Yesterday I asked BGC if he promises to still fancy me when I’m really wrinkly. Lately I’ve been feeling rather self conscious about my rapidly wrinkle-fying face! Especially in the presence of this older-than-he-looks tanned man from
‘Straaaaya.
My not-as-young-as-it-was skin is becoming more apparent in photos and more difficult to disguise.
Most people guess my age at about 5-10 years older than I am, and BGC’s age at 5-10 years younger than he is.
Looking at so many photos of us (that never make it to Project Self status due to said issue – except this photo, and only because BGC looks good enough for the both of us) makes me feel like a grandma, even though he’s the grandpa.
It’s totally unfair.
Naturally he will get hotter as he gets older, hopefully along the lines of George Clooney, and I will end up needing botox. But I’m all about being real and accepting our flaws, so how can I?
God, I’m going to have to accept my wrinkles. Shit.
I’ve always had miscellaneous issues with my various body parts, I hated my belly button, my skeletal wrists, my thighs, my freckly arms, my upwards pig nose. It drove my Mum mad, because, naturally, she had Mum-blindness and thought I was always beautiful. Except when I heard her agree with a family friend that their daughter and me had been ugly ducklings that turned into swans. But to be honest, I really thought I’d used mindfulness to accept all my flaws and be fine with me as I am.
And for the most part, I really had.
Mum was relieved.
Until the dreaded night where I caught a taxi in Melbourne. I was very late to meet a very hot Tinder guy I’d been seeing, and after a few glasses of red, was in a very chatty mood, so I struck up a chat with the driver.
We talked about cricket, Pakistan, Melbourne, the weather, and all was going well. Then the driver asked my age. I told him, and he said, “Oh really? But I would have guessed you were at least 35”, he said, gesturing to my forehead. “
So many lines”.
I was 26 at the time.
Naturally, I burst into red wine fuelled tears, and he apologised profusely.
He apparently had no idea such a comment was upsetting for a female. He was very flustered and confused.
Since then, me and my forehead haven’t been getting along so well.
I catch glimpses of my forehead lines everywhere I go, in every photo, mirror, and Project Self post.
It’s like my eyes are magnetised to notice the thing I most dislike about myself.
I totally thought I’d be fine with ageing gracefully after I learnt my Bloody Good Life 101 skills but alas, I have more work to do!
It has been exacerbated in recent years by the fact that I now need to take lots of photos of my face for Project Self. I ran some experiments early on in Project Self days and found that images without me (or BGC) in them get almost no engagement, even with a post that normally would. So I’ve learnt that the only way to get my posts read are to take lots of photos of myself. Shizzle. Photos were something I previously used to shy away from. Sometimes with great force.
So, how to not worry about wrinkles?
Well, obviously I’m not absolutely sure, otherwise I wouldn’t have cause to write this post.
Options I’ve considered:
- Growing a fringe (BGC says no)
- Growing my sideways fringe out so I can pull my hair back like a ballerina. I have a friend 10 years older than me with the best forehead ever, and I reckon it’s because she scrapes her hair back in a tight ponytail most days. It’s like a facelift using your hair.
- Face yoga and Frownies. I have another friend 10 years older than me (quite a pattern in my life) who looks ridiculously young as a result of face yoga, these strips you stick on your head at night called Frownies, and a great diet.
- Using moisturiser. I’ve always been too “I don’t need that moisturiser/make-up crap” to look after my face. I’ve recently invested in Hyaluronic Acid and some Antipodes natural daily face moisturiser. The time has come to be a grownup. If only I’d listened 10 years ago!
- Practice what I preach. Hearing the negative voice in my head telling me that my life will end if everyone notices my forehead wrinkles. And then telling it to ZIP IT. I don’t need a wrinkle free forehead – it has no bearing on the bloody goodness of my life, and apparently, how much BGC loves me. So he says. Always confusing whether to believe your mind or the words of others.
I’m starting with options 1-4. Hoping that 5 will come naturally, as I come to terms with the fact that I no longer have skin like Justin Bieber.
