As a tired mom of two, the days of 12-step skincare routines have long since passed me by. I know, I know — cue the “Prioritize yourself, mama” chants. Cute, but it’s also kinda important to pack lunches, keep the kitchen semi-clean, and get enough sleep so I don’t Gone Girl myself.
That said, vanity is still a beast. And as someone who loves the *idea* of looking hot with the least amount of effort, I quickly found myself intrigued by the latest skincare craze circling socials: PRP gel injections. Yes, it involves your own blood (hence the “vampire” nickname), and yes, it sounds like something straight out of Twilight fanfic — but according to board-certified nurse practitioner Megan Donnelly, MSN, APRN, FNP-C, at Skin Pharm, it’s the secret to rejuvenated skin and strangers assuming you actually sleep.
“PRP and PRP gel are powerful, natural tools for skin rejuvenation, especially for patients looking for subtle, gradual, and long-lasting results without synthetic materials,” Donnelly tells Betches.
Granted, it sounded like one of those overhyped, expensive fads influencers and celebs obsess over but would add no real value to my actual life (looking at you, Labubu). But since pregnancy cured me of my fear of needles (shoutout to the glucose test I spectacularly failed), I figured… why not let a professional spin down my blood and shoot it back into my face? Worst case? I’d spend 75 minutes at a med spa drinking cucumber water and scrolling TikTok. Best case? I’d transform into Gigi Hadid’s twin and be besotted with fame and fortune. The result? Somewhere in between.
What TF Is PRP Gel?
If you’ve ever heard of a “vampire facial,” PRP gel is its bougier cousin who moved to the city, got a better job, and refuses to age like the rest of us. To recap, “PRP” stands for platelet-rich plasma — the regenerative gold hiding in your own blood. During treatment, your provider draws a quick vial (think more than a finger prick, less than Edward accidentally drank from Bella, oops), spins it in a centrifuge to isolate the plasma (science!), then heats and cools it until it thickens into a collagen-rich gel. That gel then gets injected back into your face to plump fine lines, smooth texture, and generally trick strangers into asking what retinol you’re using.
The treatment is similar to PRF injections (Platelet-Rich Fibrin), but Donnelly notes it’s faster-releasing and doesn’t use anticoagulants, which makes you look straight up cherubic post-appointment. It’s especially great for tricky spots like under-eye hollows or cheeks that no amount of concealer or contouring can save.
“PRP gel is a natural way to add volume while boosting collagen and elastin, improving discoloration, and enhancing the overall quality of your skin,” Donnelly says. Yes, it’s kind of like filler. Or it is a filler because it, you know… fills. BUT! According to Johns Hopkins Medicine, because PRP injections are made up of your own cells and plasma, it’s not considered a “drug,” and the risk of an allergic reaction and rejection is much lower than with other injectable medications. However, you should always consult with your doctor because every person is different.
My Experience Getting a “Vampire Facelift”
In my defense, I didn’t really know what I was signing up for. I went into Skin Pharm because my best friend raved about it and, honestly, I just needed to get TF out of my house. My skin has been all kinds of chaotic postpartum (hi, random dark spots, uneven texture, and that one stubborn chin hair that no amount of emotional hexing will kill), so I booked a free consult, left the kids with my husband, and assumed I was in for a cute lil spa day.
The med spa? V cute. The treatment? Not so much. I expected infused water and a facial; instead, I was about to get pummeled with needles. Extra shocking, as I’ve been anti-filler since my cousin got her lips overdone, and I had to do the whole “honey, you never looked better” song and dance. But I digress. And when Megan Donnelly — a board-certified nurse practitioner and fellow mom of two — explained PRP gel as a natural alternative, I was intrigued. It felt filler-adjacent, but because it uses your own blood, it felt like cheating the system. Also, it sounded like something a CW vampire would do to age backwards, which weirdly made me trust it more.
After all the pregnancy blood draws I’ve had, I figured ~how bad could it be~ and even pointed out which vein to use. Our girl Meg nailed it on the first try (bless), and then slathered my face with numbing cream while my blood got spun, heated, cooled, and turned into a gel. Witchcraft, basically.
When Megan came back with syringes full of my own plasma gel (plus a little Botox, because when in med spa seat, ya know?), she explained the process. She’d slide a cannula — a thin tube that reduces pokes and bruising — into the treatment areas, then inject my magic blood goo. Boom, instant plump.
That’s what she said. What I heard was: “We’ll fish around inside your face like it’s the bottom of a diaper bag before giving you a bunch of shots.” I told her to STFU (respectfully), because if I pictured it for more than a second, I’d pass out. So she handed me a stress device that looked vaguely like a vibrator, started telling me her birth story as a distraction, and went to work.
