There they were. Some were in cluttered clusters, others were little villages of raised red bumps that lived on my forehead, cheek, and chin. There were the white peaks screaming to be squeezed. But the worst, the pimples that hurt so much I wanted to cry, were the deep-rooted ones—they were so swollen, cherry red, and infuriatingly impossible to clear up.
Welcome to my maddening spell of adult acne at age 33.
Read the full article on InStyle, featuring our own Dr. Bae.