On developing a relationship with my aging face

You can't love a stranger.

I’ve been spending a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror lately.

It’s not exactly vanity, I don’t think - I wouldn’t say I’m “primping” during my extended mirror-gazing sessions, beyond my rather simple skincare & makeup routine. Nor am I critiquing. It’s more a sense of curiosity and exploration, tinged with occasional moments of dismay or, on bad days, something approaching panic.

There’s a lot happening to this face of mine, friends.

For the first fifteen years or so of adulthood, my skin looked essentially the same as it had when I was a teenager. The last five years of my thirties, I developed a few more lines around my eyes and slight melasma on my cheeks - no big deal, and the changes seemed to happen slowly, few and far between.

But after 40, that visible aging seemed to speed up and over the past couple of years, every day has seemed to bring some new change to my attention. These changes aren’t always something I can easily define or put my finger on, either - it’s not as simple as “Oh-oh, there’s another wrinkle here!” or “Look, an age spot there!” It’s more vague than that: a general loosening and slackening, a sense that things aren’t quite…where they used to be…that’s hard to put one’s finger on.

In moments of equanimity, I can look at these changes with a certain level of detachment and even a sense of something like nostalgia. Look how my eyelids are doing that thing my dad’s eyelids did! And how my lips are looking more and more like my mother’s in middle age! There’s a pattern faces follow as they age, and there’s something nearly comfortable about watching my face fall obediently along the same lines as its predecessors. Nothing is amiss here, the familiarity of these changes reminds me; I’m just getting older.

Every year I go on a getaway weekend with my two best friends, women I’ve known since high school. We talk about literally everything, as you can with women you’ve known for three-plus decades, and more and more, aging - and what is even going on with our aging skin and bodies - dominates the conversation.

A few summers ago I was blow drying my hair in the bathroom when I made the horrifying yet hilarious discovery that, when pointed in just the right direction at my neck, the high velocity of the blow dryer turned that crease at the front of my neck into a rippling wave, like the surface of a pond on a windy day.

I shrieked and called my friends, who came running, and then the three of us laughed until we couldn’t breathe. It was so ridiculous and hilarious, I forgot to be upset about it. That was a good day, too.

And then there are the other days.

The days when I find myself using two fingers to smooth out the softly slack spot between my eyebrows and wondering just how much Botox it might take to get that spot back to the way it used to be.

Or when I pull the skin on both cheeks up and back - just the tiniest little bit is all it needs - and mentally do the cost-benefit analysis of a facelift.

It’s not just my face that I freak out about, though. Friends, what is up with my chest? The deep creases and discolored spots are baffling to me, even though this was one area of my body I was always a little afraid would turn on me early. I wear sunscreen at least as diligently on my chest as I do my face, yet my décolleté looks older, like “when I catch a sideways glimpse in the mirror on a sunny day I cringe” older.

And for the past couple of years the skin above my knees has been doing this weird thing where it slightly sags over my kneecap. Of all the things I thought I’d one day be vain about, my knees were not one of them, but here we are. These days I find myself analyzing older women and their knees - in yoga class, while I’m out walking - and for the most part, if I’m honest, what I am seeing is not promising.

I’m not going to pretend these moments of dismay about my steadily-aging skin don’t happen, because as I’ve described, they most assuredly do.

At the same time, though, I believe that spending time just getting used to my face and body as they are now has helped me feel less panicked about what they are becoming.
It’s all about relationship, isn’t it? My skin is there for me, day in and day out; it would be rude to spend much time criticizing it, even in my own mind. I’m looking at the relationship as more symbiotic these days: how can I support you as you do your job, face? What could you use to be the smoothest expression of yourself today, chest? Um…how is it down there, knees? Can I…um…help you?

To that end, I’m also working to create a “philosophy” of sorts around what I will, and won’t, do to stem the visible signs of aging - and that’s helping to keep me from falling prey to flailing around from one treatment or product to another.

In this episode of The Tea’s Made podcast, I talked a lot about my approach to skincare, which, so far at least, has not involved any needles or scalpels and centers around using gentle and pleasurable skincare products and techniques like facial massage - not necessarily for the results, but simply because it feels good.

There’s been a lot of pushback against “anti-aging” marketing in skincare and beauty products. I’m torn about this. On the one hand, we’re all aging, all the time. The only way to remain alive is to age. And in some of my calmer, more self-compassionate moments in front of the mirror, I have vowed not to use the goal of “looking younger” as a weapon against my precious face and body.

And yet, when most of us think about how we would ideally want our skin to look, isn’t “younger” the most honest term? Sure, we can couch the effect we’re going for in other words like “brighter” or “more hydrated” or “fresher” or “more awake” but it’s pretty well-documented that aging usually leads to duller, dryer, more tired-looking skin - and I think we’re all smart enough to know that those workaround words are just euphemisms for “less old.”

There’s room for balance here somewhere. I won’t ever look like I’m twenty again and it would honestly be a little weird if I did. My face is visible proof of the life I’ve lived and where my experience has brought me. I love it and I’ll keep it. What I’m going for in a skincare regime now is one that helps me look like the best and most vibrant possible version of whatever age I am right now (which, right now, happens to be 46.)

And again, the more elusive “actual visible results” start to seem, the less emphasis I’m trying to put on them when it comes to my routines and rituals. First and foremost, I want my products and routine and any procedures, should I ever choose to get them, to do no harm (to me or others). Second, I want anything I do to my skin to be a self-indulgent, pleasurable experience. Third, I hope I come away with a little glow and look like an extremely well-hydrated and well-rested version of myself.

Friends, if you’re feeling uncomfortable about your aging skin - or perhaps you’re in a little bit of denial about it - I recommend spending some time with yourself in front of the mirror.

You aren’t going to love everything you see - that, I can promise you. But it’s also probable you won’t hate everything you see, either, and it’s a good practice just to sit with it. The more you expose yourself to something the more accustomed you get to it, and the more you can grow to appreciate it. You can’t love a stranger, after all.

And as evidenced by that moment I laughed hysterically in the bathroom with my friends while blow-drying my neck, every single thing about getting older is better when you share it with others. So let’s talk.

How are you feeling about your skin right now? And do you have a philosophy when it comes to products and procedures? Leave a comment & let’s chat about it.