DURHAM, N.C.—Sarah Lerman is a pretty typical 30-something-year-old. She is unhappily married and has a steady job as an accountant. She wasn’t always this way, though. Back in high school, she was a hoot. Oftentimes, she reminisces, thinking about what she would do to go back. Lucky for Lerman, she just got her big break: a pimple.
Typically, a pimple is an inconvenience, something embarrassing, but Lerman was suddenly reinvigorated. She was transported back to a former time, one when she was free, unhindered by things like her job and her marriage. She was okay in classes, but she really made her mark in the social scene. Her social prowess, however, would have been nothing had she not been so adept at covering up something that stuck with her throughout high school: her pimples.
She had slightly oily skin, so it required more care and attention than your typical teen – but she was out all the time, which tired her out. Every morning, she would look in the mirror and see an ocean of white and red dots scattered across her face. Armed with her arsenal of concealer, she would liberally smother her entire face. With no spots peeking through, she would be ready to take on the world in her low-waisted jeans and crop top.
As she looks into the mirror now, everything comes rushing back, all of the memories, the bad decisions. She looks into her cabinet and with a shaky hand takes out the concealer. As she lightly applies the make-up on the plump, juicy whitehead, something changes within her. She doesn’t want to just be reminded of her youth by the pimple, she wants to relive everything. After one more look in the mirror, she whips out her phone and redownloads Tinder.
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