This week I’m coming for two things: your overpriced exosome serum and
your self-righteous attitude about weight loss and hormones.
Because here’s the truth, most aesthetic professionals won’t admit—even to themselves:
We sell magic potions with shaky evidence.
We judge patients for shortcuts we secretly want to take.
We copy trends we don’t understand because it’s easier than saying “I don’t know if this actually works.”
In next week’s edition:
If you’re looking for polite, polished, PR-safe industry banter, you should
probably stop reading now.
But if you’re ready to lead with evidence, own your truth, and actually get
results?
Let’s go.
Exosomes are the holy grail of regenerative aesthetics. 600% more
collagen. 300% more elastin. No downtime. Just rub ‘em in and watch the
wrinkles disappear.
This one’s spreading faster than hyaluronidase in a dodgy lip job. It’s the
shiny new toy of every clinic that’s “discovered” regenerative medicine –
usually right after attending a sponsored workshop and bulk-buying some
dodgy exosome serum for £499 a pop.
Everywhere you look: clinics hyping them, reps pushing them, influencers
slathering them on post-laser. Sounds sexy, right?
Exosomes are nanosized extracellular vesicles – think of them as microscopic parcels – released by virtually every cell in the body.
They carry proteins, RNA, lipids, and other bioactive payloads between cells. Kind of like nature’s own DPD delivery service – except instead of protein bars, they deliver genetic instructions and growth signals.
Sounds promising, and biologically speaking, they are. Especially exosomes derived from mesenchymal stem cells (MSCs), which are shown in preclinical models to modulate inflammation, stimulate angiogenesis, and enhance collagen synthesis.
But here’s the kicker: those are cell culture and animal studies. Not RCTs in human aesthetic patients**.
Let’s break down what’s real, what’s fluff, and what’s outright illegal –
particularly if you’re practising in the UK.
Yes, PRP does something for early-stage androgenetic alopecia. Probably because there’s still some vascular supply and follicular function to hijack.
But what about:
One 2023 RCT showed “significant improvement” in hair count and density
in female AGA—but only in those under 35and with hair loss for under 2 years (Singh (no relation, I think?) et al., IJT). That’s a very specific sweet spot. Everyone else?
Good luck.
If you’re going to be part of the new wave of evidence-led aesthetics, then stop chasing the next buzzword and start interrogating what works.
Because here’s the truth…
If your best result came from a serum instead of your skill – your clinic
doesn’t have a future, it has a fad.**
Yeah, I’ve posted about my body transformation. The 6 am gym selfies. The
macros. The protein shakes. The motivational clichés. But I left out something. Not because I was ashamed, but because part of me thought you’d judge me the way I used to judge others.
So here goes. I took the skinny jab. Yep. Mounjaro. Semaglutide’s angry
Texan cousin. And I’m on testosterone too. Full-blown assisted living.
Now, before you roll your eyes or slide into my DMs with “But Harry, I
thought you were all about discipline,” let me walk you through how I got herw
I was in the living room. Sitting with my wife. She casually drops those two doctors at her hospital who had lost over 15kg on the skinny jab. I laughed. You know that bitter, insecure, “f**k that” kind of laugh.
I knew about Mounjaro. I’d heard of it before, and seen patients come in raving about it. I used to scoff. “Weaklings. Cheats. Just eat better and move more.” Real alpha chat. Meanwhile, I was bingeing Haribo’s like it was a competitive sport and making peace with the fact that maybe pecs weren’t for Punjabis.
But something shifted that night. My wife wasn’t suggesting I should take it. She was just stating facts. Two men, busy doctors, who found a tool and used it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I wasn’t obese. But I wasn’t proud of what I saw in the mirror either. I was in denial. Food wasn’t just food. It was a pleasure. Escape. Social glue when I was out with delegates. Emotional balm for the stress I wouldn’t admit I had.
I’d tell myself, “You’ve lost weight before, you know what to do.” Yeah, maybe in my thirties. But now? I’m 52. Testosterone is slowly slipping away. Motivation is on life support.
So I made a choice. Not out of desperation. But out of respect—for my future self.
I started Mourjaro on the lowest dose. Took it properly. Tracked everything. And in TWO WEEKS—bam. Sugar cravings? GONE.
But let me be clear—I didn’t just sit on my arse waiting for the weight to fall
off like it was a Netflix subscription. I was STILL smashing the gym at 6am.
STILL eating clean. Still grinding.
Mourjaro didn’t do the work for me. It let me do the work without fighting myself every damn day. That’s the difference. It kicked me start the initial momentum I needed. People think this is cheating. Let me ask you this—if you needed glasses to see, would wearing contacts be “cheating”? This jab didn’t make me shudder. It just made me not sabotage myself every evening.
After a few months, I got my annual bloods done. My T levels were low—not
tanked, but not optimal. And being me, all or nothing, like a biochemical
terrorist—I thought, “f**k it, let’s go all in.”
