Fountain of Youth

Lately, I find myself jealous of my grandmothers. They were allowed to age in peace.

Of course, they did what they could to take care of themselves. Both were Holocaust survivors who dressed well and never left the house without a touch of makeup. One of my grandmothers even kept a jar of Olay in her pocketbook. But their wrinkles, their lines, the slow softening of their faces? That was something that happened to everyone. When someone looked like they had miraculously turned back the clock, it was a noteworthy exception, and everyone knew it was the likely result of surgical intervention.

Not anymore. It seems that Ponce de Leon has finally found the Fountain of Youth, and everyone drinks from the springs of Botox and Juvederm.

Let me be clear — I have no moral issue with injectables; I’ve used them myself. What bothers me is the judgment surrounding anyone who chooses to embrace the natural aging process. It’s a judgment that claims there is something wrong or shameful about aging. It’s a judgment that says a woman shouldn’t allow herself to be seen this way.