“PRP gel injections are generally well-tolerated, and any discomfort is minimal and short-lived,” Donnelly reassured me. She said most folks describe it as a quick pinch or pressure, which helped me unclench my jaw (and asshole) enough for her to do her thing.
But guys — here’s the truth: as a first-timer, the feeling was fucking bananas. I’ve never been in a physical altercation outside of slapping my high school boyfriend for cheating (a bitch never forgets, Brandon), but I imagine getting PRP gel injected feels like being punched in the face, but with less emotional trauma. I almost passed out thrice (thrice!), had ice packs on my neck, needed my back rubbed like I was in labor, and strongly considered walking out with only half a face done. But I’m no quitter, and if I could handle a second-degree tear and holidays with my in-laws, I could sit through this, too.
And the thing is: The pain was quick. It sucked, but it was fast. Think: IUD insertion, but in your face. A lot of weird pressure, a couple sharp zings, then done. And just like an IUD, the results? Fucking magical.
My Results
Again, never been in a fight, but I briefly considered picking one just to distract myself when the injections started. Then Megan handed me a mirror, and all thoughts of pain, needles, and cheating ex-boyfriends evaporated. It was like holding your baby for the first time after labor, except instead of a newborn, it was my face, looking years younger and instantly more vivacious, staring back at me from the med spa seat. She looked refreshed! She looked rested! She looked like she hadn’t been woken up four times a night by a teething toddler!
The before/after genuinely shocked me, almost as much as the fact that I had very little bruising or lingering pain afterward (and this is coming from someone who bruises like a peach). Aftercare was simple: massage the area twice a day and try not to let your new, youthful glow go to your head.
Donnelly explained that swelling is normal in the first day or two, but it settles quickly as the gel integrates. “As collagen starts to build over the next few weeks, you’ll notice rejuvenated, more radiant skin, too,” she told me. And honestly? I loved how I looked with the swelling so much that I’m now considering IRL filler. A convert!
Unlike filler, the initial plumpness doesn’t hang around forever because, hi, the whole point is to kick off collagen production. “The gel is made from plasma proteins that your body recognizes and naturally metabolizes. It gradually reabsorbs into the surrounding tissues,” Donnelly says. “Even once the gel itself is gone, the collagen stimulation and tissue regeneration it triggered can persist for 6–12 months.”
Two weeks out, I had a little less volume, but I still looked noticeably less haggard (complimentary), and my skin had that soft, bouncy quality I thought I’d lost at the stroke of midnight on my 30th birthday. A fairytale indeed.
How Much Does It Cost?
It’s not cheap, let’s just start with that. At Skin Pharm, one treatment will set you back $950. Other places it can be even more. “PRP gel’s volumizing benefits can last up to six months, and collagen stimulation continues to improve with time,” Donnelly explains. Translation: not budget-friendly, but not totally out of line with other injectables either. FWIW, filler runs about $900 per syringe, and Donnelly says you’d likely need 3–4 syringes for both the midface and under-eye area to get the same ~vibe,~ which adds up fast. And unlike filler, which mostly just hangs out until it dissolves (usually in one to two years), PRP gel keeps working long after your appointment, thanks to that collagen boost. So yes, you’re dropping nearly a grand, but you’re paying for both the immediate plump and the long-term glow.
Is it worth it?
As someone who wears makeup maybe once a month at best (who has tiiiime?), I genuinely am obsessed with this treatment. Any discomfort I experienced was forgotten the moment I saw my reflection, and I booked my second round before I even left the office.
Granted, I went to college during the era of the original Four Loko (RIP), so putting random shit in my body and hoping for the best has been part of my brand long before I had crow’s feet. But felt less like chugging toxic sludge and more like ~treating myself.~ “PRP gel is about enhancing your skin, not changing it,” Donnelly reminded me. And honestly, she’s right; the results were subtle enough that no one clocked “work done,” but noticeable enough that multiple people told me I looked “rested.” (Dear gentle reader, I was not.)
Here’s the thing, though: like Botox, filler, or that viral under-eye concealer stick, PRP gel isn’t just about science. It’s about the impossible tightrope women are expected to walk — look hot, but naturally. Glow, but not too glowy. Take care of yourself, but not in a way that makes you “high maintenance.” We’re damned if we do, damned if we don’t. The answer? Do whatever TF you want, because people are gonna talk shit anyway.
So yeah, I loved my results, would 11/10 recommend, and I’ll keep doing it as long as my credit card lets me. Sure, I’d love to get an epidural before my next session, but whatever!!! If motherhood is going to rob me of sleep, collagen, and alone time, the least I can do is steal some of it back in a syringe.
