I know my New Year’s resolutions should probably address ways in which I can improve myself on a fundamental level, like how to be a better citizen of the world and how to be more patient and magnanimous. But the truth is, most of my resolutions center on how to give myself a gradual, comprehensive makeover. The superficial kind. So first step: exercise! You heard how the Pilates class is going.
Second order of business: I am launching a campaign on my face. It is called Stop the Wrinkles.
Let me hasten to make myself seem less vain. Up until a few months ago, I never, ever gave wrinkles a passing thought. In retrospect, it’s probably because I haven’t taken a close look in a mirror in several years. But whatever the reason, I haven’t been worried about it. My mom and aunt and grandmother look pretty good and they never had plastic surgery or used any fancy creams. But in late November, when I was getting ready for my high school reunion, a process which requires one to be utterly self-critical and unforgiving, I noticed them.
I wouldn’t even say they are wrinkles per se, just a general loss of tautness in the epidermis (that’s my euphemism for “saggy face syndrome”).
At first, I thought something was wrong. I lifted my brow a bit to apply eyeshadow and when I let go, it did not spring back into a perky position like it used to. It just fell
“Why is my eyebrow DOING that?” I asked myself in the mirror. But myself did not have the answer.
I tried again – lifted the eyebrow so it looked like it was supposed to – Perky! Awake! Ready for fun! -- and then let it go.
“WHO DOES MY EYEBROW KEEPING FALLING DOWN?” I yelled.
David walked over to see if there was a real problem.
“What’s going on?”
“My eye is droopy!” I shouted.
He gave me a look which said, “Yeah, just as I suspected, self-induced nervous breakdown,” and walked away.
I finished applying my makeup as quickly as possible and darted off to meet my high school girlfriends to go to the reunion. On the subway over, we all talked about the dreaded Attack of the Wrinkles. Everyone, it appeared, had noticed some sign of them and nobody was happy.
My good friend Miriam confessed she’s been using emu fat on her skin at night,
“Its great,” she said, “and I think its making a difference. But it’s really expensive.”
I could not get over the fact that she was so blasé about coating her face in emu fat.
“Where did you even HEAR about this? Does everyone know about the benefits of emu fat but me? Is this a thing now?”
If I don’t know about emu fat, God knows what else I’m missing out on that is critical to the preservation of my epidermal tautness.
And that’s what I am asking you, readers. Fill me in. Right now, I do jack in the way of facial upkeep except wash my face every night before bed. Is it time for some wrinkle cream? Is it really necessary to take out a second mortgage to pay for the stuff? Does any of it really work or does it makes us feel a little less helpless as time soldiers on?
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