I’m EXHAUSTED. I’ve been tweezing, shaving, moisturizing, defrizzing, flat-ironing, bikini-waxing, hair-dyeing, gym-joining (notice I said gym-joining, not gym-going?) exfoliating and manicuring since 8th grade, all while sleeping on a silk pillowcase to reduce wrinkles. I’m ready to grow a beard and just RELAX.
Some of you are thinking: Sweetheart, go ahead and hang it up. Nobody wants you to be sexy except the product pushers. Your husband loves you for your mind and nice eyes (when the whites aren’t jaundiced). Your children love you because you put cute notes in their lunch box and buy them stuff. The human species did not die off because women once had untweezed eyebrows. Women of the 1st Century were hairy, and yet here we all are.
If I don’t let my moustache grow in, am I a hypocrite?
My 5-year-old daughter recently caught me tweezing and asked if there was a splinter in my eyebrow. “Yes, sweetie. There is a splinter in Mummy’s eyebrow and she has to remove some hairs to find it.” How long can I keep this up? Eventually, when the birds of spring begin to circle my daughter’s eyebrows looking to nest deep within her uni-brow, will she feel betrayed? Especially if her friends’ eyebrows are as finely shaped as a topiary? Isn’t it my duty to pass on the secret art of hairlessness as it was passed on to me? But hairlessness is just the tip of the iceberg. I saw an article entitled “Top 50 Beauty Tips.” Top 50? Out of how many more?
Is “healthy” really the new sexy, or is “sexy” the new sexy? (Which is the same as the old sexy.)
So many mums these days are eating kale and then squeezing into toddler-sized tank tops. Mums, can’t we just eat the kale, run some miles and feel sexy in a shirt? Are shirts old-school? Have they gone the way of the Easter bonnet? I don’t wear teeny tank tops, but occasionally, a man will look at me in that way. This might be flattering if I didn’t also see his brain straining, bargaining over the terms. I’m not exactly last-woman-on-earth material, but I’ve also never caused a four-car-pile-up while hailing a taxi. I can honestly say I’m ready for men to look at me with excitement of a different kind, such as: I would love to drink Oolong tea with that woman and discuss the mysteries of the universe.
Old habits die hard.
The temptation to take a bikini selfie in front of The Weiner Haven will never entirely go away. I’ve just learned to fight the impulse, or replace it. These days, when I take a selfie, it’s usually in front of the library holding up the latest Caldecott Winner. I still stick my tongue out and make the rock and roll sign, but instead of wearing a bikini, I’m wearing a fun holiday-themed shirt from Ross Dress-For-Less.
There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to stop competing with sorority girls, simply because there aren’t enough hours in a day to wax all the hair from a perimenopausal body AND hit up three different Dollar Stores in search of matching birthday party favors.
When I’m getting dressed in the morning, I think: My boobs had their day in the sun. They turned heads, they nursed babies and there was a time when they did not require a harness that would fit a dairy cow. This is what nostalgia is for. Also date night. Helloooo strappy, push-up bra with moisture-wicking foam support pads and matching cheekini tummy-tucker.
Bring it!
I used to dread my birthdays. And then I hit 40 and someone I grew up with died from a brain tumor. She had kids, little ones. In her honour, I vowed to never dread a birthday again. Old age, I give you my face to wrinkle and my body to sag. If that’s the currency required to watch my kids grow and to continue shopping for holiday-themed shirts, then I’m truly happy to part with the time-sucking struggle for ever-lasting youth.
Moving forward, I can think of no better way to describe who I hope to be, than this: Integrity with high-performance, comfortable and uniquely sexy. (I stole that line from a Victoria’s Secret bra description, by the way.)
Anastasia Basil is co-creator of two children and founder of one stray dog. She graduated from UCLA magna cum laude in Analytic Philosophy with an emphasis in Ethics. (All that means is: she will not steal your pen even though she likes it very much.) You can sometimes see her walking and talking on shows like Modern Family, Parenthood and 2 Broke Girls. Anastasia is currently writing a young adult novel.
This article first appeared on Huffington Post and has been republished with full permission.
Top Comments
It's not that you get to an age where you stop caring about looking after yourself, you get to a point where you don't care what other people think anymore and you just do what you feel. I'm 38 and I'm pretty much at that point. My husband thinks I'm the sexiest woman alive and tells me that often. Even though I think he's probably just a teensy bit biassed (ok a lot biassed), I like hearing it. I dress how *I* like now, not how some silly fashion trend says I should. I feel better in myself for it. I still tweeze my eyebrows sometimes, but if I don't do my legs for a while, who cares? I don't. My hubby doesn't. And if someone else does, well that's their problem, not mine. :)
My mum is in her fifties and still gets her moustache waxed.
And why wouldn't she? I'm in my fifties and it's one of the, if not the sexiest times of my life. The kids are grown up and My husband and I are still in pretty good shape (at least we think we are) and we are "hot to trot". Infact, although we love having our kids come home to visit, it does interfere with our sex life.
Living life to the full....Love it....You rock.