Is Beauty A Myth?
I’ve been thinking about beauty, in terms of youth. I’m not going to be cute forever. It has occurred to me lately that there are lines forming on my face and grey hairs appearing on my head. I am by no means OK with this. I’m pissed, I’m worried, I’m basically very vain.
I’m serious. I am getting older, and let’s face it, less attractive. I am getting thinner, which will make me more attractive, but the truth is I will be getting older, as I get older. I know I’m stating the obvious, I just need to do that at this moment. I need to write this down so I accept it.
I am by no means growing old gracefully. My hair is thinning so I got on it, and I’m using shampoo, conditioner, sprays, and taking a hair enhancing vitamin. I’m fighting this process. I bought this crazy little gadget that will do this face yoga stuff for me, so I can prevent wrinkles. I know, I’m a little wack.
But what am I supposed to do? So much of a woman’s identity is intertwined with her looks, it’s hard to see them fade. I read a column in the New York Times where an older woman claims that women who are in their sixties and seventies are happier than anyone else on earth. I hope that’s true. I want that to be true. I kinda don’t believe that’s true.
She said that they don’t miss the male gaze, or basically men looking at them. I will tell you honestly, I don’t dress nicely for men as much as I dress nicely for my women friends. They are the ones judging, men don’t really give a shit what you are wearing.
I don’t know if I will miss men looking at me. It’s kind of dumb thing, to begin with. Why are men so superficial, and why should that impact my self-esteem? It shouldn’t, quite obviously. But sometimes it matters, it makes you feel like you exist, that someone can see you. Sometimes I feel invisible like no one can really see me. Like no one is looking like I’m not that important. Every now and then when a random dude gives me a flirty look, it’s flattering, I must admit.
But the male gaze does not define my worth. I’m not sure what does, perhaps a combination of things. One of them is looking pretty, I like to look pretty. Trust me, without clothes, hair, and make-up I do not look that pretty. It takes work.
It takes more work as you get older, and that’s OK. I looked a lot better ‘naturally’ when I was younger, and that’s OK as well. Things change. I have also changed, as a human, as a woman, as a person, I feel I have evolved. I feel it has been in a good way. But my appearance is not necessarily going to get better, it really will only get worse in the years to come.
I need to face that reality. I need to focus my attention on something else I love about myself. The way I look should not be as important as it is to me. It is absolutely not who I am. But sometimes I forget. Who am I again? I’m a body, mind, and soul. I’m all three. I cannot be anything without that body. I think it may be the least important component, but it matters. Mostly it matters that it functions properly. I’m losing weight for that purpose too, not just for my looks. I want to be healthy and die healthy.
Most people don’t die of being too healthy though. It stands to reason that I should expect things to start falling apart. Being sick is a worse fate than just looking old. Together, the two are not exactly fun. But I’m 43. I hate that number. I hate numbers. I hate counting how many years old I am and how many pounds I weigh.
It’s all too much. Why do we have to put a number on it? Why do we gotta label it? It’s so confining. When I was in my twenties, I would spontaneously think that certain people did not like me for absolutely no reason at all. I was paranoid and insecure. Now I don’t worry so much about who likes me, but who I like.
My self-esteem has definitely improved a great deal over the years. I have also learned that my worth is more based on my personality than on the way that I look. However, there is this part of me that wants to be physically beautiful too. I’m sure it’s probably something I learned by living in a culture that puts so much emphasis on appearance.
When I was a kid I used to read fashion and beauty magazines compulsively. I don’t really do that anymore, but every now and then I go on Pinterest and look for beauty tips. A lot of those tips have to do with fighting
I actually hope so. This battle to be beautiful is a very fake and superficial pursuit. I don’t want to be obsessed with my weight and my skin for the rest of my life. It is very taxing and tiring. Sometimes I actually want to be invisible. I don’t want to see myself and I don’t want anyone else to see me. I just want to be me, a person, not some sort of physical object.
Objectification is a very hard thing to suffer, especially as a woman. Sometimes men just judge you by the way that you look. But that judgment is not something that should be important to me. As Martin Luther King said, I want to be judged by the content of my character.
My mother has aged remarkably well. She looks amazing for her age. I secretly, well I guess it’s no secret now, I hope that I have inherited that youthful look that she has. As much as my mother loves shopping and she won’t leave the house without makeup on, she still is more concerned with her mind in most instances.
She likes to talk about politics and she still remembers all the technical stuff she learned in Med School. When she talks about her youth, she talks about how she was first in her class. She was also very pretty, but it doesn't seem that important to her, not as important as her intelligence.
I like to think I’m smart, but that may even fade with age. What I really want to preserve after all the years on this earth, is my heart. I don’t ever want to lose the ability to love and be loved. That feeling does not age. It does not wrinkle with time. It does not fade, in fact, it gets stronger and better. I truly believe that at my essence I am love. Love does not age. It is the most beautiful thing about me.
I will try now to choose to exercise love more than I work out my body and mind. My heart, my soul, is who I really am. That only gets more precious with time.
nina