As I flipped through a fashion magazine this morning, I reminisced about what I looked like when I was young and had tight, smooth, elastic skin. At a certain point, as I got older, I realized I didn’t look like myself any more. With each aging stage, I had to adjust to my new appearance. My first gray hair. My first wrinkle. That first pesky chin whisker. Crepe skin. An age spot. Many age spots. Many wrinkles. Sagging skin. But still inside I felt younger than I looked. I felt 30 for the longest time. Today I feel 55.
Every person on this planet has a special mix of natural gifts that have nothing to do with their appearance. Nowadays how we look seems to be more important than who we are or what we contribute.
No doubt we are a visual species and what we see influences our reactions to people, products and locations. Studies have shown that attractive people are thought to be more talented, kind, honest and intelligent than plain people.
Like everyone else I appreciate looking at an attractive person. I see beauty for beauty. It doesn’t necessarily come with kindness, talent, intelligence, drive or determination — it just is.
Women who spend their lives fretting over their weight, hair, skin or the size of their bottom and breasts would do well to worry about how they treat others. Eventually, everyone gets old and must accept that beauty is meaningless.
Should we blame our parents, our piers, the media or human instinct for our obsession with beauty? I blame a superficial society that desperately needs a values tune-up.
That being said, I wouldn’t mind looking young and lovely again — and know everything I know now. I know, I know, everyone says that. Still, it sure would be fun!