I want a trophy for not getting botox.

The Cheek 002: rock n roll aging and banging in a balaclava

你好, Substack! (Translation: "Hello, Substack," in case my Chinese TikTok spy is reading 💜)

ICYMI: we’re willingly giving our data to China, via the Red Note app, since our beloved TikTok may cease to exist. By this time next week, I might be bringing you up to speed on what’s trending over there. But while we await the next viral short-form app, let’s discuss this week’s trend: it turns out we may hate ourselves even more than we realized. Women are posting photos and asking strangers to guess their age. I’m unsure if they’re fishing for compliments, hoping they look younger, or just love to hurt their own feelings. What’s worse than a faceless troll telling you you look 10 years older?

This isn’t a profound thought, but maybe one we need to hear again– there’s nothing wrong with looking your age. The other day, when talking about getting older, my husband said, “It’s clear I keep getting better with age.” 1. He’s right—he keeps getting hotter. 2. If a woman said that, we’d laugh in her face. Men get to prance into their 40s feeling distinguished and wise, but women are manically erasing all signs of life and calling it self-care.

I am vain-ish. I wear makeup. I dye my roots. I’m losing weight because I feel hotter when I’m thinner. I’m not the world’s best feminist. But I do feel smug about not getting Botox. It’s not because I have good skin (even though I do 💅🏻). It’s because I refuse to buy into the idea that women lose value with age. You’re telling me I’m lucky enough to feel the spectrum of human emotions—laughing, crying, frowning—and I’m supposed to erase the evidence? No thanks.

I saw a video where someone said it’s punk to skip Botox, and you know what? Fuck, yeah! This is my quiet rebellion against the idea that women expire like dairy. (And seriously, who decided to call 35+ pregnancies “geriatric”? Enough already.)

Was David Lynch your grandfather?

I didn’t know everyone loved David Lynch so much. Apparently, I’ve been living under a rock because I barely knew who he was until this week. I legit thought he was someone’s grandfather before seeing multiple people post the same thing. I almost gave my condolences.

I’m not a film buff and can barely remember the names of actors I like, so maybe I’m just feeling left out. But there’s something so strange about dedicating IG stories to dead celebrities. It feels like everything we do online is just another trend to keep up with. I even found myself thinking, “Does not knowing everything about this guy make me uncool?”

And then there are the fires in LA. Can we establish some unwritten rules for social media etiquette during tragedies? Either post resources and ways to help, or don’t post about it at all. I don’t need to see a throwback photo of you in front of an establishment that burned down, from that one layover you had on your way to Hawaii. I’m sure I’ve been guilty of making things about me too—trying to appear more heartbroken than I actually am for attention. But still, maybe we all take a beat before making someone else’s tragedy about us?

I am going to yuck your yum.

If you’re a grown man who lines up with a thousand other grown men to have sex with a young woman while wearing a balaclava, I think you’re creepy. Frankly, I think everyone in your life should be concerned about you. If you’re lucky enough not to know what I’m referring to, OnlyFans creator Bonnie Blue broke a record by having sex with 1,057 men in a single day. The image of a room littered with used condoms covering the floor is forever seared into my memory.

I have mixed feelings about OnlyFans. I’m sure some people genuinely enjoy the work and find it empowering. But what about the countless barely legal girls whose frontal lobes haven’t even fully developed? I recently stumbled across something called the Bop House, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for these young women—they look like actual children to me.

Everything I’ve learned about Only Fans has been entirely against my will. Discovering how many public figures make money from the platform has felt like finding out everyone I knew in my twenties was on coke—except this time, I’m not occasionally participating.

If you’re not stalking me yet, what are you even doing? Find me on Instagram @kristina_nasti

ICYMI: I do Human Design readings. Think of it as the cooler, more science-y cousin of astrology. Human Design has completely changed my life and relationships. Curious? Let me read your chart.