Latest news with #urbanlife
Yahoo
4 days ago
- Health
- Yahoo
I'm in my 40s. Is it too late to try Botox?
I'm in my early 40s and I've never had Botox, but I'm surrounded by it. I live in a big city and all of my friends are big believers in the neurotoxin. I'm not against it — not scared of needles, don't really object to the idea of chemicals in my face — but, for me, it's more about "Ugh, do I really need to add another thing to my beauty regimen?" My understanding is that you have to keep on doing it for it to actually work and that sounds time-intensive, not to mention expensive. I don't have wrinkles that keep me up at night. But obviously, I know more wrinkles will eventually come ... so I don't want to wait until it's too late. Is now the time to do it? Dear Decision Paralysis, In a world where literal 22-year-olds with fewer lines than an atom mirror are dropping coin on preventative "Baby Botox" to avoid even the slightest sign of aging, I'm going to start with what I suspect is an unpopular opinion: If your wrinkles aren't bothering you, you don't need to freeze them with a neuromodulator like Botox. Period. You're right that these injections are temporary (treatments last about 3-6 months), expensive (between $300-$1,400 a session, depending on your city and injector) and getting them before you're ready is also a slippery, self-critical slope. If you are currently looking at your face and not hating what you see, my advice is to bask in this rare and glorious moment as a woman on Planet Earth. The truth is, aging naturally can actually be more gratifying than you may have imagined yet and, contrary to everything the world and TikTok will tell you, you may continue to like what you see. I am perhaps in the old-school minority when I suggest that you need not panic nor bend to societal pressure and, instead, let your face do what it's going to do. Keep up a quality skin care routine (including daily sunscreen) and if and when there comes a time that you are not loving what your face is doing, then — and only then — should you consider more serious interventions. That said, if you wake up at 48 and think, "I can't live with these frown lines," Botox can be an amazing tool for softening wrinkles — no matter what your age. "For the large majority of cases, patients who are starting at some point in their 20, 30s, 40s or 50s, Botox will relax your muscles and make those lines go away," board-certified dermatologist Dr. Blair Murphy-Rose told me. In terms of being "too late" for Botox, Murphy-Rose says that "at some point, as skin laxity really increases in an aging face, Botox doesn't necessarily always respond the way it does in a younger face. But I've successfully treated patients in their 90s. I've actually treated my grandmother in her 90s — honestly, with a beautiful result." And in terms of "preventative" Botox? You might not even need it: "Deep lines can happen for some people very young, but they can also happen for some people at a much later age. So it really depends on your genetics, your environmental exposures and your skin type and tone. There are so many variables," she explains. Murphy-Rose says that super deep lines can be harder to reverse with a neuromodulator like Botox, but they're still not impossible to smooth with a combination of Botox and a hyaluronic acid filler. Last, while in recent years Botox has become ubiquitous (offered in at-home gatherings — like a modern-day Tupperware party! — and at places like the gym), finding a skilled injector matters to your result. "You want an experienced injector who has very good in-depth knowledge of the anatomy," Murphy-Rose says. "Because Botox is not harmless, it carries risks and it can't just be reversed. So if it's placed poorly and you're getting an unwanted effect — which honestly happens more often than you would want to know about — you just kind of have to sit it out for the most part. You just have to wait the four to six months till it goes away." If you do decide to get Botox, Murphy-Rose says your best bet to achieving the look you want is to find an injector who shares your aesthetic and be clear about your goals upfront.
South China Morning Post
5 days ago
- Business
- South China Morning Post
How MTR can plan ahead for unavoidable service disruptions
Feel strongly about these letters, or any other aspects of the news? Share your views by emailing us your Letter to the Editor at [email protected] or filling in this Google form . Submissions should not exceed 400 words, and must include your full name and address, plus a phone number for verification Advertisement With one of the highest percentages of public transport dependence among major cities, Hong Kong's urban life hinges to a large extent on the reliability of public transport. When a disruption hits its mass transit system, such as last week's five-hour shutdown of the MTR's Tseung Kwan O line during the evening rush hour, it doesn't just delay commutes; it shakes public confidence. As infrastructure ages, some service deterioration is inevitable. But resilient cities prepare for problems, not ignore them. In the US, metro systems in New York, Boston and San Francisco now face routine service failures – riders left not by choice but due to lost reliability. Hong Kong must not go down that road. Last year, the MTR proved it could manage scheduled works on the Kwun Tong line, with Prince Edward, Mong Kok, Yau Ma Tei and Ho Man Tin stations closed for cable hanger replacement. But planning for scheduled maintenance is easy. What truly builds trust is planning for the unplanned. MTR Corp must shift from reactive to proactive crisis handling. Current responses are often ad hoc and vary by incident. Instead, MTR could maintain pre-coordinated response plans across peer transport providers and communicate tailored alternatives to passengers in real time via the MTR app. Disruption may be unavoidable, but confusion doesn't have to be. Advertisement Its performance evaluation should also move beyond narrow technical metrics. Current penalties focus on service downtime, but passengers feel delays more broadly. A train delay may be 15 minutes, but a passenger delay could spiral into hours when connections are missed and alternatives are unclear, especially across the harbour. Penalties and improvements must reflect the full passenger experience.
