This morning the entire health section of the Los Angeles Times was devoted to aging. It brought back memories of an essay I wrote in 2007, so I thought I’d post it. I wrote it on the day I realized I was getting old and couldn’t fool myself anymore. I know 62 (or am I 63?) isn’t old, but it’s not young either. No matter how much I tell myself that I can expect wrinkles, I probably shouldn’t dye my hair, and that gravity eventually wins, I still fall prey to our constant desire to look young.
Here I am as a kid. Now, I don't expect to look like this the rest of my life.
One article in particular was interesting because it was about anti-aging products and the fact that despite not being proven to work at all, women will not give them up, even in the recession. I had to laugh, because I am cutting back wherever I can, and I was debating not buying the Lancome products I use, but finally realized that I was going to buy them. Somehow, psychologically, I need to feel I have that little edge (even if I know I don’t).
High school senior - I don't expect to continue to look like this either, but...
2006 - not bad, but here's where you can't take a close look.
So I thought of my essay. It’s humorous – but true! I look pretty good for 62 – at least that’s what I’m told all the time. My response, however, is, “What is 62 supposed to look like?” And really, I do look good – just don’t look too close! Because closer examination reveals that you can only hide so much.
2007 - my 60th birthday, with my oldest daughter and my mother. Now I have to try to avoid full body shots. Stick to head shots only.
2008 - Discovery! Hold the camera higher than your head and you look better! From now on, anyone who takes my picture has to climb up a ladder.
2009 - at a race. Ok, so it's not a great angle. Who really cares, anyhow.
Because, really, this is reality. I do have mascara on, but this is when you really have to take just a cursory look. And I'm pretty sure I'm 62, not 63.
Thank God for lipstick, flatirons, and hair dye. But they can only do so much. I must accept the lines and the bags. And get a haircut.
Here’s the real clincher. I already posted this essay! But I didn’t really blog about it. So the very last line in the essay just proved itself.
