageing. A woman confident enough to see her wrinkles and silver ribbons as road maps – proof she’d lived, loved, endured, enjoyed. A mum happy to pass the baton of youth to her kids.

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