Armed with a brand-new and quite powerful (at the time) digital camera, on my thirty-sixth birthday I took a self-portrait which even I, always my own worst critic, thought was very good. The camera had come bundled with an image editing program; with the zeal of the newly converted I clone-stamped the picture until nothing remained but smooth unblemished perfection.
Somehow time froze that portrait in my mind and I forgot that I never really looked so good. As months and years rolled on it bothered me more and more to come across myself in other pictures looking increasingly different from that wrinkle-free flat-faced woman. And time, any objective observer would agree, has not been particularly kind to my face. Sure I stay out of the sun and I’ve never smoked, but years of scowling in concentration at page and screen have cut lines into my forehead and around my mouth that no cream could ever lift, not to mention the round of drug-induced acne so horrifying that I will bear its scars for life.
I’m fine with the idea of gray hair. I’m cool with theoretical wrinkles. Even scars are all good — on someone else. But on me? On my own personal face and body? Not so much, because my mind has not quite caught up to the fact that I’m no longer thirty-six years old (or younger!), and when a thirty-six year old partner let slip that he’d always been attracted to older women it took me a moment to realize that I was a member of that group. But we’re the same age, I almost protested, before I realized that actually? We aren’t.
So strong has this cognitive dissonance been that my presence in a picture almost guaranteed that shot’s deletion. You’d be appalled to know the ratio of images of just my children compared to images of my children with me. I know this is tragic, and that one day they’ll marvel at their mother’s reticence in this matter1. But recently I found myself in a situation where I could not reasonably decline to produce a photo. While in DC for Momentum later this week I’m lunching with someone whose acquaintance I made back in the early days of blogging2. “I looked on your Facebook and there’s not a single current shot of you!” she said last week. “You’d better send one so I’ll know who to look for.” Not to mention that while at Momentum I’ll be face to face with dozens upon dozens of Actual! Human! Beings! Who will be Looking! At! Me! And possibly judging, or marveling at my lack of style, or too-round midsection, or unfashionable shoes, or lack of competently-applied makeup. This, my friends, is cause for the most extreme levels of anxiety. The very most extreme.
My head knows that nobody cares what I look like. People don’t hold in their minds a heavily-doctored image by which to make comparison; they are in fact most likely consumed by their own issues and insecurities. I know all this — and yet I am still in an agony of anxiety.
It’s times like these I wished I drank more. This is a talent that I should possibly cultivate. How much easier would things be if in social situations I could buoy myself up with a very large cup brimming with wine? “What are you drinking,” they’d ask. I’d smile beatifically from within my cloud of alcohol-fortified peace and answer without any agony at all, Just tea.
Ya know, this might not help, but I too will be there being fat, with no makeup, wearing stuff from unfashionable stores, and will most likely have sneakers on. Solidarity?
Yes!
Is it wrong to want to ban Crocs at Momentum? Sneakers are cool, but Crocs…eh, luckily I’ll be to busy to notice anyone’s footwear, well, no, I’m never to busy to notice a pair of kick ass heels. Reminds me – shopping to do!
Seriously, woman, you’re perfect just the way you are and everyone is just going to be thrilled to meet the face behind this award-winning (if it isn’t, it should be) blog.
See you in a few days!
You are such a sweetheart. Would you still like me if I showed up in Crocs and capris?
I can’t wait!
What color Crocs? DAR!
Oh! And I have acne too! :P
Wait – how troll like are we talking? Will I need to close my eyes if you are fisting me?
I could bring a bag, if you’d like? :)
I am on the exact same page as you. I still carry the image in my head of my (long gone) twenty- something self. I know I am a much better human now than then, but no matter.
I hide from cameras as if they carried a contagious disese. The result is that when someone does take my picture I almost always have a sour or angry look on my face. I wonder if just embracing the damn things might just result in better pictures that maybe I could live with a little better.
Just yesterday my wife and I were commenting how difficult it is to age gracefully in a society infatuated with youth, flawless skin, and under 2% body fat. If only our culture taught us to accept ourselves as we are, while encouraging healthy lifestyle. As I stare 60 in the face I’m less concerned about wrinkles and scars, the extra 20 pounds. I prefer to think of these as my badge of courage, signs I’ve survived what life has thrown at me and can still smile in the mirror. Something to look forward to, for someone as young as you. Celebrate every moment and drink the good wine!
I profess to be surprised at finding that you – someone who had the confidence in herself to divorce, taking primary custody with no traditional full time job, and then to build a business, buy/refinance her house – have such little confidence in your looks. You, who also do not appear to lack the confidence to get into bed with new men or attend sex parties where people new to her will see her in her all-together.
I have not met you. I have, though, been reading here from the days when you contributed to HNT and was afforded glimpses of you (delectable glimpses there were, too) and found nothing to repel and everything to attract – including a gorgeous smile that I can to this day recall.
I wish you could see yourself as others out here do – a desirable, attractive woman. Wrinkles or acne scars do not determine your beauty, nor to they detract from it. It is the beautiful person within that comes through that others see.
So smile and take pictures of yourself and revel in the person in the picture.
I’m with Gerry. Say “yes” to good wine !
Have a good trip.
-me.-
The good news is that I have it on good authority that women without makeup (or with minimal and subtle makeup) are sexy because they are perceived as confident in their own appearance.
Awesome!!
I too will be makeup-less and dresssed casually. I’m petite, but that’s just how I was made.
…and the best news of all for you: I won’t be able to see you, and am utterly thrilled at the idea of finally getting to meet you!
…and, considering the schedule, no one is going to have time to look at anyone else. :-)
Much to my mother’s horror, my acne has become epic in comparison to the occasional outbreaks during my teens. I broke down and started using an over-the-counter gel to combat the scars. I am sure the ingredients are toxic, but I decided not to research it (ok, stupid probably). I will say that the scars seem to heal faster for me which I appreciate since I never aspired to be a 15 year-old boy!