CBC
18-05-2025
- CBC
I spent a decade in love with Montreal. Now I've outgrown what it can give me
This First Person column is written by Estefania De La Concha, who lives in Montreal. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ. When I first arrived in Montreal in February 2016, straight from the tropical heat of Venezuela, I was in awe of the city lights on the ride from the airport to my cousin's place, where I'd spend my first few nights. I was mesmerized by the beauty of the buildings and excited about the life I was about to build. For nine years, Montreal was where I rooted myself. I travelled outside of the city, but I always looked forward to coming back. I'd feel a rush of emotion every time I passed the Jacques Cartier Bridge and glimpsed La Ronde or the Olympic Stadium from the bus or car window, thinking, "Yes, this is home." Throughout this time, I was enriched by the presence of many cultures. I partied, tried foods I didn't know existed, made lifelong friends, expanded my horizons and hiked Mount Royal more times than I could count. For years, I couldn't imagine living anywhere else, and I was the one wondering why anyone would ever want to leave. Then came the pandemic, and the excitement of urban life faded. I couldn't enjoy it as I used to, so, like many others, I turned to nature to keep my sanity. Every weekend meant escaping Montreal to discover new hiking trails, cross-country skiing, ice skating and paddle boarding. I'd do anything to be outside, in nature, moving and breathing. What started as a coping mechanism quietly became an essential part of my identity and my sense of belonging. Ever since returning to "normal" in 2023, the city I once loved has constantly reminded me that my soul is craving something different. I feel the heavy weight of concrete on my shoulders — the noise, the traffic, the chaos, the endless construction and a growing sense of insecurity that wasn't there when I arrived. I still remember walking home alone at 3 a.m. through the Plateau Mont-Royal after a night out, feeling lucky to live in a city where a woman could do that safely. Now, even in daylight, I move with more caution — a habit I thought I'd left behind. It's like living in a constant state of overstimulation: crowded streets, rushing strangers, everyone moving fast to get somewhere that seems important but probably isn't. Even the escapes that once recharged me have started to feel more like a burden. On Saturday mornings, it often takes over an hour to get out of Montreal and then another hour or two on the highway before I can even begin my hike. I've explored almost every trail in and around the city. I know the familiar climbs and the lookout points by heart. I'm grateful for them, but I'm also ready for something new, and I crave the spontaneity that doesn't require four-hour round trips. Now, after years of watching prices rise and apartments shrink, the idea of living somewhere with more space, less financial pressure and easier access to nature feels like a relief. In a few weeks' time, I'll be moving to Sherbrooke in Quebec's Eastern Townships, a place where trailheads begin just minutes from home, and bike paths run along the Magog and Saint-François rivers. When I tell people I'm leaving, their reactions are often laced with concern or skepticism. "You'll regret it." "Why Sherbrooke? There's nothing there." These are the most common reactions. Once, a friend laughed and said, "If nobody outside Canada knows Sherbrooke, is it even a city?" It was meant as a joke — but beneath the laughter was a strong statement rooted in a worldview that perceives fast-paced urban life as inherently more valuable than a quieter, slower one with deeper roots and more space to breathe. I don't blame them. Like many others, I grew up in a society that taught me success meant chasing big cities and striving for more — more money, recognition and shiny things. I know their reactions come from a place of care, but they often reveal more about their fears than my decision. It's not really about Sherbrooke. It's about what leaving the city represents: the possibility that a different life might be just as valid. Montreal once felt like everything I had hoped for: a safe place to rebuild my life, far from the instability I had experienced in my homeland, and alongside family members already established here. And for nearly a decade, the city gave me everything I needed. It allowed me to immerse myself in a diverse, dynamic world. I felt connected, alive and full of potential. But over time, my needs shifted. Part of me already misses it, even though I haven't left yet. I find myself walking familiar streets, savouring everyday scenes, knowing they might not be mine much longer. Nostalgia came as an unexpected guest, not because I doubt my decision, but because goodbyes are never that simple. Choosing to leave isn't about rejecting Montreal or choosing Sherbrooke; it's about honouring who I am today, recognizing that I've grown and trusting that it's OK to want something different now — even if someday, life calls me back.
Times
17-05-2025
- Health
- Times
Face-blindness is real: sometimes I can't recognise my mother
I was in line at Starbucks the other day when I decided to give my husband, Steve, a medical update. 'I made an appointment for my toenail fungus,' I said. The man standing next to me recoiled in horror. Why? Well, as it turns out, he was not Steve. He was just a tall, bald stranger with a Steve-esque posture. 'You're not my husband!' I said, as if he'd been trying to trick me. Then I beat a hasty retreat to the street. I make mistakes like this a lot, and until recently I thought I was a natural-born Mr Bean, fated to a life of excruciatingly embarrassing, occasionally hilarious mishaps. But after enrolling in a study on a whim, I recently discovered a less
