I was looking in the mirror the other morning, the bathroom mirror -always a dangerous pastime when you reach a certain age-and noticed yet another line had appeared overnight. Not a dramatic one. Nothing requiring structural engineering. Just a small crease quietly settling in as though it had signed a long-term lease agreement.
Now, there was a time when this would have sent me into mild despair. Or at the very least towards expensive creams containing crushed pearls, volcanic ash, or the tears of ethically raised unicorns. It’s amazing how our attitudes change.
But lately, I’ve started looking at wrinkles differently.
I understand now that every line on our faces is a receipt. Proof of purchase for a life actually lived.
The tiny fan around the eyes?
Years of laughing until tea came out of your nose. That still happens to me.
The slightly deeper wrinkles around the mouth?
They can be caused by smoking, but I prefer to think they came from late nights talking nonsense with people we adored.
The furrow between the brows?
Raising teenagers. Reading the news. Trying to understand technology updates.
And the slightly wobbly neck and the misplaced chin?
Well. Gravity is a relentless little beast …
Of course, we’re encouraged to believe we should fight aging and banish wrinkles with the determination of a medieval warrior charging into battle. Smooth this. Tighten that. Lift the other. Freeze your forehead until you can no longer express concern, surprise, or indigestion.
You know, I’m not against a little zhuzhing. If someone wants Botox, fillers, lasers, needles, creams, or to be lightly sandblasted by a Swiss dermatologist named Jürg, good luck to them. Truly. You do you.
But I do think we’ve forgotten something important.
Sparkle matters more than smoothness.
You can have the tautest face in the world, but if your eyes look tired, bitter, bored, or permanently offended, no amount of injectable wizardry is going to save the situation and your wrinkles will look deeper.
Meanwhile, I know women in their seventies and eighties with wrinkles that could tell stories for days -and they absolutely glow. They laugh loudly. Wear fabulous earrings. Flirt outrageously. Order dessert. Book trips they probably shouldn’t and dance carefully but enthusiastically.
And people are drawn to them because confidence is magnetic.
Humour helps too.
Nothing keeps you younger than laughing at the absurdity of it all.
Yes, I know laughing causes wrinkles but these are good wrinkles!
Honestly, at our age, if you can get out of bed without a cacophony of sound effects and remember why you walked into the kitchen, you’re already winning.
There’s also something gloriously freeing about reaching the point where you no longer wish to look twenty-five. Exhausting age, twenty-five. Tiny handbags. Impossible shoes. Eating lettuce voluntarily.
No thank you.
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