Beauty and the Beast

It has long been said that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”.  When I first heard that expression I asked my mother what it meant and she told me that what was beautiful to one person, might not be to another.  Everyone defined their own beauty.  I always thought my mother one of the most beautiful women in the world.   As a young girl I would watch  the ritual of her brushing her thick dark hair, or applying her ruby red lipstick  and believe it was truly like watching an art form blossom.  I would tell her how pretty she was, and she would  shake her head and tsk, tsk me as if I was being so silly while  at the same time she slyly stole glances in the mirror as if to say, “yes, it’s true”.

I grew up and discovered the joys of makeup, the art of hairdressing and  the power women can have over men when we choose to dress alluringly.  I enjoyed the compliments I received from both men and women  and knew that I was pretty.  I loved having my picture taken and didn’t mind being the life of the party.  I still love fashion and love a good shopping trip with my daughter topped off with a trip to our favorite Mexican restaurant.

But something happened  a few years ago that was unexpected.  I began to feel ugly.  Not just an off day, mind you, but deep down, hideous ,  who would ever want to speak to her ugly!!–
Our culture is so enamored with youth and beauty that every age spot became a blot on my soul.  Every cellulite ripple became a tsunami.  Every crinkle around my eye when I smiled, showed every record of every emotion.  Gone was the smooth skin of the girl, gone was the clear vision of the young woman.  Now I needed readers or a corrective contact to see anything close up.  The age spots that my mother grew to despise so much on her hands, now blotted mine!   How did this happen?

I knew that the emotions I were feeling were not healthy, but they were very real. I recalled how my mother bemoaned growing older and the age spots on her hands.  She purchased many creams that promised their removal and her dresser was littered with wrinkle creams galore.  She was not going to go down without a fight!  Even when she passed away at 83, her skin was as smooth as a young girl, and she was lovely.  Yes, she sagged in places that  she would rather not, but carried it off well.  However, when my husband would tell me that I was pretty, I knew he was only saying it because he loved me.  After all, isn’t that what husbands are supposed to do?  It was as if I was an anorexic looking into the mirror and seeing myself fat.  No matter what makeup I applied or haircut I got, I was hideous.  Each photo I saw exposed more of the same; an aging shell of what I used to be.  I avoided my picture being taken whenever possible and became the picture taker instead.  I really had a bad case of I hate me.

 I  knew that I could continue to believe I was ugly and wallow in it or embrace the new me.  Not smooth skinned as a seventeen year old, but looking at my wrinkles  and age spots as life given experiences.  I will continue to seek fashion advice  from my daughter and how to’s for beauty and make sure that I what I am wearing is trendy, but age appropriate. I admit, I am a fashionholic.  I love it, I am a woman. 

I admire actresses like Jamie Lee Curtis that have embraced their age and the camera and are showing their gray hair,  wrinkles and all.  If more women would do so, perhaps as women age we would not feel the pressure to botox, lift, and cut to not show the impressions of time on our faces.

I found a scripture in the Bible, where God calls us his masterpiece.  If that is true, and I believe it is, then, who am I to say otherwise?

Tags: age, beauty, botox, Jamie Lee Curtis, rants, women, youth