Fading Beauty

I was out one evening with a group of friends and conversation was all over the map as usual. Suddenly, one gal spoke up and said “I think you must have been very attractive when you were young”. This comment was directed towards me. I was surprised. First off, we weren’t talking about anything along the lines of beauty or age, so it was rather a strange departure from the conversation. Second, I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a diss of sorts. And so I offered my best guess at an appropriate response and said, thank you.

I am well into my seventh decade on this earth and looking back I am amazed at the various transformations in my appearance. Back when my husband died, my daughter was going through pictures in order to create a video history of his life. At one point she mentioned that they should do a video of the lifetime of my hairstyles. It has been long medium and short. Blunt and layered. Curly, wavy and straight and finally every colour you could imagine. Recently, I saw a gal do a video to cut her own hair and I tried it. It worked out just fine. I get bored quickly in life and my hair is often on the receiving end.

When I was young, a teen back in the 1970’s, young gals did very little in the way of make-up. I had long eye lashes and so my beauty routine was to curl them and use mascara. My only experimentation was with the colour. Black, brown or grey. Money was tight and makeup was expensive. Plus there was a trend towards the natural look back then. I didn’t even use lip gloss. My mom’s Vaseline was my go to. She used it on her face to keep the moisture in and it was perfect for my lips. Plus it had the added benefit of being free and easy to snitch a bit to go in a tiny container that fit well in my jeans pocket.

I wasn’t a natural stunner back in the day but I had good hair and big eyes so those were the things I spent time on. I was quite slender and tall which was also in vogue back then so skin tight clothes were my go to. I had my share of beau’s but I wasn’t that girl that everyone wanted. We all know those gals. The ones who have fewer dates because all the guys are afraid to approach them. They are sort of untouchable to the guys. What I had was a mix of semi popular traits. Other than my limited physical traits, I was athletic, good in school, relatively quiet and status quo but also somewhat prone to rule breaking. I was a loner with lots of acquaintances. A peripheral friend. Someone who belongs somewhat to every group, yet never really belongs anywhere completely. That lends an aura of mystery I guess as my identity didn’t fit neatly into a box. I believe that increased my popularity with the opposite sex.

I never really thought much about my looks as I aged. I always did the bare minimum. I took things for granted. I hated shopping and I was very sure of what I liked or disliked which made things harder. Trends mystified me. Luckily my hubby loved to shop and was quite a bargain hunter. I used to call him Sally Wise Buy because he could get deals anywhere. Even with women’s clothes. When it came to big events like weddings and Christmas parties, I always trusted him to find me the perfect outfit. In my work life I had a uniform of sorts. Dresses. An assortment that could be worn on a rotating basis without any thought going into it in the morning. My shoes were a part of the uniform. One pair of black flats. Closed toed pumps in black. white, grey, blue, brown and beige. One pair of high heel close toe pumps and one pair of sling back open toe summer shoes in black. Mornings were spent on my hair and makeup was often applied in the car or on the way to work.

The very first time I even noticed things change was while walking with my oldest daughter along a train platform. She was a pretty 15 year old and as we walked I noticed not one man looked at me. She had what I had taken for granted for many years. Youth. I was only 34 so it wasn’t like I was an old hag but she had that dewy look of youth. She had a pretty face with blonde hair and blue eyes. Tall and lean. Yet she noticed that the minute she wore a baseball cap, which was her goto, no one really looked at her. Hair is a woman’s crowning glory. It can turn an ordinary looking gal into a stunner. Pretty as she was I think she always thought her sister was prettier. My other daughter was also a pretty blue eyed girl but was born with black curls. That combination is just a little more striking. Unusual. It causes people to notice,

I was lazy as a young person and it only got worse as I aged. Once I discovered yoga, I tended to spend more time in yoga pants. I still did a bit more when going out with hair, makeup and clothes but on a day to day basis I was as casual as could be. Yucky hair called for a ponytail or ball cap and sunglasses. I am a sucker for concert t-shirts to go with my yoga pants. I realized how little effort I put in on the day of my husbands funeral. I had a new dress and shoes. My friend met me in the morning to do my hair. I did my make-up painstakingly as the tears kept coming. And then when my daughter arrived I slipped on my shoes and opened the door to my six year old granddaughter Pia. As she peered up at me she said, “Mormor. You look different. You’re so pretty.” And then after another look up and down she exclaimed with some amazement “And you’re so tall!”

