I remember exactly when I first became aware of my increasing age. It was two years ago. I was standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom, nervously getting ready for a job interview. As I was blowdrying, I found like four long, wirey grey hairs. You know the ones. We’re not talking about the cute little newly sprouted baby hairs — we’re talking rickety-ass, AARP, eye cream-ing, tax payers with fully vested 401Ks.
I audibly gasped. Just a little. Like wow, I had assumed everyone else got grey hairs and it would obviously never happen to me. Obviously.
After a brief moment of self-shame — because how dare I not be immune to the universal and natural aging process — I felt a little boost of confidence. “Why am I so nervous?” I thought. “I’ve EARNED these stripes.”
I finished my hair and proceeded to nail the interview. Ironically, I was the youngest person of the interview panel and the company was looking to hire me to help modernize their brand. Because I was a millennial.
Aging is complicated.
The second instance happened last week. I went to my friend’s bachelorette party. (For context, I’ll be 33 in a few weeks.) The theme was Y2K and the costumes were iconic. Butterfly clips. Juicy jumpsuits. Lace chokers. Nokia phones! On the first night, we went out in said outfits to a local Newport bar. It must have been the end of finals week because the place was packed with 20 year old girls.
Baggy jeans. Hoodies. Sambas. Maybe the occasional baguette bag. (Which, little do they know, were integral to the very looks we were wearing...)
We walked in looking absolutely ridiculous/amazing. It was an immediate flashback to the hallways of high school as their little pre-pubescent eyes darted us up and down, as if to say “ew.”
Listen. As much as I want to – and would find immense pleasure in – I can’t blame them. They were born in 2005 so how could they possibly understand the appeal of bedazzled jeans with a chain belt. It is a bit ironic though that much of their style is inspired by our style. Nevertheless.
It was in that moment that I felt acutely aware of my increasing age. Up until that point – other than the few friendly gray hairs conveniently located in the depths of my head – I could have convinced myself I was basically one of them. But in my tube top, platforms, and dangly sparkly earrings, I was definitely not one of them.
Here’s the part where it gets weird.
The complicated thing about it all is that I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about getting older. I don’t think we know how we feel about getting older. On one hand, we have Pamela Anderson. Bless her. In all of her natural glory, she is confidently, unapologetically saying “I’m aging and I’m beautiful.” It’s incredible. On the other hand, we have Anne Hathaway, who also looks amazing and is being celebrated for having not aged a day (with a little help from her friend, Sculptra). We have social media showing us things like “baby botox” (which by the way, I still don’t know what it is) but also the rise of gorgeous, white-haired influencers, like white hair wisdom.
Which is it?
The first lesson here is probably to not seek out celebrities or social media as a guiding force. Facts. But internet and influencers aside, it’s a difficult concept to get comfortable with. When I think about aging, I have so many different and conflicting emotions. Yesterday my sister sent me a photo of my mom from 7 years ago – her skin was plump, her hair was blonde, she had a bit more color in her cheeks. Today, she is still so beautiful – her hair is snow white, a few more wrinkles around her eyes and smile. It makes me sad, because it’s a visible sign that time is passing and we don’t have forever. But it also makes me happy and grateful – how lucky I am to still have my mother at this age. How lucky she is to have those smile lines. It makes me nervous because how long until I’m the one annoying my daughter for typing with my pointer fingers? And it makes me excited because how cool to have had the time to have built a family and life that makes you proud.
I’m not sure when the transition from “I’m embarrassed of aging” or “I’m afraid of aging” to “I’m proud of aging” or perhaps just “I’m aging” happens. Maybe it doesn’t for everyone. I’m not sure when you decide whether you want to age like Pamela or Anne. I’m not sure you ever even have to.
And I guess that’s all I’m saying. I think aging is complicated and it’s okay to take the pressure off of ourselves to pretend it’s not. It’s okay to be nervous. It’s okay to be unapologetic. It’s okay to age.
It’s complicated and that’s just getting older.
Take care of yourself, always,
Allison xx
Thanks for this reflection. As several people past away in my life at a very young age, I interpret aging as a real privilege, not a curse. I am completely okay with it and will not consume anti-aging content or products because I want to embrace all stages at this lease of life. Just a heads up: those white hairs in your hair scared you? wait until.... hahahaha :)
Ooh, that’s a good one, Allison! Listen… we’re not getting any younger, right? I’m 37, and while people often mistake me for being in my mid-20s (which—thank you!), I notice the things they don’t. I’ve got some greys, and honestly, I love them! Salt and pepper me, please! My hands are a bit more wrinkled than most, but I wash them a thousand times a day and deal with dry skin. Still, I love my hands. They just needed a little extra care, so I ordered my first retinol hand cream, Teraphlush, and it’s been amazing.
I think aging is beautiful, even if it’s not exactly trending. I’ll never shame anyone for wanting to look ageless, but let’s not turn around and judge my wrinkles either, because I’ve lived! x