Elder Millennial Musings

In this classic scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding (a feel good film if ever there was one), Mr. Portokalos laments that his youngest daughter, Toula, is not looking her freshest. At the ripe old age of 30, she’s looking a little beat, and he’s not letting her get away with it. His words are harsh, but the truth often is.

I find myself saying this phrase all the time…to myself.

Remember when I said that aging has never really bothered me and age ain’t nothing but a number? Well that was when the laws of aging didn’t seem to apply to me. But 40 hits different. And having a pandemic baby in my late 30s did me no favors in terms of graceful aging.

It’s true that we’re often our harshest critics, and I probably don’t look as aged as I feel, but a couple of weeks ago, one of my son’s friends DID tell me that I looked older than his 45 year old mom, so me thinks there’s something there.

Specifically what’s there: under eye wrinkles, wiry gray hairs that sprout mere moments after paying hundreds of dollars to get my hair colored, cellulite, and an extra 10 pounds that won’t come off. Harsh, but true.

A few years ago, I made the decision to age naturally. I didn’t want to get into the Botox and fillers game. It felt like a fool’s errand to try to recapture my youth of yesteryear, and quite frankly, I’d seen way too many waxy looking women walking around to feel comfortable experimenting. Plus, I felt like I was in good company with the likes of one Ms. Halle Berry also going all natural.

But I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t gotten harder to resist the temptation to give it a go. Every time I get called “ma’am” or find creased concealer under my eyes, or spot a new forehead line, I think…I can make this alllll go away with 35-40 units of the good stuff and a few hundred bucks.

Social media has also made it impossible for me to age naturally without thinking, wtf am I doing looking like a tired old troll (harsh, probably untrue), when I could literally look like a filter? Why should I abide by the laws of nature when nobody else seems to?

Growing up, this was not a decision I thought I’d have to make, and I’m feeling resentful that the choice is even out there.

For now, I’m holding strong. But I can’t imagine I’m the only woman who feels this way. And how much longer can I hold on?

If you’re a middle aged lady hanging on to your night cream for dear life in the hopes that it will save you from a future full of Dysport, holler back. It’s rough out in these streets and our old asses need to stick together.

Until next time, kids! Stay fresh.