Compost #9: Anti-Aging Rhetoric
Turning 38 on 3/8 🎂
Today is my 38th birthday.
This year feels extra special because I am turning 38 on 3/8.
The only annoyance is that I have recently received dozens of emails filled with anti-aging rhetoric.
Happy Birthday, Kelsi! Give yourself the gift of youth. Crow’s feet and frown lines be gone! Here’s $50 off twenty units of Botox.
Ugh, what’s wrong with my 38-year-old face as it is?
Last August, I began watching Grey’s Anatomy from the very beginning. For those who don’t know, Grey’s premiered in March 2005, when I was a junior in high school. Season 22 just wrapped up, and the series is expected to return next fall for season 23. I’ve been watching an episode or two every night for seven months now, and I just started season 14.
The thing that has struck me the most since my Grey’s marathon began is my reaction to one of the main characters who joined the cast in season 5—Owen Hunt.
Every single time Owen pops up on my screen, I get the ick. His character isn’t a bad guy. There’s nothing inherently wrong with him. But something about him irritates me.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on the issue until last week, when another birthday Botox email showed up in my inbox.
Owen Hunt bothers me because he has extremely prominent wrinkles. How is it possible that he gets to be a main character on one of the most re-watched TV shows of my generation with a face like that?
Ugh, why does Owen Hunt get to age, and I don’t?
Ten years ago today, I was in eating disorder treatment for the third time. I was lucky enough to spend my 28th birthday having honest conversations about the impossible expectation of prepubescent perfection placed on white female bodies.
Dismantling diet culture and fatphobia in my 20s has allowed me to see through the lies of anti-aging rhetoric and wrinklephobia in my 30s.
Those birthday Botox emails are bullshit disguised as self-care. Just like diet culture, anti-aging rhetoric is rooted in misogyny, pedophilia, purity culture, hierarchy, and white supremacy.
give me laugh lines and wrinkles
i want proof of the jokes we shared
engrave the lines into my face like
the roots of a tree that grow deeper
with each passing year
i want sunspots as souvenirs
for the beaches we laid on
i want to look like i was
never afraid to let the world
take me by the hand
and show me what it’s made of
i want to leave this place knowing
i did something with my body
other than trying to
make it look perfect
-rupi kaur
It’s been fifteen months since I last had Botox injected into my face, and it shows. Chronic migraines have left me with deep “number elevens” that are starting to resemble Owen Hunt.
As much as I hate to admit it, I feel self-conscious most days. Botox, fillers, and plastic surgery have become the norm for women my age. Somewhere along the way, I internalized the message that there is something wrong with me for opting out.
Daily pep talks in the mirror have been a saving grace.
The world is on fire. We’re drowning in crisis, war, and corruption. The last thing this world needs is another submissive, obedient, wrinkleless Wildflower. I spent my teens and twenties devoted to diet culture, and it almost killed me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the rest of my one wild and precious life worshipping at the altar of anti-aging rhetoric, too.
I don’t want the “gift” of youth for my 38th birthday. All I want is proof of the jokes we shared, engraved into my face like the roots of a tree that grow deeper with each passing year. Give me laugh lines and wrinkles. I want to look like I was never afraid to let the world take me by the hand and show me what it’s made of.
Today I’m turning 38 on 3/8.
Someday, if I’m lucky, I will turn 83 on 3/8, knowing I did something with my body other than trying to make it look perfect.
🌱 Anti-Aging Rhetoric Compost Equation:
Carbon (the “gift” of youth) + nitrogen (misogyny, pedophilia, hierarchy) + water (tears) + oxygen (deep cleansing breaths) + the art of decay = a nutrient-rich product used to fertilize wildflower soil
🌷Affirmation: I engrave proof of life on my face, like the roots of a tree that grow deeper with each passing year.
🌼 Journal Prompts: Do you buy into anti-aging rhetoric? If so, how can you compost the pedophilic archetype that lives inside? Are you afraid to let the world take you by the hand and show you what it’s made of?
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