Just a handful of years after hitting the fourth decade, I see what the big deal is all about.
Gravity is never kind to the big boned girls, and we certainly won't be facebook friends in the fourth decade. Lets just say, its all going downhill from here.
My eyesight was the first to go. After more than 3 decades of 6/6 vision and having the distinction of being the only Banerjee without glasses, I couldn't read anymore. I kept sending wrong texts to people, sending my boss my whole grocery list instead of directing it to my husband, who was double parked outside the depanneur. I needed to squint to work on my computer and much to delight of my daughter, often missed elementary math mistakes.
Next was this pesky double chin. It would crop up at every angle. no matter how much water I drank, how many neck extensions i did, it refused to leave my side. I gave up wearing necklaces, since it brought too much attention to the heavy jowls. So I hid behind the fashionable folds of heavy scarves and stoles.
Next was this pesky double chin. It would crop up at every angle. no matter how much water I drank, how many neck extensions i did, it refused to leave my side. I gave up wearing necklaces, since it brought too much attention to the heavy jowls. So I hid behind the fashionable folds of heavy scarves and stoles.
Black became my favourite color and seems to be the only color I wear everyday to camouflage my widening girth. Hitting 40 was like swallowing a balloon. If I wasn't actively losing weight, I was just gaining weight. My proportions started going out of whack in a not so good way.
My makeup stopped going on smoothly and at the end of the day, mascara would have pooled in the most unbecoming of ways around my tired eyes. So, I bought retinol cream of course. I slathered it on day and night. It made my pillow all greasy sometimes, but I'd rather have non droopy eyelids than a clean pillowcase anyday.
Shapewear became my best friend. Sucking it all in as I hold my breath while slithering into a pencil skirt after having eaten oatmeal for breakfast...just try that on for fun one day.
Next is the gap in the buttonholes of the shirt. Really, how hard is it to put little hooks and eyes in between the gaping flaps? Have a heart on the not-so-slim, bordering-on-the-plus-side segment. I stopped going clothes shopping. It was seriously getting depressing to try on a mountain of jeans in all combinations of sizes to find that NOT ONE FIT they way it was supposed to. Online shopping is infinitely better...try on what you like in the privacy of your home and not get sympathetic looks from pesky sales people.
Aging gracefully in the times of social media is a whole another ballgame. I see so many oomph worthy, perfectly pouty, doe eyed photographs of people I went to kindergarten with, cropping up frequently on my news feed. Of course they will post pictures from Bora Bora or Hawaii or Fiji, posing in their itty-bitty bikinis or hot pants while i hastily pull down my diaphanous tunic to cover my ever-widening posterieur while scrolling down my smartphone.
Not one to be left behind, for my next post, I try the Kim K style duckface to take a selfie which makes me look like Cruella de Ville. I try lifting the phone higher at a more becoming angle to get an artfully perspective shot, only to drop it straight on my eye and have a manhole sized bruise for a week. Elegant.
Then there is the slew of slim fast and detox water concoctions crowding for space on my timeline. I don't remember having gone a single day without seeing a Garcinia Cambogia advertisment or a lemon, mint, cucumber, ox tail, rhino urine crap concoctions clamoring for my attention.
My hair is the last to go. The thick beachy waves have kind of taken on a limpid mousy sheen. I shed like a Canadian sugar maple in autumn and the girth of my ponytail is inversely proportional to my waist size. The grey has crept up so stealthily that it can put a drone in Afghanistan to shame. I toy with the idea of lobbing it all off, maybe try the unicorn color trend that's so in and chic right now, but the idea of looking like a My Little Pony wannabe seriously deters me.
All this self doubt and trying to lag behind in the age race brought me to an uncomfortable realisation that I was sending out so many mixed messages to my beautiful, impressionable tween. Asking her one day if I should color my hair, she gave me a horrified look and said " But you are my mom and that's why you have grey hair, without it, you wouldn't look like my mom" Squirm worthy moment continued when she asked me "Maman, why do you want to look different?" I stuttered a noncoherent reply and took a step back to look at how damaging my behaviour has probably been for my daughter.
