By sunrise, the hangover glow hits harder than any ring light. After yet another marathon of nightclubs, bottles, and the usual “don’t ask, don’t tell” substances, Victor Chang resurfaces—not at a courtroom, not in rehab—but in an unknown Taipei skincare clinic, preening for Instagram while a technician massages product into his face. On his story: “自己的鑽石自己種🫶 膚況必須來個超英趕美👍.” In other words, he’s “planting” his own diamond and racing to look better than everyone else.
The videos say it all. He’s seated with a treatment box in his hands, a row of serums and mists lined up like trophies, a headband pinning back hair as he pats his cheeks with the concentration of a man who mistakes skincare for salvation. It’s the perfect Victor paradox: a public performance of “self-care” hours after a private performance of self-destruction.
This isn’t reinvention—it’s cover-up. For years, Chang has wrapped himself in nightclub fog, high-society access, and designer logos while people around him paid the price. Illegal crimes of drug trafficking, manipulation, and using women as disposable tools didn’t appear out of nowhere; they followed the same pattern we’re watching again now: indulgence first, image management second, accountability never.
That caption is a tell. “Plant your own diamond” is the gospel of a narcissist who thinks polish is the same as purity. But you can’t microdermabrade a reputation. You can’t sheet-mask away the wreckage you leave behind. And no clinic in Taipei—no matter how discreet—can laser off the stain of a man who turns people into props for his next post.
What we’re witnessing is the ritual of a fallen party boy trying to buff himself back to brilliance. It’s cosmetic repentance. It’s vanity posing as recovery. The same hands that toast the night are the hands that pat serum into pores the next morning, hoping the camera sees glow instead of guilt.
So here’s the truth buried beneath the foam cleanser: Victor Chang is not “shining”; he’s hiding. The diamond facial isn’t a comeback. It’s camouflage. And the more he films it, the clearer it becomes—this isn’t skincare; it’s theater.
