I celebrated my 50th birthday as a milestone achievement. Wow, I thought, what an accomplishment! My friend K hosted a party for me, complete with cake, pink champagne, and a circle of my favorite people. While I know not all American women ring in their 50th with the same excitement, I was ready to enter a new decade of possibilities. And my first trip to Paris.
Thoughts about aging seem to be everywhere, complete with quotable wisdom to inspire those of us who prefer to embrace the ever changing topographies of our faces (and décolletage and knees and arms and tummy and etc, etc, etc…). In the U.S., these nuggets of encouragement to “be ourselves” run parallel to the unending images of Hollywood’s women over 40 who have clearly had several trips to the cosmetic surgeon’s office, sometimes unrecognizable to those of us who “knew her when.”
Better, though, are the threads and posts on Substack, where some of my favorite authors are complicating and nuancing the topic. Alyson Walsh’s piece that questions Hollywood’s “embrace” of older women; and Glynnis MacNicol’s recent NYT’s Opinion Essay about Madonna that she linked in a recent post, along with the one she wrote about “the end of faces” are just a few of my favorites.
In Paris, I see fewer women whose faces are noticeably filled, stretched, bloated. Instead there appears to be a much more natural aesthetic to what 50, 60, 70 and beyond looks like.
Case in point: one chilly afternoon, as I wandered down Cour du Commerce Saint-André, I came across Isabelle Augé displaying her gorgeous watercolors. Stopping to peruse the selection, she started up a conversation with me, and we chatted about the locations in her paintings.
After purchasing two beautiful pieces, I asked if I could take her picture, she agreed, and told me to visit her studio as well. Isabelle’s authenticity resonated with me as much as her watercolors. Her naturalness stuck with me, and I come back to this photo to remind me how I felt talking with her.
I’m sure Parisiennes partake in procedures and injections, but perhaps more to enhance and tweak, not to completely shift the personalities of their faces. Their “work” is nearly undetectable. There, the goal seems to be mistaken for 10 years younger, and not 30 years below their birthdates. It is refreshing to see women my age who didn’t look like the over-filled celebrities we see everywhere in the States.
And, from what I’ve read, that Parisienne attitude towards aging is…mellow, accepted, respected. Of course, their skin care is ritualized, I’m told. If there is any doubt about how seriously Paris women take their skin care, just visit any Pharmacie for some convincing, and then talk to them about their routines.
What I’m realizing, though, is that it is the “feeling” versus “looking” shift that’s important. As I mentioned in my Cultivating a Parisienne Attitude story, it is the Parisian woman’s confidence I covet. And part of that comes from caring for myself, taking time to indulge in a mask, ritualizing the care, spending time on and with myself, and pampering my largest organ – my skin.
Are there physical benefits and noticeable results from this attention to myself? YES. Absolutely. Lines are blurred, circles are diminished, things are plumper. Do I look 10 years younger than the date on my driver’s licence? Some days, yes. Other days, maybe. Still other days, no, I feel every one of my 50+ years. Every. Single. Year.
Yet, the part I crave and cultivate is feeling comfortable and confident in my own skin, literally and figuratively. Not yearning for 20, 30, or 40. Instead, embracing my fifth decade fully and unapologetically and authentically.
Au revoir until next time,
~Valerie’s Granddaughter