On Aging, Beauty, and Aging Beauty

Image Credit: Jamie Street

Since I cancelled my home internet service in January 2024 — and with it all of my streaming accounts — I get my movies and TV shows through my local library. When last I checked, I was hold number 61 on The Substance.

I’ve consumed enough YouTube video essay content around the popular body horror film to know not to eat during the movie, and I also suspect I’ll identify as much — if not more — with Demi Moore’s version of the movie’s protagonist than with Margaret Qualley’s, even though I’m closer in age to the latter actor. What I’m unsure of is whether the flick will soothe or inflame my anxieties around aging and beauty and aging beauty. Regardless, I’m excited to find out.

People of all genders feel the weight of beauty standards, as well as the pressure to age as unnoticeably as possible. Men have been subjecting themselves to hair transplants since 1952. Much more recently, men have been going under the knife to make themselves taller. For trans folks, the cost of gender-affirming care can be immense; and the cost of not undergoing gender-affirming cosmetic procedures can be even higher — “passing” as the gender one identifies with is as much a safety issue as it is an issue of aesthetic fulfillment.

That said, I can only speak to my own experience, and my own experience tells me aging is getting harder and more expensive for women. Currently, I’m trying to decide how much time, energy, and money I’m willing to devote to the whole mess; and how to draw the line between what I want to do, and what I feel like I’m “supposed to” do.

I’m pretty sure I genuinely enjoy hair care and skincare. I've always found it to be a self-soothing practice, and I’m the type of person who requires a lot of self-soothing. I’ve had a healthy skincare routine — including facial sunscreen — since junior high. In fact, as a “rebellious” teenager, I once snuck to the bathroom to wash my face before bed, even though I’d been told to go to my room and stay there.

Yet, I’ve had fine lines around my eyes since my late twenties. Neck lines and forehead wrinkles found me in my early thirties. There’s only so much creams, masks, SPF, and hydration can do to fight time, gravity, and stress, it turns out, and I think I’ve finally made peace with that — or, at the very least, I’m closer to making peace with it than I was a few years ago.

My hair is greying, and despite maintaining a gentle hair care routine for a very long time, (deep conditioning hair masks, heat styling only on very special occasions, highlights no more than three times a year, etc.) my hair requires more moisture than ever. I’m actually afraid to color it right now because of how dry it’s somehow become.

I’m not in love with what my natural hair color has aged into — field mouse with silver streaks — but I’m happy to have hair to care for, and I can only hope I’ll get to color it again after a few months of hyper-charged TLC. Or, in lieu of that, maybe my hair will go full silver sooner rather than later. I think I’d like that.

I enjoy shopping for, applying, and wearing makeup. But like many working women, part of the reason I wear makeup to work is because I feel uncomfortable going to work makeup-free. I expect I’ll be perceived as less professional if I don’t wear at least some makeup to work, and I know wearing makeup makes me look less tired; so while there are definitely days when I feel like showing up bare-faced, sans mascara, I take the time to apply makeup before work anyway.

Admittedly, I take pride in my presentation, and I do feel better about myself when I wear makeup to work — even if I think I shouldn’t have to wear it to be perceived as a professional, competent, put-together lady. I’m well aware that I’m conforming to female beauty standards, and a part of me hates that — but performing femininity in the workplace does have its perks.

In 2018, a study conducted by two sociologists with connections to UC Irvine found that women who wore makeup to work were paid more than those who didn’t. The sociologists gathered data from over 14,000 employees and discovered, for women at least, a link between “effort-based attractiveness” and higher pay. Essentially, the data revealed that the more visible effort a woman spent on not only her face but her overall appearance — hair, nails, etc. — the more she earned.

A while ago, a coworker gave me a retinol-infused sheet mask. It wasn’t my birthday; it wasn’t Christmas or Valentine’s Day, but I accepted the gift with a polite “thank you,” thinking I might try it — thinking I might need to try it. I wasn’t sure whether to read the gift as a kind gesture or an acceptable way of saying: “hey, I couldn’t help noticing you look old.” The package sat on my bathroom shelf for days before I tossed it in the trash.

As a person with sensitive skin, retinol has always freaked me out. I refuse to use it, even though it’s a powerful, relatively affordable, and widely available anti-aging ingredient. When I recently learned that retinol was tested on incarcerated people — causing irreversible harm and trauma in the process — before it became the holy grail of anti-aging skincare, I couldn’t help feeling relieved that I’ve avoided using it. Quickly, however, that feeling was replaced with a new curiosity: how many of my favorite beauty products might have equally horrific histories?

I understand that ethical consumption under capitalism is damn near impossible, and I’m not interested in shaming anyone for pursuing beauty — whatever their reason. Beauty is currency, both literally and figuratively; and for better or worse, looking good often translates into feeling good. But I do believe one’s pursuit of beauty shouldn’t have to be painful, no matter how widely accepted that concept is. It shouldn’t have to hurt physically, mentally, emotionally, or financially.

That’s why — although I’ll always support the right to bodily autonomy; whether that means terminating a pregnancy, getting Botox, or undergoing facial feminization surgery — personally, in my pursuit of beauty, I’ve decided to draw the line at pain. It’s one of the reasons I don’t see myself having cosmetic surgery; it’s why I prefer to buy products that aren’t tested on animals; it’s why I won’t buy Crest White Strips to lighten my coffee-stained (but cavity-free) teeth until after I’ve reached my financial goal of building a healthy emergency fund.

Impossible beauty standards and anxiety around aging isn’t new, but it does feel like we’re living in a particularly dystopian time regarding beauty and aging and aging beauty. Tweens are obsessing over anti-aging skincare products thanks to TikTok, beauty spending is a source of credit card debt — which isn’t surprising considering how many products and procedures are hailed “must-haves” now — and I’m not the only one who feels like beauty treatments are becoming more invasive.

Like so many aspects of this specific time in history, it feels like we’re simultaneously making new discoveries and moving backwards as a society. The goal post for modern beauty is constantly moving, and it feels like there’s no catching up — especially for the average person — there’s no way to win.

Excited as I am to watch The Substance, I find myself comforted by older movies and TV shows these days: movies where leading ladies have wrinkles, and no two actors have identical facial features. It’s so refreshing to see women's “imperfections” on display, even if those imperfections are often paired with some cringe dialogue.

Pendulum swings are a predictable part of society and culture. In the U.S., we’re seeing that in some pretty unfortunate ways right now with the reversal of DEI, and attacks on free speech, women’s rights, and the rights of queer people, among other issues. I can only hope, eventually, the pendulum swing for beauty standards will land somewhere we’ve never been: a utopian beauty ideal that encourages everyone to do — or not to do — whatever the fuck they want to, as long as they’re not harming anyone, and to feel good about it.

In the meantime, in my pursuit of beauty, I’ll be drawing the line at pain, and watching lots of old movies and TV shows. I encourage you, dear reader or listener, to decide where you’ll draw the line, and to find refuge from our dystopian beauty culture however you safely and legally can.