The following is a post from my website Chrissy…In Her Sixties, which I am currently working on shutting down. The website you are now looking at, That Hobbit Lady, has been with me since November 2004 (nearly 20 years) and contains over 500 posts. In Her Sixties only goes back to 2017, with less than 40 posts. So, you see…in the interest of consolidating, I could either send 500+ posts from That Hobbit Lady to In Her Sixties, or 30+ posts from In Her Sixties to That Hobbit Lady. In addition to the math of that first option not making much sense, it also happens that the term “In Her Sixties” will only to apply to me for a few more years. But I will be a Hobbit Lady forever. So: no-brainer.
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September 18, 2022
Yesterday was my 65th birthday. Though I have not been keeping up in this blog as I once had high hopes of doing, on this occasion I feel compelled to say a few words, as I now find myself squarely in the middle of my 60’s.
Last night (on my 65th birthday), I took on the project of bringing out all my “beauty products” and laying them down in the middle of the dining room table, just to see what I’ve got. Eye-opening experience! In some categories it was not as much of a hoard as I thought it might be, but other areas were out of control and really provided some revelations regarding how I’ve been thinking about beauty up to now.
The most disturbing aspect of this experiment was the huge number of products I have accumulated over the years for facial skin care. Basically—and I’ve known this about myself for a long time—I’ve always been a sucker for snake oil, always hoping the next miracle cure is going to make all my wrinkles disappear.
NOT.
But something has happened, something about my thinking has changed, now that I’ve reached this grand old age. I’m not sure how it happened, except to say that I’m quite sure it did not happen overnight, but over some time now, I’ve become convinced that I’ve been moving in the wrong direction on this. And now I know that it will be a long, long time before I buy any beauty products for my face (except sunscreen, which is essential.) I have enough products to get me through the Apocalypse (if I want to use them), but more importantly, I’ve somehow also recently come to the decision that my preference is to move in the direction of more “natural “skin care. And by this, I don’t mean products that feature the word “NATURAL” in large letters on the label, but rather using single ingredients that are naturally found in nature—oils, honey, fruits— and also, the most basic of cleansers, without any additional perfumes, dyes, and unpronounceable ingredients.
The idea behind all these products I’ve accumulated over the years was mainly to try to stave off the inevitable wrinkles. But aaah! There’s the rub, there’s that word “inevitable.” Because guess what? Almost all people (unless unusually genetically gifted) are going to get wrinkles to some degree at some point. Wrinkles are a part of aging, part of what it means to be alive. As mentioned earlier, I’m a big believer in sunscreen, but beyond that, why have I been putting so much money and effort into this?
I believe at long last I have reconciled myself to the fact that I am indeed going to get wrinkles. (Well…. actually, I already have wrinkles, so I guess I mean that I’m reconciled to the fact that these wrinkles are going to get worse.) I’m tired of fighting that uphill battle that, honestly, is doomed to fail. My thought now is not so much to PREVENT further wrinkles, but rather to take good care of my skin through natural means, and let the wrinkles come as they may and WEAR THEM WELL. My goal now is for my skin to not only LOOK healthy, but also actually BE healthy. I’m past desiring my skin to look “young,” because my skin is not young. But just because it’s not young, doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful in its own way.
So that’s where I stand on skin care at 65. And it’s such a relief to let all that go!
And by the way, there’s something else I’ve had a revelation about in the last several days, another battle I am no longer willing to fight. See if you can relate.
Not that long ago, I was still trying (as I have been trying all my life) to find the “perfect bra” that would give my large, droopy boobs more support, and a more youthful appearance. I must have bought and returned over a dozen bras through Amazon in this quest for the Perfect Bra. But I finally came to the conclusion that if I ever could find a bra that did what I wanted it to do, it would be so damned uncomfortable, I would be unwilling to wear it for any length of time, never mind an entire day.
In the end, I did finally buy one bra that almost fit the way I wanted it to, and was slightly less uncomfortable than the dozens that came before that did not work out at all, but it is so padded it simply doesn’t look smooth and natural under the thinner tops of Spring and Summer, so I’m hoping as Fall kicks in and we move into Sweater Weather, I might be able to make at least some use of this bra. If I can bear the discomfort.
And if I can’t….oh well! Look. I am a big-busted woman from a long line of big-busted women. Past their prime, my mother and both my grandmothers (none with the slightest hint of the wraith about them) all sported the large droopy boobs of our Slavic background. It’s genetics, it’s who I am. And frankly, at no age has it ever been important enough to me to consider surgery. I’ve lived with this so many decades, and now mid-way through my sixth decade, I have at long last made the decision to say, “F*** it! I am who I am. Deal with it!”
Though you always want to look the best you can, at a certain age it becomes acceptable to reconsider what “your best” actually means. At this age, at least for me, I am well past trying to emulate any of the younger women I see in TV, movies or advertisements. At this age, I’m perfectly okay with simply being who I really am. I’m no longer trying to impress anyone. In fact, that concept of “trying to impress” is probably something that actually left me ages ago, but the ghost of it has been hanging around like the feeling of a phantom limb. It’s time to let that go.
So, as I say about wrinkles, I have now adjusted this goal for my body and simply want to “wear it well.” I feel liberated in that I no longer feel compelled to disguise my large, droopy boobs, and I don’t have to try to avoid looking like an old lady because…guess what? I’m an old lady! And proud of it.
In closing: there’s this commercial on TV now, where an older woman proclaims, “Age is just a number…and mine’s UNLISTED!” Well, folks, my age is NOT unlisted. The name of this blog tells you I’m in my 60’s. At the top of this post, I’ve proclaimed that I am 65. And I’m very happy for the entire world to know it. I wear it as a badge of honor. I am 65, still alive and kicking. I am not dead, and by the grace of God and some efforts on my part, I don’t have any horrible diseases, my blood pressure is under control, and I’m not even on any prescription medications. I celebrate the Health and Happy Attitude with which I have been blessed. And at this moment, I am looking forward to all the ways I can be the most awesome old lady I can possibly be!
