On Aging

Two things I received in the mail this month have made me consider my age more than ever.  The first is Allure’s anti-aging issue, in which Botox advertisements are smartly tucked between features on eye cream and the right type of skirt to wear at 50.  The second, and perhaps the one that hit closer to home, was this month’s Birchbox.

It included a sample of WEI’s Manuka Bee Venom anti-wrinkle mask.  Really, BB? You had to throw in a cream that carries an allergy warning, all because you think I need to start thinking about the golden years of my skin?

Here’s what’s up: I am 25 years old.  From slightly afar, I look a little younger than most people my age, thanks to a round face and a petite frame (and, let’s face it, a sprinkling of youthful blemishes).  Up close, though, my eyelids are losing firmness.  Faint lines are appearing around my mouth.  And when I eat too much sugar, my face carries a nauseated scowl.

Am I going to do anything about those little indicators of age?  Absolutely not.  I am a firm believer of aging gracefully, which means that my fountain of youth consists solely of good moisturizer, hair dye, and calcium supplements.

In fact, this whole anti-aging battle doesn’t even make sense to me.  The biggest thing I’ve noticed as I’ve gotten older is a huge boost in confidence/a major downturn in how little I give a shit.  I simply can’t be bothered to do anything about the natural passage of time.

So listen up, Allure: quit wasting space in your pages.  Show me more lipgloss.

And you, too, Birchbox: don’t you dare give me anti-aging crap when you could give me a new perfume instead.