The Last Aging Woman in America
Mothers rush by me, covering their children’s eyes. Rumors abound. “I heard she only moisturizes once a month, and didn’t use sunscreen until she was 45!”
An Authentic Note from The Authors
Alexis is six weeks into her new role as a full-time, in-office professional, and Saba is knee-deep in research and travel for upcoming articles. How are you doing with all the *gestures broadly* events of late?
This week we are excited to feature a brand new piece by our friend, the brilliant writer Julia Williamson. She has gone viral on HuffPost for her piece Sometime In My 50s, I Became Invisible To Men. Here’s What I Didn't Expect To Feel, and is a frequent contributor to Scary Mommy and Business Insider (where she is the go-to expert on decluttering!). She is insightful, funny, and cool as hell. Here’s her piece:
Untethered Rants, Unmeetable Demands, and Unmitigated Rage
The Last Aging Woman in America
by the great Julia Williamson (subscribe to her stuff here!)
I'd always looked forward to aging gracefully. Which, to me, meant full acceptance of the laws of nature. I imagined my serene smile, nested in a network of lines, my silver hair a halo as I smiled beatifically from my crone’s perch.
Turns out that what the world means by 'aging gracefully' is an absolute refusal to admit to anything over 39.
It means tens of thousands of dollars spent on things called 'vampire facials', and having your own fat cells removed from your thighs and injected into your face. It includes the introduction of neurotoxins, a sixteen-step skincare routine, intermittent fasting, Pilates, and sadistic barre exercises.
In fact, it means doing anything but allowing the natural aging process anywhere near your face or body.
But I am obstinate. I detest a regimen of any kind. And I refuse to spend my hard-earned cash to spread serums made of colostrum, infant foreskin, placenta, or snail secretions ON MY FACE.
I am, in fact, the last aging woman in America.
Mothers rush by me, covering their children’s eyes. Rumors abound. “I heard she only moisturizes once a month, and didn’t use sunscreen until she was 45!”
At first I thought I'd have peers; feminist sisters who refused the patriarchal directive to stay young and hot forever. But one by one my compatriots fell.
First they colored their hair; nothing wrong with covering up the gray, surely? Then it was the lotions and potions. Sunscreen and moisturizer gave way to serums, which led to eye treatments, then to plumpers, reducers, night creams, day creams, neck recovery creams, exfoliants, oils, peptides, ceramides, botanicals…
And then on to the needles and scalpels, coolsculpting and implants, augmentations and lifts. “We’re sorry!” they said. “But we just want to look and feel our best! Don’t judge.” But am I the one judging?
As the last aging woman, I've saved a lot of money by refusing to act on my own behalf. I'll need it, since clearly no man will ever have me and I'll have to sustain myself on my meager savings. I was fired at age 45; HR was convinced I'd lied on my intake forms. Surely I was 85 at least - they’d never seen such an aged woman upright and with her faculties intact.
Perhaps I'll take a page out of P. T. Barnum's book; right now I let people gaze at me over the fence for free, but there may be money to be made in my little freak show.
"Step right up folks, there she is, the incredible aging woman, gardening at midday without a hat. Why, I'd say she isn't even wearing sunblock! Look at those lines! Look at those splotches!"
I may be an outcast, but I'm sticking with my principles. My daughters are proud of me, but they will not be following in my footsteps. Their skin is dewy and soft as the day they were born. Of course they've had to take on second jobs to pay for the interventions, but they think it's worth the sacrifice.
"Sorry, Mom, but now we know what we'd look like if we allowed ourselves to age." They shudder and turn away.
I don't mind being a cautionary tale. At 59 I'm constantly bombarded with ads for nursing homes and mobility scooters, but it's better than spending decades in front of the mirror, vainly reaching for the past.
More Wonderful Things by Julia!
Middle School Is When It All Goes To Hell
(Julia is truly the internet’s best big sister.)
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️