Started on testosterone under medical guidance. Again, no cowboy nonsense. Just facts, data, consistency. And now? Mate, I’m touching my pecs like a teenager discovering his first bicep curl.
My energy’s insane. Muscle’s coming through. I feel alive. Not “motivated”— alive. And the bonus? My wife’s not complaining either (you know what I mean).
Here’s what no influencer or TikTok bro tells you about skinny jab—you will WANT to go harder, faster, more. There’s a dangerous temptation to jump doses. Chase the high. I didn’t. But I thought about it.
And I’ve seen patients—especially women—skyrocket doses trying to amplify results and end up with depression, gut pain, and more f**ked hormones than they started with. This stuff works—but you’ve got to RESPECT it.
Whether it’s Mounjaro, TRT, therapy, or just finally hiring a bloody coach—
stop doing life on Hard Mode for the sake of looking tough. That’s ego, not discipline.
Own your reality. Get help. Use tools. Stay the f**k away from TikTok doctors and get bloods done by someone who knows their sh*t.
So here’s my final question for you…
If you could feel more energy, lose fat, build strength, and feel proud of what you see in the mirror—would you let your pride stop you?
Because I almost did.
And I’m damn glad I didn’t.
How: Before offering any exosome treatment, ask:
If the answer to ANY of those is no—bin it. Or expect a nice ASA letter and a patient complaint you’ll be lying about on Facebook. Why it matters: The MHRA won’t care how “gentle” it was on skin. If it’s not legal, it’s not defendable. Especially when PRP exists.
Reflection Prompt: Would I still offer this if there were no marketing benefits?
How: Be honest. If you’re a practitioner using Mounjaro, semaglutide, or testosterone, lead from the front:
Why it matters: Your patients follow your energy. Either you’re a role model of transparency, or you’re just another poser pumping hormones in silence and judging the ones who don’t.
Reflection Prompt: Am I using this as a tool or a mask?
How: For every new service or supplement you introduce:
Why it matters: If it doesn’t outperform the basics, it’s marketing—not medicine.
Reflection Prompt: Would I still offer this if no one else was doing it?
How: Set non-negotiables for any enhancement protocol (TRT, Mounjaro, peptides, etc.):
Why it matters: You can be both assisted and disciplined. This isn’t cheating—it’s optimisation. The problem is when the shortcut becomes the whole journey.
Reflection Prompt: Would I still go to the gym if the jabs stopped working?
Grab a whiteboard, journal, or clinic notes app.
Make two columns:
Go through everything you offer. One by one. Be brutally honest.
Anything in Column B? You’ve got 30 days to either prove it works—or replace it with something that does.
Outcome: You walk into your clinic with conviction again. Not confusion.
If tomorrow all your fancy serums, shiny jabs, and clever branding were taken away, would your patients still trust you?
If the answer’s yes, you’re doing it right.
If the answer’s no, maybe it’s time you stopped selling skin magic and started rebuilding clinical mastery.
Time to ruffle feathers, burn some sacred scrolls, and tell you why most of what you’re seeing on Instagram is either legally risky, clinically useless, or financially suicidal.
This week, we go deep into three topics guaranteed to piss someone off (and probably get forwarded to a WhatsApp group chat full of insecure KOLs).
Ultrasound in Facial Aesthetics – Lies, Damn Lies, and Sponsored Statistics Ultrasound is the new religion in aesthetics. Everyone’s suddenly a face-mapping radiologist after a weekend course and a few #vascularsafety hashtags. But here’s the question no one’s asking: Where’s the actual data to justify the hype?
In this section, I break down what ultrasound can do, what it absolutely can’t, and how KOLs have twisted the evidence into a marketing strategy. Hint: there’s a reason no one’s citing double-blinded RCTs—they don’t exist.
In next week’s edition:
Forget imposter syndrome. Try being sued by a university, a pharma giant, and some bloke who thinks he owns the word “aesthetics.” This week I open the vault on my legal horror stories—the ones I never talk about publicly.
Not to play victim, but to show you exactly how to survive when your reputation, money, and sanity are all under attack. Think of this as legal PTSD with a side of resilience training.
Five Brutal Moves to Bulletproof Your Practice (And Your Brain)
Tired of being reactive? Of panicking when complications hit, or freezing when Karen threatens legal action? In this final section, I hand you a toolkit—no fluff, just five tactical moves to:
If you’re serious about staying in this game without ending up broke, burnt out or barred—read this one twice.
READ ON IF YOU DARE. OR CLOSE THIS NOW AND GO WATCH ANOTHER REEL ABOUT “JAWLINE GOALS.”
Either way, I’ll still be here. Telling the truth you’re not supposed to say out loud.
P.S. Got a colleague who thinks they know what they’re doing but still
handing out Arnica like it’s gospel? Forward them this newsletter—IF they
can handle the truth (cue Jack Nicholson voice: “YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!”).