Deeper Than Skin

Day Four of my pledge. I might be at spill-my-guts part of the process, or I could just be flailing for a topic. In either case, I'm about to divulge a secret.

Hush, my darling child. This doesn't count as clickbait because Auntie is sneakily manipulating you into not clicking away.

Over the last few days, a couple of people have very kindly complimented my complexion. I'm going to tell you a story about age and wisdom and only incidentally, beauty. The beauty isn't mine so I can use that word without vanity.

Once upon a time, I read an interview with Elizabeth Taylor. (The aforementioned and unarguable beauty.) In it, she said that she only uses inexpensive hand lotion on her face. She didn't buy into the hoopla surrounding fancy creams and whatnot.

If anyone could speak to the care and feeding of loveliness, it was Ms. Taylor. You'd think I'd have believed her.

But then I'd be writing about something else.

Ha! I thought at the time. She's taking the piss at best or at worst, being disingenuous. Back then, conventional wisdom required make-up remover, a creamy liquid wash, then tonic, then creme for the eyes which was different from the lotion on the rest of the face and a distinctive chant based on the phase of the moon.

I may not be kidding about that last bit.

Fast forward thirty+ years.

Here is the secret I promised you: In my dotage, I wash makeup off with soap and water. If I use moisturizer at all, it's because I put too much on my hands and rubbed it on my face. Oh, I still have a few pots and jars of the real stuff, but I lack the motivation to bother with it.

And I still get the occasional compliment.

There's a lesson in there.

When I look in the mirror, I see Mary Wickes, and not in her younger days either. It's not about skin or hair, it's just a vibe. But when I was young and attractive and bothered with all the fuss-ery, I still thought I looked like a young Mary Wickes. The creams and chanting didn't make a difference then and they don't make a difference now.

What does make a difference is time.

I may see wattles and bags, but I also see contentment. I'm a happier person than I was. That matters.

Thus I finally understand what Ms. Taylor was talking about. Posh cremes won't make me pretty, any more than being pretty made me happy. I'd rather be happy.