Anti-aging Bullshit

Listen. Hear me out. If you’re under 50 years of age, you’re in no position to be hawking anti-aging anything to me. Creams, lotions, oils, gels for my hands, neck, eyes, lips, legs, and my face all promise the same outcome: I will look younger.

Really. Seriously. You’re telling me what I want? Of all the things that exhaust me in the world—there are plenty—I don’t need young men (!) or women (c’mon!) to be hawking me anti-aging anything. There is enough going on the world. Anti-aging products are on my back burner. Far back.

I have posted such comments, many such comments online to varying degrees of support. One woman selling such a cream told me “everyone wants to look younger” and I have to stand back. Where did you get your information, hun? Not only are you wrong, now you’re defensive and combative. The older women agree with what I say. Not all, of course. Some women do want to look younger. Have at it, ladies. There are plenty of products that will do everything from removing your dark spots and wrinkles, plump your skin with a renewed glow, and make you feel like 30 again.

What’s renewed glow? I’m almost 60. Why would I want to look 30?

There’s an ad for HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) where a young man tells us “you need this” and again, hun, are you a woman? Are you going through menopause? If not, back off, sit down, and just don’t.

I’m less angry and more tired. A generation that ate Tide Pods doesn’t get to tell me what to wear. Or sell me the latest miracle cream to stay younger-looking.

Here is where I admit I was a similar sort of snot when I was in my 30s. An absolute know-it-all, cocky, and I spoke my mind at every opportunity. Sometimes I made an opportunity just so I could say my peace. I look back on that me from 30 years ago and smile, cringe, and shake my head.

I have a proposal: Let old women be old women. You work on yourselves; we’ll take care of ourselves.

Tide Pods, kids. I’m not sure how you’re ever going to live that down. Someday you will see wrinkles on your neck and gasp. I might be the voice in the background, that one that says, “Oh, look! You’re old!”

And, for good measure, I cackle.

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