If 50’s the new 30, why do I have so many wrinkles?
I know there are people out there who go around proclaiming that "Fifty is the new thirty." I hate to be the one who puts the pin to the “Midlife Fantasy” balloon, but it's hogwash. Fifty is as much thirty as Pamela Anderson is a "B" cup.
But let's not even push the envelope all the way back two decades--fifty isn't the new forty, either. If anything, fifty is just a new fifty. I was under the mistaken belief, myself, that fifty was something you could choose to be rather than become, and I was wrong. We can fill it, lift it, freeze it with Botox, dye it, spray tan it, and work it out while some ex-Marine orders us to "Hit the floor and give me twenty, probbie!," but it won't make us one day younger than the date on our driver's license.
Since I'm turning 54 this year, I've had some time to come to grips with the fact that fifty isn't simply forty with really, really long credits tacked on to the end. Fifty is different, and this is why: It’s the face.
The fifty face is hard to disguise no matter how many thousands of dollars worth of hummingbird droppings you spread on it. Blame it on estrogen. The unfortunate end of hot flashes and night sweats means you enter the Death Valley years. One day, you're blissfully ignoring the dermatologist's warnings to wear sunblock everyday, and the next thing you know, your face looks like the surface of the moon in hi def. Suddenly, you're hunting down collagen boosters; guzzling water intravenously; and pilfering articles on microdemabrasion and laser resurfacing from the magazines in your doctor's office. (They’re two years old anyway; who’s going to notice?)
The longer I’m in my fifties, the more comfortable I’m becoming with "not being forty." When a man compliments me and says I look great, I don't instantly think, "you mean for my age." I think, "hey, I'm fifty, and still have it goin' on!" Truthfully, I think today’s fifty-year-old woman looks amazingly well-preserved. And why not? We have Products!
