This is what 71 without Botox or Ozempic looks like
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On a bad day, and with a recent bout of Covid and a delayed visit to the hairdresser to have my roots done, I can quite easily look like this septuagenarian woman’s mother.
This, though, is a photograph I’m happy to share, because it flatters me and I am vain. To pretend I don’t care about my looks as much as the face-lifted/butt-lifted/ bingo-wing-zapped woman next to me would be disingenuous.
I think about society’s attitudes to ageing a lot and what a bind it is for most of us to be tethered to the idea that we have to stay young and beautiful if we want to be loved (including being loved by ourselves). But it’s an impossible goal because ageing is inevitable and, as much as we try to obliterate wrinkles on the outside, those on the inside will eventually catch up with us. I am willing to make an effort, resigned to the fact that I will always care about how I look, and certain that I will only go so far, which is no distance at all by today’s standards.
To me, an obsession with cosmetic surgery is an illness. When Sharon Osbourne, 71, a woman who is smart and likeable and yet admits to so many operations that “there’s not one part of my body that I haven’t had twisted, lifted, elongated”, I feel she requires trauma counselling rather than another general anaesthetic. And on top of the botched surgeries, requiring more surgeries, all of which she is completely open about, there has been a stint on the so-called miracle weight-loss drug, Ozempic, designed for diabetics. Now, after losing 42 pounds and weighing in at under seven stone, Osbourne looks, to use her word, “gaunt”. There’s nothing, to my mind, more ageing than gaunt. Young and skinny may equal cute. Old and skinny makes you look as brittle as the bones lurking within.
My sister, 74, slim and elegant to start with, recently lost around 12 pounds due to a bout of ill health. She knows it made her look frail. And frail, of course, equates with old. With every pound she slowly puts back on she looks healthier, less fragile and consequently more youthful.
Why can’t Osbourne and her ilk see that the combination of too much surgery, which makes you look weird, and too much weight loss, which makes you look gaunt, is ultimately self-defeating.
Which begs the question: what is too much anyway? In recent years I’ve modified my feminist stance of cosmetic surgery being akin to self-mutilation. I have come to accept that if women want to believe they are doing it for themselves, rather than men or society, and that if they feel it gives them the confidence they lack and the agency they aspire to, it’s no longer incumbent on me to try to persuade them otherwise.
And the truth is that as I have witnessed the collagen collapse of recent years – the eyelids that once framed my large brown eyes now overshadow them; the neck skin that reminds me of what’s coming up for dinner next week – I’ve almost succumbed. But only almost. I’m a dying breed. At least two-thirds of same-aged women I know have had tweakments, and most considerably more. And nor do they give themselves angst about it. “Ooh,” they squeal, “a wrinkle. Disgusting.” And the next thing they do is book an appointment to have it “dealt with”. No feminist breast-beating in sight.
I admit to a touch of envy, too. Chatting to a friend at a party in the Christmas run-up – a friend who has recently had an eyelid and brow lift and some plumping fillers – we were joined by a newly divorced and rather handsome man we both know. After greeting us both, he turned to my friend and said, “You’re looking great!” He then turned to me and said, “So, how are you doing?” I felt my face flush. But she’s cheating, I thought, momentarily wanting to stamp my foot like a petulant child. I may have spent an hour washing and blow-drying my hair, putting on my slap and trying out my new rosacea-reducing cream (clearly not working), but all that effort had gone to waste! Then I got the urge to dance, found my partner and soon felt great again.
And the reason I felt great again is that there are so many other ways to maintain your vitality without forever focusing on your looks.
A couple of weeks back I was out walking and talking with my friend Alex, a serious scientist with a knack for dressing stylishly, always in black and white. “I’m awfully wrinkly, don’t you think?” she said, pulling up the skin at the side of her face. “Do you think I need surgery?” “Need or want? Up to you,” I replied, “but you do know about the post-op recovery and the downtime and I know how busy you are.” “Goodness,” she said, “I couldn’t be bothered with that. Far too busy and I’ve got a research project to complete by February. Will just have to stay as I am. Can you recommend a good moisturiser?” Alex cares about her appearance – she’s not all grey-haired and bare-faced – but she is permitting herself to age naturally and she sparkles with enthusiasm for life.
If I look in any way OK for my age I reckon it’s because I’m slim, which helps you have a more youthful appearance overall. But the problem with old and skinny compared to old and plumptious is that the face suffers. “I can’t believe you can fit into that size 8,” my green-eyed friends say. “And I can’t believe you look so plumped-up and young,” I retort, and then take a selfie of us together to prove my point.
When it comes to weight I’ve been lucky, even if I’ve paid the wrinkly price compared to my plumper-faced friends. Two slim parents and an anxious disposition that seems to help burn off as much energy as it takes in. Though when I was in my late teens and thought myself chubby I imbibed noxious teas that acted as laxatives. I realised pretty soon I was doing myself and my gut no favours and stopped, but it does help me understand the lure of Ozempic, especially for those who really do have problems losing weight. But if it’s being done purely for looks, caution is advised.
I remind myself that by not spending a penny on tweakments or surgery I can save a fortune and splash out on nice clothes and holidays. I tell myself that by keeping informed and open-minded I can retain my sense of vitality. I am grateful that I still have the energy to join a protest march or stand for three hours at a concert, even if I’m knackered the next day. And that when I make the choice not to go sleeveless and expose my arms at a party this weekend, I can still look the business in an on-trend velvet trouser suit. And that as long as I still bother, as long as I still make an effort before I leave the house, that at 71 I’ll do. How would surgery help any of this?
But the battle against cosmetic surgery has been lost. For most younger women it’s not a case of if but when. My current heroine is Dame Harriet Walter, star of Succession and currently playing the formidable matriarch in The House of Bernarda Alba at the National Theatre. At the top of her acting game at 73, her face etched with her lived experience and all the passion and commitment she brings to her craft – for me, she is a woman of tremendous beauty.
