It’s funny how a single day can change your entire life. A few weeks ago I was this carefree birdie basking in the glory of my setting twenties, toasting farewell to lousy boyfriend choices and poor financial prudence. As an independent and mature woman, at the quintessential thirty, I was in my new comfort bubble — before a girlfriend pricked it with a finger raised to the tiny wrinkle forming near the corner of my eye, not yet the dreaded crow’s feet though. Perhaps it had always been there, working in consonance with my genetic-chronological clock. Or perhaps it had been spared the embarrassment of detection (some credit to days filled with lousy boyfriend choices and poor financial prudence). But there it was, staring back and unzipping a whole new mirror to my life beyond thirty.
If a girl raises her eyebrows quizzically at the mention of the CTM (cleansing-toning-moisturising) routine, it is safe to assume that she is a rookie when it comes to the weaponry of the age-wars. And so I turned to the only browser that is way faster and more reliable than Google, my girlfriends, again. Retinol versus grape seed oil, shea butter versus ginseng, Dead Sea mud versus real gold bits… my quest for a groove-less skin led from one magic potion to the other, much like a string of maddening and never-halting fairy lights.
After going through all this and the most prized and ‘highly recommended’ section from fellow-fighters whose collective wisdom allows for vicarious thrills, you know you’d never trade for reality (sample: snail cream!). And I finally have a Top 5 to choose from. But there is a little complication the minute I check my monthly expenses (for, I am the new brand ambassador for financial wisdom).
A smart tactical move in this game involves one that combines economy with cosmetology. Not many options offer that unless we’re talking about those midget-sized trial packs of brands. (But this is tantamount to giving the kid a dollop of ice cream and leaving him longing wistfully for the whole tub.)
I decide to heal myself with what comes most naturally to the human psyche: defence mechanisms. Now, wasn’t I the girl who championed the concept of inner beauty with a fervour unknown in the history of feminism? Yes, my friends wholly agree with a harsh defence-buster: maybe now I realise what it feels like to be on the other side where every woman loves a good talk about giving a damn to those wrinkles, and coats her own fears before the mirror each night. Welcome to the dilemma of duality.
With nothing to cling on to, I find myself checking out at the medical store an anti-ageing product that breaks all norms of wise spending. Before I leave, the pharmacist quips that this buy is a very smart buy to keep my skin firm — until I can keep at bay the next class of remedies with its magic of nips and tucks.
Our moments of epiphany are often the most ordinary ones. The pharmacist’s comment was perhaps mine. I spent one half of my life trying to become wiser in relationships, finances and career. Was I going to celebrate the other half by trying to live some part of it in the reverse? Can I win a battle in which whatever is won shall always be lost, wrinkle by wrinkle, spot by spot? Answers to some questions are always immutable, no matter how many times we lose sight of them.
Before I leave to blow the candles on my birthday cake, I toss the bottle in some recess of my cupboard. For now, silly jokes and tinkling glasses in this radiant evening seem to be the perfect start to the next decade. And a few wrinkles surely won’t hurt.
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