NOT me, that’s for sure! Perimenopause is ruining my looks, and I’m not happy about it.
Y’all, I’m going out on a limb here! Like it’s not bad enough that I confessed in one of my older posts that I didn’t want to be fat; now I’m going to make it even worse by admitting publicly how much looks matter to me.
(Let us hope my ass won’t get canceled before I have an opportunity to make something of myself as a writer.)
I’m your typical ugly duckling. As a kid, I was very awkward-looking, with hair like a bird’s nest, glasses, and a slight overbite. My family didn’t have much money, so I never had any decent clothes. My only saving grace was my boobs (I started to develop at the age of 11) and the fact that I didn’t get pimples, ever.
Things got better when, as a young adult, I finally started to hang out with people my age. My back-then best friend, studying to be a hairstylist, taught me how to get my hair under control. I ditched the glasses and learned how to use eyeliner. I started earning money, so I was finally able to buy some clothes (although, truth be told, I had TERRIBLE taste, and it would take years before I learned how to dress).
A guy friend from my horse-riding club once told me, “You are not beautiful, but you are attractive,” and that was fine with me.
I enjoyed being attractive.
But, and I can’t stress that enough, that didn’t mean that I believed it was my only quality, and that my whole self-esteem was tied to my physical appearance. Yes, I loved dressing up and putting on makeup, and even – gasp! – basking in men’s attention, but I also wasn’t afraid to assert myself as an intelligent, articulate, and creative woman with a strong personality.
I have never felt that I had to choose.
Yet it seems that’s exactly what the society is trying to force me to do.
On one hand, there are the (ultra) conservatives with their belief that a woman’s value lies solely in her beauty and her fertility. On the other hand, there are the (ultra) liberals with their belief that looks don’t matter at all, caring about one’s appearance means submitting to patriarchal beauty norms, and a man paying a woman a compliment is nothing but objectification.
I have said that before, and I will say it again: Extremes on both sides are equally toxic.
Tell me honestly, as a woman, aren’t you sick and tired of someone always trying to convince you that you are doing womanhood wrong!?
Anyway. As a woman who has always enjoyed being attractive, looking her best, and getting attention (yes, even from men!), I now have to face the fact that perimenopause is slowly but surely taking it all from me. I guess that’s the downside of embracing your traditional feminine side.
When I first noticed that some strange middle-aged lady was glaring at me from the mirror every morning, I went online to find some support. It was in 2018, and I quickly found out that complaining about aging and losing one’s looks was no longer welcome. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to care about how I looked; the only thing that mattered was my inner self, which was beautiful no matter what.
Huh.
When a woman on social media had the guts to admit she wanted to be slim and look young, she was always quick to add that it was only for her, not for anyone else. Getting into shape was acceptable, as long as it was “to stay healthy” and not to lose weight, because that would be fatphobia and fat shaming, and we couldn’t have that.
Mostly the message was that feeling sad about getting older and losing one’s looks was silly and shallow, and that we women should fight “ageism” by acting like there is nothing more exciting than getting old. Grey hair? Yes, please! Wrinkles? The best thing that has ever happened to you! Double chin? Woo hoo! Every ounce of extra fat is a part of you and therefore gorgeous, and if you aren’t buying it, you are brainwashed by patriarchy.
It was tiring.
Look, I’m not entirely opposed to embracing what we can’t change. No one is going to look like they are in their twenties forever; I get that. And it’s definitely better to make the best out of it than end up on antidepressants.
But I think I should be allowed to mourn losing what I have always enjoyed and had fun with without being lectured about how I don’t love myself enough, how there is more to me than just my looks (like I already didn’t know that!), and how getting Botox is a betrayal to the whole feminist movement.
Not that I can currently afford Botox, but that’s beside the point.
I just feel that the current pro-age movement is trying a little too hard and is, at times, kinda hypocritical. Getting old might be natural and inevitable, but that doesn’t mean I have to pretend it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.
If I could choose, I would stay young for the rest of my life.
Alas, I can’t! So I will just have to do my best with what I have – and occasionally vent about it in one of my blog posts 😉