Lee Suckling: Why you don’t have to love your wrinkles

Lee Suckling rethinks his view of wrinkles as he nears the age of 40. Photo / Getty Images

OPINION:

A couple of weeks back, I received a goodie bag full of beauty products. Upon careful inspection of the bottles, creams, and tinctures amongst this loot, I noticed a common theme. They all outright claimed to be useful for anti-ageing.

Now, I am a huge fan of skincare and preventative measures to age gracefully (whatever that means), and even wrote a column once swearing off Botox.

But as the birthdays roll on and age 40 has (somehow) come into view, I’ve become hyper aware of how concerned about lines and wrinkles I have become.

Sometimes I can be found in the bathroom making facial expressions in the mirror to see the status of my lines. It’s a form of self-masochism, really, because I’m looking for confirmation bias that I’m getting older. I’m seeking out new signs of ageing that I’ve never noticed before.

Naturally, because I’m in the bathroom already, I’ll start throwing on these lotions and potions I’ve collected with the optimism that “maybe this one will work!”. Perhaps, where all other products have done little to nothing, this little sample from a goodie bag is going to change my life and actually provide its claimed anti-ageing benefits?

A couple of weeks pass by, my face doesn’t change, and I give up on that product and try another one. While some products I actually have experienced success with and kept buying – as my Mecca and Sephora receipts dutifully reveal – ageing has started to feel like a losing battle.

Then I look around me at the other image-conscious people in my life and notice how many people’s foreheads don’t move. I watch YouTube videos of my favourite pop stars and see that their faces never bunch up when they’re singing; they remain glassy and smooth. I turn on my TV every night and see actors with decent levels of emotional expression but somehow, no wrinkles or anything more than near-invisible fine lines.

All of this makes me begin to wonder. Do I have to go back on my word, give in to the pressure of beauty standards, and go to a cosmetologist’s office for a consult about “a refresh”?

I should point out that as a man, there’s the cliché that I’m supposed to look better with age. While women have been pushed into the anti-ageing trap for decades I’m supposed to be ageing confidently, like a fine wine or George Clooney. But that’s not how I feel. Anti-ageing is no longer gendered and men’s self-confidence (or rather, a lack thereof) is getting to us.

I’m sure I’m not the only 37-year-old male out there feeling like this.

So why have I finally decided that wrinkles are ugly, after trying ever-so-hard to jump on the “pro-ageing” bandwagon? Is it symbolic – do I fear I have finally lost my youth? – or purely aesthetic? Do I dislike the way the signs of age look on me, or am I struggling to comprehend the realities of not being youthful anymore?

These days it's more common than not for people of all ages to get Botox. Photo / 123rf

These are questions without answers. Questions women have been asking themselves since the beginning of time, while men have avoided them.

As I said, I am a fan of ageing naturally but doing your best to slow down what’s coming. After spending three years looking at my own face in Zoom meetings, though, I’m concerned expensive skincare and a good diet isn’t going to cut it much longer.

In the mid-2000s a Sydney Morning Herald columnist opined, “our bodies — like our houses and land — have become personal capital, to be invested in, worked and improved. It’s all about managing your assets and having Botox injections in your 20s and 30s becomes a kind of cosmetic superannuation, to protect you from the less bountiful experience of old age. Surely something every good citizen should consider and, if they can afford, take out”.

This was back when Botox was just emerging in popularity too – now, it’s prolific and even expected. Have we now been divided into two groups, those who chose to invest in that superannuation scheme, and those who didn’t care enough?

Despite wanting to claim that wrinkles aren’t ugly, and that our dislike for them is just a societal construct, that kind of self-belief is hard to keep up year after year. In fact, what I’m noticing now is how exhausted I am trying to stay in one box – either anti-ageing or pro-ageing – because it entirely depends on who I see around me on any given day.

Some days I feel great about my appearance. As if the time, effort, and money I throw at the beauty industry is working. Others, like when I chuck out a half-full $150 bottle of serum that does nothing – I feel helpless.

I can also appreciate my arrogance in thinking I am “better than Botox”. As if there’s moral virtue in abstinence where so many others have “given in”. Then, of course, there’s the financial issue. Can I really afford to spend hundreds of dollars every other month to stop ageing in its tracks, only for my face to fall apart as soon as I stop the injectables? In this economy?

The dilemma is never-ending. And exhausting. I’m tired. I don’t want to look younger and I’m theoretically happy being in my late thirties. Yet I can’t escape the way I feel about perceived facial imperfections.

Italian actress Anna Magnani once said to a photographer, “please don’t retouch my wrinkles, it took me so long to earn them.” I wish I had her chutzpah. I’m not going back for Botox yet, but maybe I actually need a round of it. Something to remind myself that the smooth face I’ve started to covet won’t make me happy after all.