I have defective skin. I suppose I should be thankful more than anything else for this problem. The skin is the largest organ of the human body, and it is, at least, visible. And except for possible skin cancer, nothing will ever happen on my skin that threatens my life.

I have defective pores. To be specific, I have acne, a disease I have suffered with for over forty years. From the time of its initial appearance at age sixteen, I have consulted many dermatologists, read numerous articles and books, and sought the most cutting-edge treatments that I could afford. I’m still not cured, and probably never will be. Oh, I’ve learned a lot about how the symptoms of acne can be controlled, and my complexion looks good most of the time. And for the last ten or fifteen years, an acne flare-up has become a minor annoyance, something to shrug off after making a mental note to start treatment. But how did I get to this point?

It’s no surprise that I developed acne. Most experts agree that there is a genetic predisposition to acne. But, even without a family history, approximately 85% of teenagers develop some acne. Acne happens when young people entering puberty begin to produce increasing quantities of male sex hormones that signal the sebaceous glands to make more oil. At the same time, cells within the follicles begin to slough off and clump together, which blocks the pores. A skin bacteria called p. acnes then causes inflammation within the follicles, and when the follicles get irritated enough to burst, you have pimples.