In Defense of Aging

She dabbed the concealer under my eyes and then sponged foundation across my face. Stepping back and pausing for a moment, she asked a question designed as more of a statement than an inquiry, “Do you get Botox or filler?” It was obvious that she already knew the answer: no, I don’t.

I’m fifty-five years old, and I have nothing injected in my face or elsewhere at this time. There was indeed a time in my life when I did get Botox around my eyes, but I thought it made me look strange. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not judging. People should do what works for them concerning cosmetic surgery and procedures. I’m not at all against having work done if it’s something they’d like to do. I know many women who get Botox and fillers who look amazing and are thrilled with the results. I don’t want society dictating how I should look one way or another, and any sort of looks/age/weight shaming, or any shaming for that matter, is just wrong.

It’s a fact I am getting older, and you are too. Whether I like it or not, my face and body are changing and aging. When the make-up artist asked me that question, I first thought, “way to make someone feel confident before getting in front of a camera.” Later I thought of the underlying issue, looks, and age shaming. When did it become so offensive to show the natural signs of a well-lived life? I look around the town I live in, Boulder, Colorado, and I see men and women who wear their grey hair like a badge of honor – and it’s sexy as hell.

I watch my husband’s head turn to glance at a healthy-looking silver fox strutting across the parking lot of our local grocery store, and I can’t blame him for looking. When she smiles, she has gorgeous lines that accent her joyful face, and her confidence is enviable.

Believe me, there are many days when I wake up to this face of mine, and I ask myself, “damn, what happened here” as I see my puffy lined eyes staring back at me, but the truth is, I love my face and body. It took me forty years or so to get to this place of acceptance, and two weeks or two years from now, I may decide to have work done, and I’m at peace with that too. It’s really about personal choice as far as how I, or anybody else, wishes to look.

When the make-up artist, a woman approximately the same age as me, added, “it’s not too late, you can still get filler,” I laughed under my breath a bit, but the truth is, it made me mad and sad. Mad because this was a sister casting shade on me, which is never cool. Sad that she was so focused on her perception of beauty that she couldn’t see what made me and likely many other men and women lovely in our own right. I understood that her job was to make me look as best as possible, but when it crossed the line to not accepting my natural face, it became an issue for me. Could she not see the sparkle in my eyes that showed what a rich and happy life I lead? Apparently not.

How does she view herself, I wondered. More importantly, how many men and women of varying ages has she questioned about the way they look who walk away feeling less than when they arrived?

At the end of the day, we are all a little older than we were this morning. It’s a reminder to not waste precious time on insignificant happenings and thoughts, to brush off the negative, to embrace what is good in our lives, and to move forward on our journey in a productive way, hopefully finding joy in the small and meaningful things that pass through our days.