Beauty. Power. And ageing.
Originally published by GOOD Magazine
Beauty is not something I gave much thought to because I had it. Specifically, youthful beauty. It was a kind of advantage that was invisible to me as I crossed streets, entered parties or showed up on Instagram.
One day, time started to change my beauty… without my consent.
It’s one thing to choose to quit and leave something, it’s another experience to have something quit on you. Unexpectedly. Before you’re ready.
Like the first leaves yellowing in autumn, I began to clock the first moments of youthful beauty quitting on me. I realised what was happening and what was coming.
It’s not that I have gathered so many years, but I’ve noticed how even these first ‘yellow leaves’ have impacted my sense of beauty, worth, position and safety among people.
I like to think of myself as someone who has taken the time to learn to really love herself and design a life beyond society’s expectations. I’ve invested in this through Internal Family Systems therapy, retreats, books and initiations with plant medicine in Africa.
Thus far ageing has served up three questions. They’ve come with a sting but they have also begun to set me free.
MY SILVER HAIR ASKS: Where does your power, loveability and safety come from, really?
When silver strands began threading through my hair and creases stopped fading from my face, I realised how much youthful beauty had been quietly supporting my sense of approval and safety.
At 34, I first noticed it in Amsterdam whilst I was crossing the street as autumnally dressed cyclists glided past and pedestrians beelined for the other side.
Something felt different. A contraction in my chest and a slight inner freeze – a signal in my body was letting me know something was off.
It was nothing obvious, no bikes were veering into me, I wasn’t unsafe but then it landed.
The level of attention I was getting had shifted – just a little. Maybe out of every ten men who once looked twice, now only nine did. It was negligible. And yet some part of me took note: I was less noticeable.
At that moment, I understood this was the beginning.
The words of my older sister echoed in that moment, “I feel invisible”.
I didn’t realise how much the attention fed me. But what exactly was it feeding me? Of course, consciously, it’s not a big deal, what does the passing attention of strangers really count for anyway?
But turning toward this part of me, I could feel it differently. On a deeper level, beauty had offered a kind of social favour. Subconsciously, a part of me knew that If I needed help – especially from a man – I’d be received kindly. Liked. Assisted.
Now this part had to ask, f I don’t have so much of the youthful beauty currency, would I still be helped? Would I still be accepted? Would I still be protected? Would I still be valued?
I stepped up to the sidewalk.
A deeper question emerged: ‘f youthful beauty no longer props up my safety and acceptance, where do those things come from now? Where does my power live?
Something began to open in me.
A hat tip toward ageing – it threw into question my subconscious survival beliefs that kept me trapped in smallness and performance.
Not comfortably, and not with my enthusiastic consent, but ageing was freeing me.
2. MY CREASING FACE ASKS: Where does my beauty care come from: choice, or pressure?
The next checkpoint on this exploration found me in Bali, where I was stationed for a month-long detox after a tropical infection. My heart and mind needed some TLC, too.
Moving through the South East Asian airports, I was stunned by how many doll-faced (AI?) ads I saw for skin clinics offering lunchtime Botox sessions. “Just 15 minutes and you’re done!”
Arriving at my favourite treetop Ubud cafe with my friend Elisa, I suddenly became aware of all the smiling dewy-faced and mostly-bare women around. My mind circled “Are they all doing Botox too?”
We settled onto a bed-sized loungey couch, legs folded in. It was such a comfy spot and yet, what was this contraction in my belly? A part within had anxiety bells ringing: if I don’t do Botox, other women will, and then I’ll be left in the dust. I’ll look even older among my peers!”
Balancing my maca-lions-mane-cacao on my knees, which were now folded into my chest, I told Elisa, “I’ve only been travelling a few days in Bali and already I’ve come across 14 botox clinics offering lunchtime appointments… I’ve never considered it, but maybe I should?”
One part of me was genuinely up for the initiation of ageing as a step into power. Another was still afraid of losing influence, position and worth.
It felt especially unsettling because I wasn’t in control of it. It was happening.
Like a medicine taken slowly. Drop by drop.
With this, I felt a great deal of compassion – for myself, and for other women navigating the same anxiety and preferring to slow time.
Botox. Fillers. Injectables. Red light. Laser. Peels. Surgery…
There is nothing wrong with looking after yourself. Self care is wonderful! What I’m asking of myself, and you, is: what place is this coming from?
If it’s driven by an inner alarm, I GET IT. I have a lot of tenderness for that part of myself that too feels pressured.
When I return to centre I want my life and choices to be driven by self-love, not self-guarding.
After saying goodbye to Elisa and winding my way home on my scooter, I took a moment with myself and those inner contractions. I put a warm, steady hand on my heart and turned towards those white-knuckle beliefs… What’s happening? What do you need? Can you feel that I’m here with you?
3. MY CHANGING BODY ASKS: What is beauty, really?
Days passed in rainy-season in Bali – an island that knows something about beauty.
Look left, right, up and down and you see it: hand-carved details in the wooden ceiling, fallen frangipanis spiralling in the pool, stone temples laid with hand-made incense and fresh flowers, giant tropical trees with fat rained-on leaves. The blooming smell…
Daybyday, I started to relax more. My stress softened, inside and out.
My question shifted from, ‘should I do Botox?’ to something quieter:
‘What is beauty?’
Midway through my detox, I began to sense something about it.
Even when a Balinese stone carving was old or broken, or a wooden sofa was worn and weathered, there was so much intention and care inside it. It was still beautiful. An artwork, even.
The very same newly made objects, sold and bought at Living World Mall Denpasar, without the intention and care, looked emptier. Decorative, but not alive. Not artworks.
It was as if beauty had less to do with physicality and more to do with presence.
Watching the linen-draped, tropical-sheened bodies around me, it became clear this was true of us, too. The right things can be done – contour make up, the latest in-season clothes, laser body sculpting. It can sort of guarantee something close to symmetry, but it can’t guarantee the frequency of beauty.
The older women I admire came to mind. Komala. Chantelle. Elica. Tara. Kat.
Their beauty wasn’t something they applied. It radiated. A warmth. A pulse. A quiet sun shining from inside. You can’t buy that and you can’t inject that.
In breath.
Out breath.
Year by year, ageing will keep asking me these questions… I keep paying attention as I let myself be sculpted by life.
If you can feel yourself in my story too, here are some reflective questions:
When you bring your attention to your appearance, what happens inside you?
Is there a softening or a contraction? A lightness or a heaviness? A slowness or an urgency? A flow or a wall?
When you look in the mirror and have critical perceptions of yourself, where is the voice coming from inside?
Does it feel mind-based, or does it live somewhere in your body – the chest, the belly, the womb, the throat?
What is the quality of the critical voice?
Is it loud or quiet? Focused or diffuse?
Does it sound like you – or like someone else?
Does it feel young or old? Familiar?
Where might you have heard it before?
Rather than arguing with this voice or believing it outright, what would it be like to simply notice it – to begin a relationship with it?
Who are the women in your life who you admire and who feel beautiful to you?
What are their qualities?
What makes them beautiful?
What do you appreciate about them?
Now consider the women you admire most.
Imagine yourself at 80.
What do you want your 80 year old self to feel about herself, beauty and worth?
Imagine humans never developed visual media like TikTok, fashion magazines and beauty ads.Without their influence, what do you think you’d find beautiful in a woman?
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