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mallorys_cameraI slept in till 6:45am this morning. When the Revolution comes, I will be the firing squad's first target.
Also, somebody took a picture of me I can actually bear to look at:
Vanity, vanity, all is… etcetera. I'm less vain than many women I know my age. I'm a product of Berkeley's feminist movement after all. I would never consider plastic surgery or Botox, even if I could afford them. The cycle of life is just that – a cycle. And it seems to me that if you try to prolong one phase of that cycle by artificial means, you throw the rhythm off. It's like writing a bad sentence that throws you out of your own narrative.
Which is not to say that one ought not to exercise, get plenty of sleep, slop goo one one's face nightly, practice pulling one's lower lip over one's upper lip and then thrusting one's tongue out on long car rides etc. etc.
The thing is I was so heart-stoppingly beautiful for so long. It was like having a super-power: I could manipulate people with it. Of course the social contract is such that I would pretend I was not manipulating them, and they would pretend they were not being manipulated. But it was what it was.
Old age confers another super-power – invisibility.
I'm not unhappy with it. I actually prefer being invisible. By nature I'm the stranger at the party. True, I'm a world-class schmoozer, but left to my own devices I prefer to detach myself so I can observe and analyze.
Still every reminder that I was once hyper-visible tends to make me fret. I look at photos of myself with complete horror – wow! look at that crepe neck and girlfriend, you could pack lunch for six hungry Teamsters and Jimmy Hoffa in those bags under your eyes etc etc
But I like this photo a lot. I look my age, but I look good. Maybe it was because I was so happy that day, Cody's wedding and all.
Also, somebody took a picture of me I can actually bear to look at:
Vanity, vanity, all is… etcetera. I'm less vain than many women I know my age. I'm a product of Berkeley's feminist movement after all. I would never consider plastic surgery or Botox, even if I could afford them. The cycle of life is just that – a cycle. And it seems to me that if you try to prolong one phase of that cycle by artificial means, you throw the rhythm off. It's like writing a bad sentence that throws you out of your own narrative.
Which is not to say that one ought not to exercise, get plenty of sleep, slop goo one one's face nightly, practice pulling one's lower lip over one's upper lip and then thrusting one's tongue out on long car rides etc. etc.
The thing is I was so heart-stoppingly beautiful for so long. It was like having a super-power: I could manipulate people with it. Of course the social contract is such that I would pretend I was not manipulating them, and they would pretend they were not being manipulated. But it was what it was.
Old age confers another super-power – invisibility.
I'm not unhappy with it. I actually prefer being invisible. By nature I'm the stranger at the party. True, I'm a world-class schmoozer, but left to my own devices I prefer to detach myself so I can observe and analyze.
Still every reminder that I was once hyper-visible tends to make me fret. I look at photos of myself with complete horror – wow! look at that crepe neck and girlfriend, you could pack lunch for six hungry Teamsters and Jimmy Hoffa in those bags under your eyes etc etc
But I like this photo a lot. I look my age, but I look good. Maybe it was because I was so happy that day, Cody's wedding and all.
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no subject
Date: 2007-12-09 06:02 pm (UTC)Here's the thing: I was never, ever heart-stoppingly beautiful. Cute. Attractive. Quirky, But not heart-stopping. I've noticed that my incredibly beautiful friends have had a harder time with the aging process than the ones like me, the merely cute; I never expected anything for my looks and as I get older I'm seldom disappointed.
I think that however a person defines herself, it's hard to distance oneself from that thing.
no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 12:29 am (UTC)