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
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!
There's a veritable mega-mall of anti-aging products on the shelves. Never have women had access to so much research and development devoted to creating the perfect elixir that promises prepubescent skin. All for less than $24.99 a bottle!
I swear, if unfriendly aliens ever invaded the earth, the first course of action should be to introduce them to the skin care aisle at the local discount store. This would keep them scratching their hairless heads long enough for the government to come up with a brilliant plan for blasting them back to the edge of the universe where, undoubtedly, they haven’t heard of Restylane. I mean, have you seen ET’s neck?
My own collection of facial treatments at the moment is fairly small, but that's mainly because, up until I turned fifty, I was in denial. But reality catches up with you, darlin’. Once I saw Oprah sans make-up, I knew it was time to either hire a team of stylists (which I can't afford), or start taking skin care seriously.
My mother, in her great wisdom and foresight, started me on the right track when she handed me with a tub of Abolene Facial Cleanser and a bottle of witch hazel for my 50th birthday.