I can actually vividly remember the moment I realized that crepey skin was officially part of my life.
I’m glad I skipped the snake-oil hard sells and gave ammonium lactate a shot.
It happened during downward dog. There I was in shorts and a tank, assuming the inverted asana, when—plop!—the flesh on my arms and legs suddenly decided to hang loose, and not in a good way. While it seemed to be an all-at-once occurrence, surely decades of sun worship had something do with it. Naturally, I went into crepe-y skin damage control, even watching a mind-numbing infomercial for an insanely pricey “miracle” cream. I came to my senses and assumed I’d just have to live with looking like a lizard.
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