Karen Krizanovich: An American Bitch in London

Silky shiny skin 

The Dermatologist.

He is the dermatologist to the stars, the rich and the famouses for sure. And I must divert my eyes when I go into Dr. Lowe’s splendid surgery to have my ‘working assets’ examined. I mean, last time I was there I saw… well, out of fairness to the good doctor I must not say who was there although, damn, I almost squealed like a pig with delight and recognition.

Sitting in the comforting pale yellow-with-gorgeous-plasterwork waiting room of arguably the UK’s finest skin man, you notice two things:

a) The good doctor looks amazing, healthy, happy and ageless. It is freaky. I’ve known this lovely chap for over ten years and he looks younger now than he did then and it is not all trampoliney-yoof or Mr Drum Top Chops either. This man is yummy; he looks GOOD and b) I am the only one who eats the biscuits in the waiting room. Everyone else sits there with their fashionable handbags, chatting delicately on the phone, reading Nietzsche and losing weight until one of the beautiful assistants comes to take you away… to the ‘tox room, or the laser room, or the thermage are. Or, if you’re lucky, to the good doctor’s office itself, awash with books, plants, a little runny thing with water trickling through it and the doctor himself, sitting behind a huge mahogany desk. (Okay, I don’t know my wood. It could be walnut. In any case, it was once some kind of tree.)

I swear by the good doctor’s products (easily found at Boots the Chemist and quite affordable, hint hint, and they are GOOD so I don’t mind saying) so I am up to speed skincare-wise. But I can, and regularly do, fling myself into the chair opposite his desk (the wooden one) and cry out, ‘FIX ME!’ I expect him to reply, ‘Karen, you know I can’t work with this filth!’ but he never does.

He and his fragrant hands push and pull and he tests what needs pulling up and what’s just fine. Thankfully, my Dalmation parentage means my skin is pretty good, considering that I never planned to live this long. But what am I having done? None of your damned beeswax! Let’s just say, the next time you see me on TV, I’ll look marrrrvellous.

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2 comments to “Karen Krizanovich: An American Bitch in London”

  1. How much does he charge? I have this rash thing…

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  2. Karen, you are on sparkling form, love. This is cheeeeenius!

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