I’d given up on my cleavage TBH. I frazzled it the summer I turned 18, and although I subsequently developed exemplary SPF habits – I’m factor 50, every damn day, baby! From my brow line to my boobs – it hasn’t made any odds. Just show me titz a sunny weather forecast, and they immediately tan; the cumulative upshot of which has been significant sun damage. My cleavage is now reddish and uneven in colouring, speckled with sun spots, noticeably wrinklier than the rest of me. This is a shame, because I do like to get it out if circumstances allow! My first office job was in the PR department of Miss Selfridge, where I’d wear shirts unbuttoned so low, the design department eventually created a shirt with buttons which didn’t even start til halfway down your chest. They called it The Polly. It sold rather well, as I recall.
When I meet Dr Sophie Shotter of The Cosmetic Skin Clinic, and she tells me she’s developed a three step treatment for cleavages, which (she thinks) might help mine, I am very keen to try. Dr Shotter works with Profhilo and Volite, two different forms of the injectable skin-conditioning Hyaluronic acid, which is meant to boost and hydrate your skin, and also remodel aging and sagging tissues. She combines this with a hydrating IV drip, which, she says, intensifies the impact of the injectibles. I flinch slightly at the mention of an IV, but then remember how many times I’ve had needles stuck in me since first venturing out on this epic Tweakment endeavour – and so, I chill.
Round one: I arrive 30 minutes early for my appointment, have numbing cream applied to my chest, then – when it’s good and dead, sensation-wise, Dr Sophie arrives, and hooks me up to the drip. It is – unsurprisingly – a little uncomfortable, sharp scratch, weird pressured pulsing sensation as the liquid starts finding its way into my veins, accompanied by my growing wincing anxiety about being joggled or knocked or otherwise subject to any kind of movement that’ll dislodge it. But, fine.
Dr Sophie starts injecting Profilho evenly across my chest. I close my eyes – just because: the numbing cream has done its job, and I feel very little. I’ve had Profilho before, in my face, and know that it works a certain kind of plumping, glowy magic, I also know that I ‘take’ to it well, I develop light mosquito-looking bumps for a few hours, but within a day, am all healed and better. After half an hour, Sophie has finished injecting me, and detached my drip, and sent me off into the night clutching a mysterious cream she tells me to apply directly every night to my uncleansed cleavage (cleansed would be too sensitive, apparently), waiting 15 minutes before I remove it.
I do this religiously – I’m incredibly hot on tweakment homework, girlie swot hot – even though, lordy! Does it pong! Somewhere between rotten egg and broken biscuit, the kind of stench that will transfer itself onto clothing if you so much as show it to your treated skin. I quickly learn to cream up, then lounge around naked for the requisite 15 mins, in the interest of not smelling-up dressing gowns or the ancient American Apparel vests in which I like to sleep.
Two weeks later, I return for a repeat tweak, only this time, Dr Sophie uses Volite rather than Profilho, injecting more regularly and plentifully. She says the two work well in harmony together. Now, it transpires that Volite doesn’t settle into my skin as easily as Profilho; I’m left with what would seem like a minor allergic reaction if it weren’t colourless and non-itchy: regimented rows of teeny bumps across my cleave. They reduce, slowly, slowly, over the course of weeks.
Two weeks after ALL that, I return for a final go on the Profilho.
The end result is great. The multiple teeny rivulets of wrinkles which once coursed down my chest like Amazonian tributaries are substantially reduced, and the whole thing looks juicier and more joyful than it has in years. It’s hard to get a serious gauge on the impact of the super-pongy cream, but to my untrained eye, the discoloration certainly looks reduced. All in all: this is a cleavage I’m happy to get out inappropriately often.
Chest rejuvenation at The Cosmetic Skin Clinic starts at £350
Would I pay for it myself?
I probably would, actually, especially if I were getting married or getting an Oscar or some such. This is a good ‘un, which has wrought changes on something I’d written off.