To prevent any possible long term damage and therapy bills, I will happily resign myself to the chub rub and the flabby arms. Goodbye forever, smooth eyeliner and blemish free tight lifted skin. Self-esteem, confidence, tenacity and determination are the qualities I am going to focus on instead. I'm going to laud a beautiful heart instead of a beautiful face. I'm going to give integrity, grit and dreams more importance than success and resources. Its going to be an uphill task in this insanely disposable and plastic world we live in, but i've never been afraid of a little hill ( or a couple) before.
My skin may sag, but the eyes will twinkle. My girth may be a problem, but i'll position it in the audience when my daughter performs. Let the sun add a few more freckles and coats of tan while we chase butterflies in the sun and let the sweat drip off my limp hair while I go gracefully into the grey, holding tightly onto my daughter's hand.
My makeup stopped going on smoothly and at the end of the day, mascara would have pooled in the most unbecoming of ways around my tired eyes. So, I bought retinol cream of course. I slathered it on day and night. It made my pillow all greasy sometimes, but I'd rather have non droopy eyelids than a clean pillowcase anyday.
Shapewear became my best friend. Sucking it all in as I hold my breath while slithering into a pencil skirt after having eaten oatmeal for breakfast...just try that on for fun one day.
Next is the gap in the buttonholes of the shirt. Really, how hard is it to put little hooks and eyes in between the gaping flaps? Have a heart on the not-so-slim, bordering-on-the-plus-side segment. I stopped going clothes shopping. It was seriously getting depressing to try on a mountain of jeans in all combinations of sizes to find that NOT ONE FIT they way it was supposed to. Online shopping is infinitely better...try on what you like in the privacy of your home and not get sympathetic looks from pesky sales people.
Aging gracefully in the times of social media is a whole another ballgame. I see so many oomph worthy, perfectly pouty, doe eyed photographs of people I went to kindergarten with, cropping up frequently on my news feed. Of course they will post pictures from Bora Bora or Hawaii or Fiji, posing in their itty-bitty bikinis or hot pants while i hastily pull down my diaphanous tunic to cover my ever-widening posterieur while scrolling down my smartphone.
Not one to be left behind, for my next post, I try the Kim K style duckface to take a selfie which makes me look like Cruella de Ville. I try lifting the phone higher at a more becoming angle to get an artfully perspective shot, only to drop it straight on my eye and have a manhole sized bruise for a week. Elegant.
Then there is the slew of slim fast and detox water concoctions crowding for space on my timeline. I don't remember having gone a single day without seeing a Garcinia Cambogia advertisment or a lemon, mint, cucumber, ox tail, rhino urine crap concoctions clamoring for my attention.
My hair is the last to go. The thick beachy waves have kind of taken on a limpid mousy sheen. I shed like a Canadian sugar maple in autumn and the girth of my ponytail is inversely proportional to my waist size. The grey has crept up so stealthily that it can put a drone in Afghanistan to shame. I toy with the idea of lobbing it all off, maybe try the unicorn color trend that's so in and chic right now, but the idea of looking like a My Little Pony wannabe seriously deters me.
All this self doubt and trying to lag behind in the age race brought me to an uncomfortable realisation that I was sending out so many mixed messages to my beautiful, impressionable tween. Asking her one day if I should color my hair, she gave me a horrified look and said " But you are my mom and that's why you have grey hair, without it, you wouldn't look like my mom" Squirm worthy moment continued when she asked me "Maman, why do you want to look different?" I stuttered a noncoherent reply and took a step back to look at how damaging my behaviour has probably been for my daughter.
To prevent any possible long term damage and therapy bills, I will happily resign myself to the chub rub and the flabby arms. Goodbye forever, smooth eyeliner and blemish free tight lifted skin. Self-esteem, confidence, tenacity and determination are the qualities I am going to focus on instead. I'm going to laud a beautiful heart instead of a beautiful face. I'm going to give integrity, grit and dreams more importance than success and resources. Its going to be an uphill task in this insanely disposable and plastic world we live in, but i've never been afraid of a little hill ( or a couple) before.
My skin may sag, but the eyes will twinkle. My girth may be a problem, but i'll position it in the audience when my daughter performs. Let the sun add a few more freckles and coats of tan while we chase butterflies in the sun and let the sweat drip off my limp hair while I go gracefully into the grey, holding tightly onto my daughter's hand.
