The pursuit of youth: the desperate thirst born from the decay of our own minds.
In our arrogance, we have waged a war against time, convinced that we’re faster, more beautiful, undeserving of the lines formed on our faces from the universe that gave us life in the first place. We have abandoned the elegance of age, forsaking the grace that lies in each wrinkle, the markers of years past and wisdom gained. How long will we be prisoners to the the elusive, so-called fountain of youth until we realize that we have idolized an empty well? To have the audacity to complain about wrinkles is so hopelessly human. How dare we not look up to the sun and scream our gratitude! That we have been lucky enough to have earned our hard-earned lines from years of smiles and joy! We should scream our thanks we have been lucky enough to see another day, and yet, instead we turn to our mirrors with scorn.
The all-consuming obsession in finding new insecurities has obliterated generations of beauty. Decades of faces, passed from mother to child, have been injected, cut, sliced, morphed beyond recognition. I am not here to lay criticism on anyone who decides to alter their appearance. You have the right to see yourself as you wish to be. But I am here to scream: you may not be doing it for yourself.
You may be doing it for “them”— the voices that say, this is in, this is better, this will make you happy, gorgeous, worthy. Understand that allowing the judgement of others to define your self-worth is to put a price on your inner beauty, your true self, your inner child. It’s a sacrifice of who you are. The fleeting happiness of being told how young you look, how pretty you are, fades as quickly as smoke from a snuffed-out candle. It’s an illusion, a mirage, slipping away the moment its within your grasp. Chasing this will only reinforce that you are not enough, that you cannot be enough. That in order to be happy, you must bow to the opinions of perfect strangers. Imagine what the most beloved icons would have disintegrated to, had they succumb to this level of self-obsession? Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, Dame Maggie Smith; imagine these women as the lifeless, insecure, photoshopped versions of themselves and then ask yourself: would you still adore them as much?
If you think the beauty standards are impossible, if you believe the Barbie Movie monologue, my advice to you is this: stop. Stop participating in the self-loathing, stop listening to the shallow masses trying to belittle you. Take yourself out of the epicenter and you will find that this weight you have been feeling has been a creation of your own doing. The most radical thing you can do is set your own standards and abide by them fiercely. When you decide to allow the world to tell you who you are, don’t be shocked when it comes with steep criticism. When you are the master of your own image, you will become free of all the ties you believe bound you.
My final plea:
I beg you to change the way you see yourself.
There should be no one on this earth that loves and respects you more than you do. Imagine if someone suggested that your best friend needed “work done” — you would dismiss them, thinking what a miserable little person they must be to think such a think. Be that same champion for yourself. Find it within yourself to create a wax coating on your ego, so that no matter what someone else claims you need, it will roll right off your back. Create within you a love that will stand unshaken, and I promise you, you will find something better than youth. You will have found happiness.
Critically Yours,
Alexandra Diana
Grateful for my smiles lines that are slowly deepening! How lucky are we!