My sweaty life. No that’s not highlighter, it’s just my perspiration.
Ever since Wild Child came out in 2008 and Poppy Moore (Emma Roberts) quipped to Harriet “we have ourselves a SULA. Sweaty, upper, lip alert.” I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my sweating.
Up until this point, I’d never considered that my sweat was abnormal. I was 11, and just entering that period of comparison where you realise the things that you thought were just parts of your body, actually didn’t quite stack up to those of your peers. I suddenly realised; sweating when you were stationary and slightly-warmer-than-average wasn’t normal, was it?
It took another decade before I was able to realise I wasn’t alone in this. We are always taught that sweating is an embarrassing occurrence – something to hide. This was no more true for me than during my formative years – at parties I would have to take regular dancefloor breaks to cool down, mosh pits were my worst nightmare and dates in the summertime were always a face-dripping hellscape. I had always palmed it off as simply being hot-blooded, until one day in a stray google I stumbled upon a term – Hyperhidrosis – and considered maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only super-sweater.
Hyperhidrosis is scientifically defined as abnormal excessive sweating that isn’t directly related to heat or exercise – although, naturally, it worsens under both circumstances. It affects 2 million people in the UK, and 7.8 million in the US. The impact is predominantly mental, affecting self-esteem and personal wellbeing, and treatment is still expensive and widely unavailable – if it works at all.
Despite the statistics, and realising I was simply a drop in the hyperhidrosis ocean (drop, haha, get it?), I still felt immensely isolated when it came to sweating in social situations. There are many occasions that are burned into my memory. From my sister’s friend announcing I was ‘dripping’ after attending an afternoon set at RNV, to having to mop my face with a napkin in a trendy restaurant where I was warm for no apparent reason, my foundation is used to tracking down my cheeks in salty rivulets – and I’m used to feeling mortified by my increasingly wet face. It wasn’t until I opened up to a close friend Georgie at university that I realised I wasn’t the only one. We bonded over covert bathroom breaks to dab our faces, the constant need to wear a cooling outfit to ensure maximum breeze factor (long sleeves were avoided at all costs) and the crushing comments that you’re ‘looking a bit sweaty’ (don’t you think I know?? It’s literally on my face.)
It’s hard to explain the effects this can have on you mentally – especially in social situations. It’s important to note that hyperhidrosis sweating isn’t linked to increased body odour, so usually you won’t smell bad – but that doesn’t take away the neurotic belief that you’re a walking garbage pit. The self-conscious aspect is about more than just image. We associate sweat with the idea that someone is frazzled, stressed or not put together. While that might not be how it comes across when someone is sweating, it creates a brutal cycle where you stress about how you look, increasing your anxiety, which in turn increases the amount you sweat and…. well, you can see where I’m going with this. It takes away your ability to feel wholly confident in any situation.
The most effective – and most widely touted – fix for hyperhidrosis is botox. In theory, this makes sense, and it doesn’t seem like a bad idea – a side of ironing out my pending wrinkles with my sweat reduction? Yes please! In practice, not so much. Firstly, it doesn’t prove to be 100% effective, meaning you could go under the needle with little to no change in sweat output. Secondly, it’s not widely used for your face, so it’s all very well and good if your hyperhidrosis is centred around your armpit area (lucky buggers), but not so great for those whose waterworks are most often found above the neck. Thirdly, using botox to stop particular sweat glands functioning can lead to other areas of the body sweating more. Essentially moving the root cause of the problem rather than fixing it – yay!
The other more medically-oriented treatments are aggressive – to put it lightly. One involves literally suctioning out your sweat glands (cue mental image of my glands being slingshotted into the cosmos), another is a light laser treatment called ‘Microwave Therapy’, which I don’t need to elaborate on because the idea of microwaving my insides does not sound pleasant or conducive to a healthy life. If we go to the home treatments, aka the non-aggressive options, the advice is basically to use heavy-duty deodorant and wear loose clothes – again, great for the pits, but not so great for the face.
What all of this taught me was that until I’m ready to embrace the Joan Rivers look and hurl myself full-throttle down the botox pathway, I simply have to suck it up, be prepared and learn to live with it. I’m getting there slowly. I consistently carry what I call my ‘dabbing tissue’, and I'm teaching myself some breathing exercises for my anxiety-induced sweats. It often doesn’t help, but it saves me millions in both skincare and highlighter products (that glowy look you’re going for? That’s just my life) and it’s helped me give less of a shit about what other people think. I just wish I could tell 11-year-old me that any girl with hair as bad as Poppy Moore’s simply has no room to pass judgement (although, I'll take her San Pellegrino stash, thanks).
Words — Molly Codyre
