INSIDE STORY: Never mind the

Not many years ago, men wouldn't even admit to moisturising, but now most seem to know the difference between wheatgerm oil and chip fat. Some are also increasingly turning towards cosmetic surgery - quoting 'career' and 'competitive job market' as motivation. It seems to most British men, going to the gym and improving your body is OK, because it's 'sport', but surgery is still 'vanity'. Cliff Richard and Dale Winton aren't afraid to admit to a little muscle- freezing, but they're in good celeb company, with the likes of Madonna, Nicole Kidman, Helen Hunt and Catherine Zeta Jones also going down the frown- free route.

In New York recently, I remarked to a friend about the profusion of Botox ads. 'I've had Botox,' he said matter-of-factly. 'I'm a 38- year-old broker and work with people half my age. It's as common in banking today as cocaine was in the 80s.' Not in Britain, I reply. 'Just wait,' he said. 'You're looking a bit wrinkled, you should have it done,' he added. 'They're laughter lines!' I exclaimed. 'Yeah right,' he replied, 'nothing's that funny'.

I admit I do have a few 'laughter' lines, but, considering I smoke, drink, sunbathe, and practically live in McDonald's, if beauty is only 'sin' deep, I'm a saint. After his comments though, I start to spend longer looking in the mirror than ever before. At 35, have I really lost my youthful glow?

With an ever-increasing wrinkle-phobia I organise a Botox party back in London with 10 of my vainest male friends. After all, when men experience pain we do so in groups, so we can brag about who hurt the most. The process involves injecting a form of the poison Botulinum into the face, freezing the muscles and literally erasing wrinkles - so we expect the worst. One of the friends I invite to share the pain is Steve Strange. Steve has had his own well- publicised share of pain. He was the glamour-puss star of the New Romantic movement in the 80s. A period when looking good was everything. His rise (Blitz, Boy George, Visage) and fall (heroin, Boy George, shoplifting) was on the scale of the Roman Empire and, 20 years later and about to launch his autobiography, he is re- assessing his looks as well as his life. 'I don't see anything wrong with cosmetic surgery,' says Steve. 'I think men having surgery will soon be as common as men using moisturiser.'

I invite a doctor from the Wellesbourne medical group, a Botox specialist centre, to a friend's minimalist loft apartment, reasoning that the doctor would have plenty of room to work and my friends wouldn't have much furniture to hide behind. The question all my friends ask first is 'will it hurt?'. Needles + skin = pain. 'No, of course not,' I say. On the night of the party, our Botox brotherhood ranges in age from 28 to 42 and are very nervous as they arrive. Our doctor is how you imagine a doctor should be. Calm, authoritative and impeccably dressed in English tweed. He gives us a talk, trying to calm us down. Like an Ann Summers party, we are all giggly with nerves and the questions come pouring out. I'm obviously not the only one who's been studying my face like an Ordnance Survey map. Dr Greaves (Jim, but we all called him 'doctor' - less 'cosmetic' and more 'surgical'), first did a Botox demonstration.

Like any good magician he has two glamorous assistants from the clinic with him, who are his demo models. They are confirmed 'Botox addicts' (their words). Lisa is 32 and very pretty, with no lines on her face. Christine is 49, but looks anywhere between 30 and beyond, a true 'lady of the knife', having had extensive surgery. But she does have great skin. They have 'pre-treatment' photos with them and flash them the way other women show photos of their children. Both seem to have successfully obliterated any trace of their 'before' and are proud to be happily-ever 'afters'. 'You will feel a small prick,' says Lisa. (The ghost of Kenneth Williams enters the building.) 'OK, who's first boys?' she says, snapping on rubber gloves. (Swiftly followed by Barbara Windsor.) I volunteer my friend, George Gallagher, to go first. He's a drug counsellor, so I reason he's used to needles. The doctor asks him what kind of effect he's after, then makes him do a series of facial grimaces before jabbing away like a demented seamstress.

Our 'guinea pig' pronounces it painless, and we're on our way. Steve Strange is up next. I ask him if he thinks cosmetic surgery can go too far? 'In the 80s people used to shout at me for plucking my eyebrows. Now you see straight boys with plucked eyebrows and waxed bodies. Let people do what they think is best, it's their body.' Being in the public eye, Steve has more reason than any of us to have Botox. So has fame forced him to be obsessed with staying young? 'No. I don't see myself as old (he's 42). Age is just a number unless, of course, you're Cher. I'm just having Botox for fun. I'll try anything. It's not permanent and if I don't like it I won't have it again.'

As I interview my friends they seem to forget that I know them. They all lie about their 'healthy' lifestyle. Stephen Bacon, an events manager, who 'drinks lots of water and has a good diet' can drink us all under the table and thinks salad comes on a chicken burger. They all 'don't care about wrinkles', yet strangely seem very knowledgeable about cosmetic surgery. Like Steve, the 'for fun' reason comes up again and again. Why can't men admit they're vain? And then it's my turn. 'Just do what you think is necessary,' is followed by 'full face-lift' shouted in unison. With friends like these... I'm the sort of patient who usually leaves bruises on dentist's arms but as the doctor says, I really don't feel it. I am jabbed in various parts of the face, then, abracadabra, it's over and I already feel 10 minutes younger.

Immediately after the treatment my face had tiny red marks and looked slightly swollen. But about a week later (apparently this is normal) the effects of my Botox kick in. Several lines have disappeared, particularly the brow and frown lines, and the rest have faded. Several people who don't know I've had Botox comment on how good I look. I tell them I've been 'sleeping well' - I'm already in Botox denial. I call Steve to ask him how he feels about his treatment. 'I can't talk very much,' he mumbles. 'Dr Greaves has just done my lips and I've had my teeth done as well, some American thing called Brightsmile.' Thinking about anything else? 'Absolutely not! I've met too many people who have gone too far, who have no expression on their faces, and are way over the top.' Fellow 80s star Pete Burns from Dead or Alive, possibly? 'Pete looks great, but it's not for me. As far as I'm concerned, I know my addictive personality. Botox is not my new heroin. I've got bigger lips, whiter teeth and smoother skin, and that's it.' Promise? 'I've learnt over the years: promise nothing and deny it later.'

The Wellesbourne Medical Group 07000 421 421

Steve Strange's autobiography, Blitzed, costs pounds 16.99 (published by Orion)

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