I spent about two years hiding gray-brown patches on my cheeks and jaw. I tried every hyperpigmentation treatment I could.

Last November in Tucson, Arizona, I sat at Hollis Grant’s kitchen table with a twelve-page open-enrollment packet and three sticky.

Last June in Savannah, Georgia, I sat on my uncle Odell Fitch’s porch with his laptop balanced on a cooler.

I spent most of one spring switching to clean beauty brands, and I got about half of it wrong. Tamsin.

Last April I was at Marisol Vega’s kitchen table in Benson, Omaha, helping with a spreadsheet of nine offices she’d.