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If beauty is only skin deep, then why are there electric power tools in my makeup drawer and why do I moisturize my face with chemicals like alpha hydroxy and hyaluronic acids? With each passing year, I add more drastic and costly steps to my beauty routine, only to watch my eyelids fold over themselves, my neck droop and my knees sag. When is the right time to stop this madness?
I turn 60 next month. I celebrated decades of birthdays as a military spouse, and was never bothered about my age. But this one feels different. Somewhere along the way, 40 became the new 30, and 50 became the new 40. But 60? Isn’t that milestone what it’s always been and ever shall be — over the hill?
As I teeter on this precipice, I wonder, are my beauty routines futile because it’s all downhill from here? Should I throw in the exfoliating niacinamide makeup wipes and embrace my baggy eyes? Delete the Face Yoga app and learn to love my neck wattle? Stop scrubbing my age spots and start playing connect the dots?
Or, should I resist the inevitable for as long as possible, guzzling collagen concoctions, puncturing my face with micro needles and zapping discolorations with the questionable imported gadgets advertised on Instagram Reels?
I remember when my beauty routine was washing my face with Ivory soap before catching the bus to high school. There was no need for makeup, but it was the ‘80s. So, I wore purple frosted eyeshadow and Bonnie Bell lip gloss, and took my youthful skin for granted.
Now, post-menopause, I sit in front of my vanity mirror as if I’m about to perform complex surgery on a patient with a grim prognosis.
Most days, I forget the various serums and gadgets I paid too much for and swore I’d use every day and night — silicone under-eye patches, jade rollers, infrared light wands, sonic face scrubbers and dermablades — because they’re tedious. Instead, I take the easy way out and hide my imperfections with makeup.
I start with “24-hour” foundation, slathered on like I’m seasoning a roast. When my dark circles refuse to cooperate, I blob on concealer like I’m spackling drywall. To avoid looking like an undercooked pancake, I dab on a trendy cheek balm I bought from an Instagram ad featuring glowing women over 50 with glossy hair and impossibly white teeth.
Lipstick is applied strategically to enhance my lips, which seem to be slowly collapsing into my face.
Voila! I head out to face my day convinced I’ve camouflaged my imperfections — until I catch a glimpse of my reflection. Inevitably, the concealer has settled into fine lines, enhancing every wrinkle. The $45 cheek balm is so greasy that my hair is stuck to my face like Sasquatch. Any lipstick that didn’t come off on my coffee cup has migrated into the tiny creases around my mouth that look like cactus needles, and my foundation now lives primarily on my shirt collar.
Not exactly the look I was going for.
At this point, my beauty routine feels like a military operation — expensive, overcomplicated, and with mixed results. Serums deploy at 0600, concealer attempts damage control at 0800, but by 1400, my makeup has gone AWOL.
And Instagram? Those Reels have me believing I’m a $65 Nuzzy Pen or a $99 Honeylove bra away from turning back time — right before I remember I’m shopping on a military retiree budget and realize that bras don’t come in 38 Long. The truth is, after a lifetime of PCS moves, multiple deployments, hours of Tricare hold music and three Navy brats raised into adulthood, a few wrinkles don’t feel like failure — they feel like earned stripes.
So I’ll keep it simple: a little moisturizer, a dab of lipstick and as much concealer as I damned well please. The goal isn’t to look younger — it’s to look like myself, just a little less exhausted.
Besides, when everything starts to sag, at least I know it’s not just me. Gravity has been coming for all of us since basic training — and unlike my beauty products, it has never once failed to deliver.
Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com
