I am not anti-makeup. I am not anti-skincare. But I am also not anti-aging.
Women have always struggled with looking their age. Whatever era you were raised in, I am sure you have memories of mothers and grandmothers lamenting loosening skin, deepening eye bags, or graying hair. Even in our culture, which is quick to denounce prejudices such as ageism, women are trapped in anxious cycles of trying (and failing) to look younger as they grow older. I know girls in their twenties who are getting “baby Botox”—preventative injections to ensure that, although they may age, their faces do not.
I admit that, sometimes, I feel a twinge of envy as I consider these women. My conscience—not to mention my schedule and wallet—will not permit me to take anti-aging measures beyond a drug store retinol and some tinted moisturizer. I still cringe as I remember attending a wedding where women several years older than me looked several years younger. I was keenly aware of my age-appropriate skin.
Beyond envy and self-consciousness (which is really just vanity’s pseudo-humble sister), I find that I am indignant. Why are we so eager to erase our faces, to eliminate evidence of lives well-lived? Why are we desperate to look like children when we are adults, and to exchange our uniquely beautiful countenances for artificially blank canvases? When did we start hating ourselves for living longer and looking it?
Why should I be ashamed of the “elevens” between my eyebrows? I’m certainly not ashamed of the intense studying and practicing that put them there.
Why should I be embarrassed by the creases in my forehead? They were etched into place by laughter, surprise, and awe. They continue to multiply and deepen through choir rehearsals as I motivate vocalists to sing with joy and in tune. I am absolutely not embarrassed to have a sense of humor (and pitch), so why do I cringe at these marks?
Why should I want to fill in the little crevices on either side of my mouth? They bracket my lips like parentheses and hint at a quickness to smile and frown. Do I really want to live in dull neutrality just for the sake of smoother skin?
These lines speak to the story God is telling through my life. Why would I wipe them out?
I wonder, too, if part of our distaste for the appearance of age is related to our fear of anything beyond comfortable numbness. Emotions more extreme than a flatlined “a-okay” are diagnosable. Strenuous work is to be avoided with a few taps and swipes. Rigorous learning is easily offloaded to machines.
So consider this rambling ode to my aging skin a cry of resistance. I will not avoid genuine affections, hard work, or intense study. I will continue to smile wide at a good joke, pull funny faces at my son, purse my lips when thinking, frown at injustices, and mirror the music I make with my eyebrows. I will brazenly continue to erode channels into my face through smiling, studying, squinting, singing, and, yes, sobbing. I will keep living, and welcome the signs of my multiplying years as badges of honor (Proverbs 16:31).
Who’s with me?
Ryanne Molinari 