The other day I was reading through the October issue of Self magazine and came across a very interesting article regarding womens’ views of aging. Apparently, it is now more common for women to bash their age than their weight. That’s not to say women don’t still put themselves down about their weight, but complaining about age is growing in popularity. I know for a fact I do it all the time. I’m a bit more proud of it than the article suggests. Many women point out their physical signs of aging such as wrinkles and grey hair, while I’m over here in bed by 11pm because I have the energy level of retired cat lady exhausted from a full day of tending to her furry replacements of children. I’m not hiding that fact, I embrace it. Luckily, my face has been touched by the Forever Young fairy and I still get carded at rated R movies so certain signs of aging are unknown to me, although I can see how they’re upsetting.
Some reasons behind the unhappiness of aging is the average woman’s unreachable goal of looking as good as actresses in their 40s and 50s. You ladies are ruining it for everyone. Our diets, bank accounts and work out regiments can’t produce that. In the past, it was natural for women to change with age, but now there are plenty of procedures to avoid that. You can look 18 again! That’s gross by the way. If you’re in your 30s please do not aim for an 18-year-old face. The article kept referring back to that magical age. I don’t know about you, but I was still transforming into the dainty flower that I am today. No way would I want to go back to that face. Good thing I had a personality. And no, I am not referring to my boobs. They were only slightly larger than oranges, maybe grapefruits on a good day.
An interesting point the article made was that age complaints occur in children as young as 10 all the way through women in their 60s. Guess beauty competitions in nursing homes are pretty tight…like their skin…because they got face lifts…to look 18 again…in their 60-year-old bodies. Yum. As for the kiddies, isn’t that unnerving that girls at 10 are concerned about turning 11?? At 10 I was concerned about sneaking my Gameboy color into school to play Pokemon because it had just been banned. Thanks to the asshole that ruined it for everyone. I was also concerned about the amount of hair sprouting from my legs that would have made a Sasquatch proud, but was most certainly not concerned about aging. Not yet. That’s some unnecessary stress right there. Kids should be excited about getting older, not fearing it. It makes me nervous, people.
Apart from our appearance, there are psychological proponents that make us consider our age and hate where we are in life. Oh, I don’t know, how about living at home post-college? How about relying on your parents to put a roof over your head because you’re dream job pays in experience and your bartending job pays in singles? Just me? I’ve spoken to enough people in their mid-twenties living at home to know that it’s the best we can do right now. Unless we find a good paying job somewhere else, we’re staying put. We’ve got student loans to pay off, bills to pay and a savings accounts to accrue. Unfortunately, diving into our own apartment makes all of those things infinitely more difficult to handle and we’d like to avoid falling into debt so soon. What sucks even more is that we know in the past and even in the present, people our age have accomplished more than we have. Pinterest moms at 25, I’m talking to you. You and your adorable blogs full of crafts and cheap dinners make me sick (Just kidding, I love them). We know we shouldn’t be living at home anymore, we just can’t afford not to. Hell, I have nothing at this age that I thought I would: apartment, Master’s degree, mad cooking skills…but eventually those things will fall into place. But in order for any of those things to happen, I need to get older.
If I learned anything from this article it was that it is way healthier to poke fun at your age than your weight. It’s okay to continue doing that. Psh, you don’t need to tell me twice. I rock my nickname “Grandma” proudly and with a big denture-y smile. Age issues are way easier to relate to than weight and they’re funnier, plain and simple. So keep joking about those laugh lines and crows feet. At least with those wrinkles you’re doing something right.
Grandma out. She’s tired.