To botox or not to botox?

Hayley Bath takes a wrinkle-filled stand against the pressure to freeze by embracing her unapologetic laugh lines.

If Hamlet were written in 2025 instead of 1599, the iconic line wouldn’t be “To be or not to be?” It’d be “To Botox or not to Botox?”.

Last month, I found myself at an event surrounded by a sea of unwrinkled, unmoving brows. Scanning the room, I realised only myself and one other woman were left in the natural-forehead resistance. Even some of the guys had it. I felt like the last raisin in a bunch of juicy grapes.

Now I’m a fairly expressive person. My forehead alone could star in its own play, and these wrinkles are starting to take center stage. Even in my 30s, I see them while doing my makeup, in videos, and sometimes I catch myself smoothing my forehead mid-mascara, just to sneak a peek at the alternate Botox universe me. She looks oddly surprised.

As a voice and face on radio and in the media, I’ve been offered free injectables. Twice actually. From real, professional places promising no wax-figure vibes. Yet, I haven’t done it. Can’t do it. Every time I think, “Maybe it’s time,” but some inner part of me screams, “Over my wrinkled forehead!” Blame personal hang ups, a weird sense of loyalty to my wrinkles or just stubbornness.

So why haven’t I joined the Botox parade? Especially when many people look great with it.

First, the niggle at the back of my head whispers ‘what about my daughter?’. She’s a quiet observer, learning from my life. I don’t want her to feel like she’s got to change or alter herself, because she’ll already be swimming in a sea of filtered, curated and perfectly polished faces online.

Secondly, people die young. Yikes. Apologies, that got heavy fast. My late-cousin sadly never got to have wrinkles. These lines are proof I’m still here. Laughing and squinting at emails I don’t fully read. Wrinkles are my life’s receipts. I’m trying to see them that way.

And, of course, there’s always a little fear stopping me. What if the results aren’t great? I don’t want to end up looking like you could crack a walnut on my forehead for six months. Or what if I get the dreaded eyebrow droop? And we’ve all met someone who looks like their upper face missed the memo that their lower face is trying to have a conversation. I like having full facial expressions.

To be clear, this isn’t Botox-bashing. Botox can boost self-confidence, make people feel good about their appearance and even be used for relief from migraines. But for me? This might be the hill I grow old, and wrinkly, on.

I haven’t shouted, “This is my wrinkle revolution!” I want to. But what if, in years from now, I wake up feeling worse for wear and the voice whispers, “Just one little jab...?”. Easy to be bold in your 30s, harder later. Do I have the guts to do nothing? I think so. I hope so.

In a perfect world, everyone would stop cosmetic injectables. Then we’d all be back on an even-aging playing field. But what if we revolted? What if laughter lines became badges of honour and we felt the freedom of not giving a toss? What if looking ‘old’ wasn’t something we avoided?

Until then, I’ll keep stretching my forehead in the mirror, wondering what could be, but probably sticking with what is. Because just like Hamlet, the internal conflict is the biggest battle. Having the courage to leave the sword (or in this case, the needle) could mean surviving all five acts with a face that tells the whole story.

There’s also something bad-ass about letting gravity have a go.

Catch Hayley on The Hits 95FM weekdays 9am to 3pm.