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Three weeks before my 24th birthday, the cashier at the corner grocery refused to sell me a lottery scratch-off until I showed him my ID. He was afraid that I was part of a sting operation to catch vendors selling lotto tickets to minors. While many women would be offended that they were mistaken for a 16 year old, I was used to it. Until recently, when my appearance has caught up to my actual age, people always thought that I was much younger than I was.
I have mixed feelings about age and appearance. We live in a culture in which 12 year old (or younger) girls strive to look 25, while 40 year olds strive to look... 25. As a teen, it never bothered me that people thought I was in junior high. It almost was a badge of pride that people consistently mistook me for my sister, who is 4 years younger than I and about six inches taller. (The funny thing is that she has a very young face, too. People just assume that the taller sibling must be older.) During visits home from college, I'd visit my mother in the school in which she worked. The seniors looked older than me, but I fit right in with the freshmen and sophomores.
At work, I conducted trainings and workshops on financing and developing child care facilities for community-based organizations. It was not uncommon for a participant to walk into the room, eye me up and down, and declare that I look like I belong in child care myself. While this is rather insulting, I used it to my advantage. I figured if their expectations were low, then they'd be extra blown away by my expertise. Usually I was right.
At any rate, I knew that things would likely catch up to me, and I swore that I would be fine with looking my age when it happened. As a feminist, I want to be proud of who I am, the life I've led so far, and the experience that I accumulated over the years. I don't use moisturizer to prevent wrinkles, and I only wear sunscreen as a preventative measure against skin cancer, not the aging effects of the sun. So when I went to a bar with younger colleagues a few years ago and was the only one who was not carded, I was surprised at how not OK I felt about it. "Shit," I sighed, "I'm starting to look my age." (Keep in mind that I was probably 27 at the time and hardly haggish.)
Since then, I've only caught up with myself more rapidly. Maybe my short hair makes me look more sophisticated (i.e. - older) than the medium length style I wore since college. Or perhaps the constant stress I felt at my last job made me acquire a constantly tired look.
Whatever it is, it is taking getting used to. Unlike many of my friends, I am still free of gray, so I don't yet have to deliberate over whether I'll cover it or not. Despite the new wrinkles, I still don't use moisturizer or lotion. I may cringe a bit when people tell me I look 32 (which I am), but I'm not going to fight it. I'll just sigh a lot, I think.
Four other women discuss aging:
How do you feel about aging?
Suzanne continues to grow haggish at Campaign for Unshaved Snatch (CUSS) & Other Rants
