Lately, I've mostly been worried about getting older. Shoving all well-meaning comments from older women about how they wish they could be my age again aside, it really freaks me out. I could write about 5 million entries about the psychological effects of facing my own mortality, but in this blog I'd like to tackle the good, old-fashioned shallow things like wrinkles and gravity.
I am completely aware of the edge that my youth gives me. I'm also completely aware of how to use my gender to get things, not only socially, but also in the business world. As I reach middle age, being a woman is going to become a hinderence instead of an asset in my professional career. No longer will I be able to get through difficult situations by acting cute. I'm going to be an old lady in the eyes of male colleagues. I'm going to be expendable. Let's face it: Women who've been at a job for a long time aren't looked at as veterans like men are. Shit.
Not to mention the fact that I'll have to compete for men with women half my age. How is it fair that men continue to have their choice of women as our prospects twindle to nonexistent as we age? But there isn't anything I can do about it. I'm aging right now, and whether I like it or not, it's going to dictate how other people percieve me. Even if I choose to be "young at heart," I'll still be religated to the role of wacky aunt or cougar or Cat Lady (the plastic surgery woman, not someone who likes cats). Shit.
So here I am. Now what?
Friday, April 23, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
I told you I work better at night.
So it's six minutes until 2 a.m., and I'm really, truly exhausted.
I know, usually I'm a total insomniac, but I'm really exhausted from a long day of writing, exercising, and reality TV watching. I also started a new blog recently. It's not ready for public viewing yet. It's my profession blog, as opposed to this personal one in which you must endure my sleep-deprived ramblings.
Anyway, I just thought I'd share with you all the completely physical, completely existential crisis I've been amidst lately. (I am the only person I know who is able to have a crisis that is both physical and existential at the same time.) It started a few months ago now, but really it started a quarter of a century ago when I was born. It started the first time someone cooed, "Oooo, look at that pretty little girl," or commented how big my eyes were or whatever.
You see, I've always obsessed about the way I look. I know I'm a smart person and an independent woman and I'm not supposed to say that or admit that. I should be spending this time I spend obsessing reading a book or volunteering or something, but I don't and I'd be lying if I said I planned to anytime soon.
I clearly remember being five and having a debate with myself in front of my closet about what outfit I should wear to school. There was a boy in my class I had a crush on, and I distinctly remember my five-year-old self looking at a particular dress is my closet and wondering, "Hmm, if I wear that, will I look sexy?"
Yeah, I had that word, "sexy," in my vocabulary at five. I don't know how it got there, probably TV, but that's beside the point.
The point is, that ever since I was at least five, I've been worried to some extent about my physical appearance. I know everyone does this to some extent. Even the really anti-establishment types dress a certain way due to concern about appearance. I have several male friends who think they eschew superficiality by dressing only in clothing that doesn't have any logos on it. I'm sorry, but do you have any idea how difficult it is in this country in this day in age to track down clothes with no visible label? Even if you found such a garment, the thing would probably have some kind of discernible brand marking. And I'm not just talking about people who "know designers." Any idiot can recognize a shirt from Hot Topic if he needed to.
So I know I'm not the only one who worries about appearance, but I've recently become so utterly obsessed, and at the same time, so utterly tired from worrying all the time. I mean, can't one hour go by when I don't have to worry if I have food in my teeth or what my profile looks like or not stare into my reflection in a window as I walk past (while pretending I'm not looking)?
That's the question. The epicenter of my crisis. Tomorrow I will likely post part II of this blog topic. But only if I'm not too busy buying whitening strips.
I know, usually I'm a total insomniac, but I'm really exhausted from a long day of writing, exercising, and reality TV watching. I also started a new blog recently. It's not ready for public viewing yet. It's my profession blog, as opposed to this personal one in which you must endure my sleep-deprived ramblings.
Anyway, I just thought I'd share with you all the completely physical, completely existential crisis I've been amidst lately. (I am the only person I know who is able to have a crisis that is both physical and existential at the same time.) It started a few months ago now, but really it started a quarter of a century ago when I was born. It started the first time someone cooed, "Oooo, look at that pretty little girl," or commented how big my eyes were or whatever.
You see, I've always obsessed about the way I look. I know I'm a smart person and an independent woman and I'm not supposed to say that or admit that. I should be spending this time I spend obsessing reading a book or volunteering or something, but I don't and I'd be lying if I said I planned to anytime soon.
I clearly remember being five and having a debate with myself in front of my closet about what outfit I should wear to school. There was a boy in my class I had a crush on, and I distinctly remember my five-year-old self looking at a particular dress is my closet and wondering, "Hmm, if I wear that, will I look sexy?"
Yeah, I had that word, "sexy," in my vocabulary at five. I don't know how it got there, probably TV, but that's beside the point.
The point is, that ever since I was at least five, I've been worried to some extent about my physical appearance. I know everyone does this to some extent. Even the really anti-establishment types dress a certain way due to concern about appearance. I have several male friends who think they eschew superficiality by dressing only in clothing that doesn't have any logos on it. I'm sorry, but do you have any idea how difficult it is in this country in this day in age to track down clothes with no visible label? Even if you found such a garment, the thing would probably have some kind of discernible brand marking. And I'm not just talking about people who "know designers." Any idiot can recognize a shirt from Hot Topic if he needed to.
So I know I'm not the only one who worries about appearance, but I've recently become so utterly obsessed, and at the same time, so utterly tired from worrying all the time. I mean, can't one hour go by when I don't have to worry if I have food in my teeth or what my profile looks like or not stare into my reflection in a window as I walk past (while pretending I'm not looking)?
That's the question. The epicenter of my crisis. Tomorrow I will likely post part II of this blog topic. But only if I'm not too busy buying whitening strips.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)