Jenna didn’t believe in the product. But she believed in metrics, and GlowSkin’s launch video had already hit 1.6 million in under three hours. Her contract included a bonus if she crossed two. And anyway, disbelief didn’t pay rent.
She adjusted the lighting. Warm tones, soft filter, a faint sparkle. Her manager said the sparkle made her look more “achievable.” Jenna smiled — not too much teeth — and hit record.
“Hey fam, it’s me, and today I’m finally trying the GlowSkin Subdermal Mask. Y’all have been asking, and I’m super excited-slash-scared. Let’s go!”
She popped the box open. Inside: a flat disc with needle-like petals curled inward, like a steel chrysanthemum. A button blinked yellow on top.
“This is the main module. It attaches right under the cheekbone,” Jenna said, lifting it. “And before y’all come for me, yes, it is FDA-adjacent. But you know I like to live on the edge.”
She laughed. The device whirred softly in her hand. She pressed it under her left cheekbone. It stuck with a sharp click.
Jenna winced. The petals unfurled. Twelve needles drove under her skin at once. Her left eye watered. She smiled harder.
“You feel that little pinch? That’s the microneedles injecting the pigment base and flex-lattice.” She moved her head a fraction. Gold light clung to her cheek, soft and uneven, like old gift wrap peeled from a box.
“Now the cool part,” she said, and double-tapped the blinking button.
The needles jolted forward. A ripple passed through her face like a spasm. For a second, the skin sagged and then restructured — tighter, glowing, almost too smooth.
Jenna blinked. Her left cheek didn’t move right when she smiled. She turned back to the camera.
“That’s the auto-lift function. It’s temporary but sooo worth it.”
She paused recording. Her cheek stung like sunburn over a bruise. The FAQ said that was “normal inflammation.” She knew it wasn’t. She opened the second compartment.
Inside were four small ampoules. One pink, one green, one blue, one clear. She picked the clear one — “Neutral Bloom” — and loaded it into the applicator gun.
“Okay! Time for lip infusion. You’ve seen this on my girl Demi, but we’re gonna do it live.” Jenna pressed the gun to the center of her bottom lip and pulled the trigger. There was a wet snap, like bubble wrap. Her lip pulsed, then began to expand.
“It tingles,” she said through her teeth. “But like, in a good way.”
The color in her lips deepened. The gloss looked permanent. In a way, it was.
By the end of the demo, her cheek was twitching intermittently and her bottom lip wouldn’t fully close. She still had to do the eyes.
The EyeThreads came last. Delicate wires you guide through your lower lid, hooking them along the inner rim. It hurt worse than threading a needle through your own earlobe — which she had once done, live, for a collab.
She paused before opening the last tray. Her face itched. The pain was rising behind her eye, and the GlowSkin hadn’t given her the “natural lift” as promised. It looked like a tension blister.
But the comments were already flooding in.
“QUEEN.”
“I’d let that chrysanthemum ruin me.”
“Is it safe for teens? Asking for my daughter (and maybe me lmao).”
Jenna smiled again. Full teeth this time. The GlowSkin pulled too tight across her gums, but that could be fixed in post.
“Don’t forget to like, subscribe, and click that little bell. Beauty is evolution, and you’re watching me molt.”
She raised the EyeThreads.
“Let’s bloom.”
Yoram Ong is a writer based in the Philippines. His work has appeared in McSweeney’s, The Penny Pub, and more.
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