I'll put it like this: Caring for and keeping up with my tyrannical, acne-prone skin has basically become a sport. A sport, mind you, that I definitely didn't elect to join, and considering my historically un-problematic complexion, never thought I'd wear a jersey for. Alas, here we are. I'll spare you every trial and tribulation my face has endured since freshman year of college when it started to flare, and I'll cut to the current quick: due to lots of hormonal changes, lots of stress, and lots and lots of product tries (I'm a beauty editor and it's in the job description), my acne-prone skin, quite frankly, has been hating me. I was consistently plagued with a frustrating dusting of whiteheads, and I was sick of doing battle with stubborn and painful blemishes overtaking my mouth, chin, jawline, and temples. Basically, my face felt like a game of Whac-a-Mole—as soon as I'd semi-successfully defeat one pimple, three more would pop up in its place.