Lowkey violent title, but I’m trying to work on having more opinions in life. Or just expressing them more despite counterarguments. And being confident in my opinions. And my driver’s licence. 

Anyway, wrinkles are dope as shit. I hate how so many products want me to stop getting them. You know the kids who use retinol fresh out of the womb to achieve that Benjamin Button aesthetic? It’s bad, sure, but I’m talking about people’s responses to that “Kids, you don’t have to worry about wrinkles yet, there’s no need to use retinol.”  

No buddy, back up. The fuck do you mean by “yet”? In this modern movement of skincare/makeup being ungendered and self-empowering, we’re still fine with regurgitating centuries of social bullshit telling us we shouldn’t want wrinkles? Yeah, shove off with your “It’s just how I personally feel about it” nonsense- your fear wasn’t personally born. I heard about smile lines when I was a teenager and thought “sick, people will know I smiled a lot”. And I’m right, goddammit! What’s cooler than a self-made tattoo, a permanent story etched upon your face that tells a stranger “This is someone who’s lived a happy life”? 

I love that my body will naturally display years of wisdom, love, pain, and laughter. I pity those who disagree. Plus, our anxieties around it? They’re from the women before us, who got the rhetoric shoved down their throats in Persuasive Advertising’s strongest era. (I did specifically say women. Think of your mom. Think of your dad. Think of your dad’s number and send it to the Nexus e-mail. Compare how they talk about wrinkles.) 

My mother is not what many would class as “young”, but even when we were both much younger, she talked about wrinkles. She worried they were coming through, worried they showed too much in photos, worried their eventual existence would change everything she saw in that mirror. It never made sense to me though. They had to come eventually. And it wouldn’t change the amazing person my mother was, in looks and character. They did come, but like getting a new hair colour or dress, she still looked like herself. Still my mother, and still just as beautiful. 

And when someone said I looked like my mother the other day and I was ecstatic. 

So why should anyone fear getting wrinkles? Why can’t ageing bodies be stylish? The best part of living is experiencing the utter chaos of this unique universe we’re in. Why shouldn’t we want our bodies to reflect that? Oh god, this is sounding very “I’m not like other girls”. Apologies. I know this isn’t an unpopular opinion; others share my sentiment, and I don’t think I’m better than you for thinking this way.