Helen Mirren at the Moët British Independent Film Awards in 2014.
Amanda Hess’ Sunday New York Times Magazine piece about our ambivalence toward anti-aging is but the latest commentary about the disconnect between ourselves and our bodies, and by “ourselves” I mean women and their bodies. It is a disconnect that affects men as well – though not to the extent that it does women.
Hess describes how Allure magazine has declared war on “anti-aging,” featuring Helen Mirren on the cover, draped in a boy-toy – the same Helen Mirren who played Cleopatra, of whom Shakespeare wrote, “Age cannot wither her nor custom stale her infinite variety.”
And yet, Hess notes, the same issue of Allure carried an ad for the new L’Oréal Paris moisturizer, part of its Age Perfect brand (of which I’m a big fan), featuring – you guessed it, Helen Mirren.
Novelist Jennifer Weiner described a similar have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too disconnect – more like a have-your-cheeseburger-and-eat-it-too disconnect – in another Times’ piece, on skinny models and celebrities eating cheeseburgers. One minute they’re portrayed as regular folk eating whatever they like; the next, they’re dieting and exercising assiduously.
I understand this disconnect intimately. Recently, I spent a month kicking my Mediterranean diet and walking/biking/weightlifting/yoga routine up a notch. I’m delighted I did. I dropped a few pounds, feel and look more toned, and, most important, I have increased my energy and my volume of oxygen. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit I did it primarily to look better – more youthful and more beautiful. And I suspect when people talk about “health,” “fitness” and “wellness,” this is what many of them are secretly thinking about, too.
But whom are we kidding? Even if you eat right and exercise, you will age naturally. The slimmest of waists thicken, the best of complexions are shadowed by circles, creases, lines and bags. Dye your hair, and have a facelift and you will find that your hands still give away your age. Indeed, they are the telltale sign. Recently, I was in my dermatologist’s office for a routine skin-cancer screening when I ran into a woman who had just had a facelift. Her head was swathed in bloody bandages. Her figure was nothing to write home about. But it was her hands that fascinated me most – pointed nails painted rosy pink that sat atop fingers with age spots. What was the point of putting herself through the equivalent of a severe car accident only to wind up with a face betrayed by her hands?
Don’t get me wrong: I’m all for plastic surgery for those disfigured in war, accidents and fires and by disease. But if it ain’t broke, why fix it? I could liposuction my considerable butt, but any fat cells that subsequently accrued would go right back there. It’s a losing proposition physically and financially, to say nothing of psychologically.
Even more ridiculous than holding on to a youth that is passing us by even as I write this, is trying to retain a beauty that never was. We talk a lot about beauty in world culture, how it’s in the eye of the beholder, how it’s only skin deep. I’ve spent almost 40 years writing about the arts and aesthetics – and even longer considering them – and here’s what I learned beauty is about:
Bone structure.
Yes, you can’t be too wrinkled. Yes, you can’t be too heavy. Both will obscure great bone structure. But all the taut skin, all the thinness, all the health and fitness will not make you beautiful if you don’t have great bone structure – a symmetrical face, eyes not to close together or far apart, a straight nose that is not too long or short and essentially a bow-shaped mouth. There are variations on this, but basically, this is it and, when people inevitably bristle at this, I say one name – Johnny Depp. He’s a talented actor. He’s bankrupt. He’s had issues with women and drugs (and trashed hotel rooms). But he’s a beautiful man with great bone structure.
Beauty isn’t about being good or bad or smart or stupid. It is merely itself.
It certainly isn’t about thinness. There’s a certain actress of Depp’s vintage who is regularly hailed as a beauty in magazines and on TV commercials for skincare products. But her eyes are too close together and she has a large nose. The thinner she’s gotten, the more pronounced these features are. (Here’s a case in which a little fat, so dreaded by society, does a world of good.) She is certainly an attractive woman. But a beauty, no.
So what are we to do? How about being honest and making peace with our beauty products and ourselves? Why don’t we just acknowledge that many of us enjoy a luscious face cream or experimenting with makeup. I myself have gotten good results in reducing the appearance of my dark circles and eye bags through Dermablend and Almay concealers and white eye shadow (and, of course, glasses and sunglasses). And I’ve found that using a thin, stiff, angled makeup brush and brown eye shadow to fill in thinning brows is an instant youth boost.
I also enjoy looking at ads, magazines and books for makeup and style tips. Kevin Aucoin’s book “Making Faces” is an eye opener in more ways than one. And I recommend reading up on Marilyn Monroe, who was ahead of her time in using hand weights to tighten the chest muscles, water to tone the face and a lip pencil to make lips appear fuller. (Her life story is also a cautionary tale against putting too many eggs in the basket of physical appearance and romantic relationships with men.)
Just as makeup enhances a face, a good wardrobe enhances any body. I periodically invest in Karen Millen and Rebecca Taylor dresses. Why? They flatter my size-12 pear shape like nothing else.
But I’m not going to pretend that any of these are going to change who I am. Rather, they help me express who I am.
And that really is the point in the end: It’s easier to be who you are than become something you are not. In doing so, we don’t have to abandon the self-improvement so adored by the modern age and Americans in particular. But the effects of all this self-improvement – diet, exercise, beauty products, styling – are ultimately limited.
“The only real solution to aging,” Hess writes, “is, of course, death.”
That should put it in perspective for you.