On Beauty and Beautifying
An interesting argument has blown up on social media around the pros and cons of ageing.
Now, I to need to state the obvious by stressing that this is specifically with reference to women; as who cares about a few "laughter lines and greying hair" on men of whatever age?
On them it is distinguished...
It speaks of having experienced the highs and lows of life and yet successfully maintained their swag and poise...
Long story short, it is acceptable.
We get it. 👀
But back to the main gist!
I was thoroughly amused, though not surprised, by the fact that the ongoing discussions centred around why:
A/ The alluring actress Jasmine Guy dares to look so old a mere FORTY YEARS after she starred in hit 80s sitcom, 'A Different World'?
and
B/ The iconic singer Madonna doesn’t realise that at her age she really should dress more appropriately ... plus stop tottering around in heels in which she is one mis-step away from breaking her neck?
Shock, horror, and indignation abound.
But of course no-one actually says women shouldn't age. There's just a not-so-subtle hint that to flaunt the whole process is crass.
Please make it make sense!!
The former gracefully chose to age naturally, and is being treated like a felon in a boiler suit who doesn’t realise that orange is no longer the real black.
The latter simply stuck to what has long been the norm…
…popularly known as fake-it-til-you-die…
…with your full chest, and blinkers that blind you to the malicious side-eyeing of your detractors.
Yet, both are being vilified so badly the standards have multiplied way past double.
In fact, that old African-Americanism says it all: the math ain't mathing.
Why does ageing make us dizzy with despair when we one and all have seen parents, relatives, and friends age without a trace of opprobrium.
Even folks for whom Science was a total mystery at school have almost certainly admired a ravishingly buxom Marilyn Monroe without considering her weight or dress-size.
Furthermore, has anyone ceased to appreciate the sheer brilliance of Gloria Steinem who was able to effectively communicate with her brain rather than rely on physical attributes.
It seems to be a default assumption that most of us should-be/want-to-be/long-to-be tall, skinny, wrinkle-free, and have hair so fabulously glossy we'd need a personal hairdresser on call 24/7.
Perhaps a lot of us do.
Nevertheless, it is also a bit like mass hypnosis.
Insidious, bewitching, and extra worryingly liable to seriously stunt the emotional development of impressionable children, tweens, and teens.
Having once fallen into a similar trap whilst being treated with a chemo-cum-steroid cocktail for a debilitating autoimmune disease, l speak as one who knows.
I ended up a few dress sizes larger than was normal for me, and was convinced my whole world had ended.
Life as I knew it had, but my world was an exaggeration.
Rational thought escaped me, along with the evidence that my appearance was linked to the healing power of the drugs.
Were my size and looks a reflection of who I was?
Hello.
How could they not be?
All social invitations were politely but promptly declined.
Trips to the local barber to deal with the tufts of hair on my balloon-sized head took a surreal turn as I always sat sideways to avoid catching my image in the bank of mirrors.
Be that as it may, time changes many things.
Right now, my mother's bathroom mirror is a beacon - sitting under lighting so sweet, my face appears smooth, line-free, and glows softly.
The twenty years it takes off me are visible in a self-satisfied smile that lasts only until I get home and take another look in a less flattering reflector.
Who knew one store could sell such vastly differing products under the same name? But that's a story for another day…
Back to beauty.
Do I like make-up?
Love it.
As long as I still look like me afterwards.
Do I ooh and aah at the fantastic plastic surgery transformations that pop up in my YouTube feed?
You bet.
Hey, your body, your rules.
Though probably not for me.
Are clothes a major consideration?
What was it Eve did as soon as her eyes were opened? Enough said.
Meanwhile, I personally don’t do fauna, but my sense of fashion has evolved as I've aged, with comfort playing a major part in the pieces I select.
I am never again going to be the particular kind of lovely that comes from a young person's carefree outlook and unerring hope in a future stretching tantalisingly before them.
(Such elixirs should compulsorily be bottled then distributed free of charge to all pensioners!!!)
Yet, my smile remains the same, and the gleam in my eye is as bright as it was forty odd years ago.
And I breathe.
I. Breathe.
This is beautiful to me.
😎
