If you were to have told me a few years ago that at 26 I’d be injecting my face with filler, I would’ve first said you were crazy, and then I would’ve pointed out the years I spent watching Dr. 90210 with my mouth wide open and a burning fear in my heart of undergoing any type of cosmetic procedure. Sure, I can watch Dr. Pimple Popper videos and Grey’s Anatomy like it’s nothing, but when it comes to the thought of doing something to my own body, I’m tapping out.

But then I became a beauty editor. Talk of Botox and fillers rolls off our tongues in the office as easily as asking each other what we’re ordering for lunch. In fact, it’s such a commonplace topic of conversation that somehow, some way, I convinced myself that I not only wanted it, but I needed it. I have hollow, thin under-eyes, and from what I’ve seen and heard, popping a bit of filler in the area would solve all of my problems. (It’s hard to say whether this viewpoint was totally warped or not.) So I excitedly booked an appointment at Union Square Dermatology with as much emotional reserve as I have booking a hotel room—I was fearless and excited to soon have the under-eyes of a 12-year-old.