I remember the first time I was aware of my weight. My third child was born and I had post partum depression. I not only didn’t lose the baby weight. I gained more over the next year. I lost it but menopause caused an even greater shift up. It was gradual and today I am 40 pounds heavier that the day that third child was born. Oddly enough I am happier and more content with my body than I was back then. I think the bottom line is that whatever is causing us to be sad, it isn’t our weight. I read an article recently about people using ozempic or stomach surgery to lose weight. One gal was so surprised that a man held a door for her even while she was quite a ways away as she hustled towards him. She said that told her that was what slender people went through. If she was still heavy he wouldn’t have held the door. I personally think it says more about the man. Who holds doors for women. I am a slightly soft chubby 65 year old grandmother and young men hold the door for me quite often. They aren’t asking me for dates, but they are respectful.

As I sit here writing, I am still in my pajamas. I had a quick coffee earlier with a neighbour and wore a robe and slippers over to her house. Later I will do a bit of gardening and I will be happy up to my armpits in mud and dirt. And then, at the last minute, I will shower and get ready to go out. Just a quick bite to eat and a visit with a girlfriend. I know I’ll leave it to the last minute so there will be no time for hair and makeup and I will fly out the door with wet hair but clean hands and face. I will arrive 5 minutes late. Because it is the gardening I love and every minute I can spend there is another minute of joy. How I look won’t matter to my friend. She will be happy just to chat and catch up on life.

There are still times when I pull out all the stops. I take so much time to get ready. Hair, makeup and clothes are all planned out and I must say, I look lovely. But the time sacrificed is often not worth it. These days are all about me and my time. Time is slipping away and I want to spend it my way. When I was young I remember telling my husband that he could judge how good I felt about myself by how good I looked. It was an inverse equation. The happier I was the less I tried. But if I was sad or unhappy, sometimes dolling myself up made me feel better. Sometimes we just need a boost. I am still quite surprised at how much I have changed over the years. And yet I still see that young girl in the mirror as I pass by. She is still there, still wondering about the future. Thinking about the past. Marvelling at life and how she got here.

I know it is becoming popular to chase the illusion of youth. And that is what it is. An illusion. Youth is fleeting and we often don’t appreciate it until it is gone. But youth isn’t just about looks. It is a time of learning and trying to make our way in life. Figuring out who we are and how we fit into the world. Our looks didn’t define us then nor should they now. Youth should be about trying out life and making mistakes without worrying about consequences. After all, when someone screws up big when they are young, we often shrug our shoulders and say to others. that are young. They will grow up. We don’t have as much sympathy to wards those who mess up big when they are older. They should know better we think.

The same can be said for those who the beauty industry prey upon. Once upon a time it was women who aged but wanted to recapture that youthful look. I myself highlite my hair as the grey creeps in. I tell myself it makes the overtaking of grey softer somehow. With hints of blonde grey and brown I am somehow holding back the curtain that is closing on my long ago youth. Today the surgeries that young people undertake are sometimes hard to understand. They aren’t trying to hold onto youth, they are trying to change every little flaw that they see in themselves. Yet as I told my teens when they came to me in anguish over a new pimple, no one is even going to notice your pimple because they are too busy trying to cover up their own pimple.

Just like the seasons of a year, there are seasons in our lives. The spring freshness and beauty brings with it joy and amazement at the newness. The youth of our lives. There is a gradual and soft movement towards the lazy days of summer when life is content and peaceful. We are aging but with a slow and beautiful transformation as we grow into ourselves. And then comes fall, when the world is preparing for sleep just as we are entering a slower time when kids move on and we focus on what was but look to what might be. And then suddenly comes the snow that covers the earth as it prepares to slow and hibernate. That is our golden time. Truthfully that is the age when we can do and be whatever we want. Because no one notices. And we can be as outrageous as ever because people will just say, oh she is getting old. Losing it.

Whoever you become in the spring of your life is who you will most likely stay true to throughout life’s seasons. All of the other stuff is just a bit of fluff. My husband used to say about some people “All sizzle, no steak”. What he meant was that everything you saw on the outside was for show. It was a persona that was created for the world. Usually made up to ensure others saws them for who they portrayed. Not who they really were. Inside was nothing. There was no steak. Just the illusion. A lie. Fading beauty is a part of aging gracefully. It is about embracing who we are today. Because everything up to this point made us into this person we see. Right now. In the mirror. The laughter and the tears throughout the years are etched in our faces. The bulges and aches are all part of the journey be it having babies or getting hurt. Our bodies and our faces are a map of what time has done to us. We need to take care of this beautiful vessel that got us here. We don’t need to erase the signs that time planted. It is who we are. As I look at my hands I see my Mothers hands. Thin skin. Veins. Calluses. I understand now that my hands, like hers, show the signs of love. To ourselves and others. It is truly a blessing to reach this stage of life. While the surface beauty fades, our lives are revealed. That is the true beauty.