Age Before Beauty

My husband is so handsome, and like a fine bourbon barrel aged whiskey, seems to get better over time, laden with intricacies and deeper layers to his appearance, making for an even more appealing and interesting overall aesthetic. After all, he caught the attention of someone 16 1/2 years his junior, and he so often gets shocked looks and exasperated expressions from the utter bewilderment when people find out how old he truly is. You see, since he is older, and therefore, infinitely much more wiser, he has come to terms with his years on this earth and has not only accepted it, but embraced them warmly, for he knows he does things peers much younger than he struggle with. He is fit, athletic, strong, playful, and active, and all of this has added to his youthful exuberance, fervor, and zest for life. Then, I see myself in photos, or I catch a glance in the mirror. And I no longer see the vivacious and beautiful woman I was when we first met, so eager to joke about how much younger I was than my “old man” and frolic through the remainder of my 20s. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but one day I woke up, and all I saw was a haggard, sallow-skinned, and if I’m brave enough to admit to myself, ugly old woman looking back at me in my reflection or on photographs. Who was this person who had zapped out all the liveliness from whom I once was? It was like I was watching the youth seeping out of every orifice, like trying to hold water between my cupped hands, and the more desperately I clung onto the pool of liquid, the quicker it seeped between the cracks in my fingers, though I refused to acquiesce to the fact the yes, I am getting older, and things and appearances change.

Is it vain of me to say I hated it? Or how horrible to admit that I began to hate the person I started to look like and resemble? That wasn’t me! Never before did I wake up with pillow lines imprinted to my face that remained the rest of the day, now seemingly a permanent fixture no matter how many collagen pills I took or how much hyaluronic acid droplets I doused on my porous face. I used to wake up looking refreshed with a dewy glow no matter how long I partied all night in Miami or in college, and now, even with a full night’s sleep, my skin always looks weathered and lined, like the pillow brow beat me into stunned silence. If I put on makeup, rather than sit on top of my skin to enhance beautiful features, it sinks into divots and lines embedded into my face, looking cakey and worn. Men often age wonderfully and comfortably, like your most favorite pair of Levi’s that seem to get better with time, molding better to your body like a soothing glove. While I feel like women are trying to jam themselves into unmaintainable standards set by society, like one of Cinderella’s stepsisters trying to force her overgrown foot into that dainty glass slipper. There’s just no way to gracefully accommodate that transition without accepting that maybe it’s time for a different shoe.

It sounds absolutely terrible and abhorrent to say this, but I regret that there was a time in my adolescence where I was deemed conventionally “hot.” I may not have been drop dead gorgeous or like the stunningly beautiful models of the world, but by society’s standards, I was decent looking enough to swivel a few heads due to my appearance. I was in shape with curves (though I admit, much more so fit these days), I put effort into my appearance with outfits and makeup, and I was young. Men bought me drinks when I went out, I got asked out on dates, people slid into my DM’s constantly, catcalled wherever, you name it. Unwarranted or not, rarely a day went by without some type of flirtatious behavior thrown my way. It makes me sad now to think that those days are behind me, that I am dried up like a raisin, shriveled, forlorn, and unwanted like a discarded hole-ridden sock. I see why so many famous women and celebrities are drawn to things like botox, facial and lip fillers, plastic surgery etc., just to try and keep up with youth and with beauty standards and then end up looking alienesque. It then becomes sad and almost pitying to witness, but boy do I understand those feelings. The way society as a whole can go from worshipping you over your appearance (if you were a celebrity), and having you top lists of “most beautiful” and “sexiest people” to then criticizing everything about the way you look all due to something everyone should be so lucky to experience; getting older. I wonder if I would have struggled this much if I had been plainer. Is hotness and beauty just a catch-22?

I’d like to think that I’ve grown more confident and less insecure as I’ve gotten older, and I certainly have, with some things. Others, I’m not so sure. I know for a fact my husband can and will still be hit on by beautiful and younger women, who can blame them? They have great taste and he sure is a catch, from looks to personality from even having his life put together with incredible goals and a strong work ethic. What do I have to offer him? I continue to work hard in the gym and I’m lucky to be able to continue to be athletic and fit, even with my terrible knees and not so great genetics (the man has a killer metabolism). I love him so much and I feel he deserves the most beautiful woman in the whole world, and it pains me terribly to see how much my looks and appearance have deteriorated since we first got together almost 7 years ago. I have never seen a more stunning or attractive man, and I feel guilty that I am not of the same level. And then I have been so bothered by this lately, I can tell it’s put a damper on the atmosphere, and I am really leaning into my Jewish heritage strong here with all of this kvetching. People always guess he is way younger than he is, and they always guess my age exactly right, and for some reason, that hurts so badly. But I do not want to hate this or be jealous of my husband, because I am so proud to be the one married to him. Though I admit I do struggle terribly with my emotions lately.

The picture in the title was taken yesterday. I bought some new eye cream de-puffer and smoothing serum, and when I looked in my car mirror, I noticed the bright light of the sun made my skin appear not as dull and the lines not as pronounced so I wanted to take a picture. The picture underneath it is an edited version of the exact same photo, with a little bit of makeup added and that dewy, youthful glow to my skin I just always had in my youth for no apparent reason at all. I wonder if this is going to be like exposure therapy, where I’m just going to have to get used to seeing the aging version of myself in mirror reflections and photos until I am no longer disgusted by her. I won’t be that person that avoids cameras, I enjoy the memories too much, but I do always secretly think everyone looks better, younger, and more beautiful than myself. I read somewhere that our tastes change every 7 years, and then we re-acclimate, so I wonder if I will then get used to this, only to go through another crisis again in 7 more years. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t cry while writing this very personal post, but it was cathartic to admit it to the world that I have these terribly insecure thoughts. I do remember in a world where so many good people unfortunately die young, it is a privilege to grow old, including every wrinkle, gray hair, and liver spot that may come with it. And while looks may fade, I sure as hell always have this sparkling personality to carry me through life.