"Women should grow old gracefully," I would say. "Wrinkles are a sign of hard-won wisdom and a life of trials overcome and joys embraced. They should be proud of their battle scars." Anti-aging creams and serums? Pah! Age-defying cosmetics? Overblown. Skin peeling, collagen injections, eyeliner tattoos? Puh-lease!
That was then, before I started having to look professional as I walk out the door at 7:30 every morning—before I began spending at least 45 minutes on the wrong side of a magnifying mirror, day in and day out, with the harshest critic I know staring back at me.
Now? Aaah! Give me some Oil of Olay, quick!! My eyes are my best feature and that crackly skin has to go. The proper mascara is vital, and the dark circles around my eyes must be concealed at all costs. The wrinkles! The age spots! The sagging! The cellulite!! My poor dried-up old lips that make me look like a parsimonious librarian. Something simply has to be done!!
As of yet, I haven't ended up at the Clinique counter at Lord & Taylor, but I feel myself over the edge of a slippery slope. I think I'll try the Equate version of Oil of Olay and see if I can school myself into using it every night before I lay out the cash for the name brand. It didn't work with the Rogaine for women, but then again, considering my hairline, perhaps it's time to give that another shot as well.
Ah, the irony. . . I wonder if this new attitude springs from the mirror or the fact that one of our biggest clients is a world renowned plastic/cosmetic surgeon with a swank beauty spa, whose site I deal with every day?