On beauty, at age 37

In somewhat surprising news, I’m happy with the way my face looks.

I say surprising, because, as of this week, I am 37, and drawing ever-closer (or perhaps I’m already there?) to the age where panic over the visible signs of aging often sets in. But I don’t feel panicked. In fact, I feel rather pleased. This seems worthy of exploration, and so I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit lately. Shall we explore together?

Here’s why I think I’m content so far with the aging process, and with my particular face — some reasons practical, and some more philosophical.

1. My skin looks objectively better than it did when I was younger. I had some acne in high school and despaired of bumpy, flaky skin on my forehead through much of my twenties. Over time, I’ve learned more about my skin and found products that work for me. (In case you’re wondering, I’d say only two have made an immediate, highly-noticeable difference: this charcoal soap, which evens out my oily/dry skin (I’ve been using it since 2017!), and this toner, which completely got rid of the forehead flakiness and smoothed out my skin overall (in the rotation since 2019).)

When you remember what things used to be like, it’s easy to be grateful for where you are now.

2. The signs of aging my skin does show are palatable to me. I have some serious laugh lines around my eyes. They truly don’t bother me at all – I see them as evidence of a joy-filled life with lots of reasons to smile. Other than that, I think my skin looks… kind of the same as it always has? I attribute this 100% to genetics, fanatical daily use of sunscreen since I was in college, and a penchant for wearing big hats when I’m spending time in the sun. Thank you, mid-aughts magazines, for drilling this into my head.

(I use this sunscreen now and LOVE IT but used regular old drugstore Neutrogena before I could afford it.)

3. I am frugal. John and I are highly-motivated savers and givers, and I don’t have a ton of extra spending money lying around. Because of my frugality, more invasive (a.k.a. expensive!) procedures have always felt off the table — and so I don’t spend time researching them or analyzing before and after photos or even considering what’s possible. I’ve also never met with a consultant who told me all the things that could be improved, so it’s easier to be content with what I have. Ignorance is bliss :)

4. The faces I look at most are aging naturally. And many of them are the people I admire most. That’s in part because they’re mostly faces in the real world with me, not faces on a screen. My friends and family and the women at school pick-up and soccer and church and in my neighborhood are who I have for companions and comparison, not the cream of the internet.

I also read a lot about how social media, with its filters and ring lights and editing apps, is not realistic. This has inoculated me against the idea that online perfection is something to strive for; instead, I assume it’s artificially enhanced and move on.

5. I’m largely protected from ageism. The world can be a cruel place. I’ve had the same job for 15 years, and for most of that I’ve had only women colleagues. I don’t have to routinely get up in front of a boardroom of men, I’m not in sales, and I don’t often find myself in professional settings where I’m judged on my looks. Ageism and prejudice based on beauty is a real thing, but it’s just not a thing I’ve had to deal with.

6. Beauty has never been my foremost characteristic. To be clear: I could name plenty of things I wish were different about my face. It used to sting when other people’s looks were complimented more than mine, but now I’m grateful for it. From my teenage years, it right-sized my expectations: if I wasn’t expected to be “the pretty one,” it was okay that my skin wasn’t perfect and my face was only “good enough.” And it hurts a lot less to see something degrade or be less valued over time if it’s not something you hold dear.

7. And yet, a good, good man finds me beautiful. And he tells me that often. What more could I want or need?

8. Still, I don’t believe my beauty is a measure of my worth or value. This is beautifully rooted in my Christian faith. What makes me worthy is that I am made in the image of God, as we all are — and that never changes or fades. No matter my age or how I feel about the body God gave me, my value is secure.*

9. I tend to recognize the good old days when they’re here. I won’t look back in twenty years and wish I had appreciated how I looked. I know I have it good right now, which makes the idea of fixing what I have… kind of silly.

10. I am so grateful to be alive. I am grateful to age alongside my husband and children. And aging has a physical component. In this world, that’s just how it is.

This feels like a risky post to write. It could easily be misunderstood or misconstrued, or maybe I’ll look in the mirror in 10, or 20, or 30 years and feel quite differently. But I have achieved a measure of peace in this area of my life that spills out into so many others, and if there’s something about how I’ve gotten here that might be helpful to someone else, I want to share it — because there’s not many other people who will. At the risk of sounding like a conspiracist, a message of contentment in imperfection is not one that many online voices are incentivized to share, since it doesn’t really sell anything (except maybe sunscreen!).

So! I hope you receive this with the heart with which it was intended, and please do chime in with any thoughts of your own. I look forward to reading them!

*Thank you to Laura Wifler for so beautifully articulating this truth!

Oliver. I am dying. Can you spot him in the photo above?