Last week at a mum and kids get-together I was delivered the news that a handful of my friends had a group booking for some anti-wrinkle injections.
My first reaction was; can I come? I was intrigued and keen to know more. I was also sick of people greeting me with mock concern by saying, “you look tired”. Yeah, thanks.
Until I was faced with a whole group of friends heading to the cosmetic clinic, I had thought about injectables in a ‘maybe one day’ way. After all, they are expensive and I don’t much like sharp and pointy objects.
The revelation that it is now officially something all my friends are doing was a shock. I felt officially old and I went home to examine my face in a new and critical light.
While I have many, many things to complain about regarding my body, I have always been quite happy with my face. My nose is on the big side but I never really cared.
But as I smile at myself in the mirror now, I notice that my friendly grin has given me crow’s feet. I should have gone more ‘Posh Spice glum’ at least a decade ago. I can see how banishing a few wrinkles would make a significant difference.
Aside from curiosity and the desire to join in, my most prominent feeling was one of dread.
Dread of my impending downward spiral to old age and of being the obvious outsider who chose not to go there. I will forever be the tired and old looking mummy at our meet-ups.
Watch when Jordan on Scrubs gets Botox. Post continues below.
I also feel sad that as women today this choice even exists. We can choose to look ‘good for our age’ by using a toxin to dull our facial muscles or we can remain ‘au naturel’ and look our age, which for women is not seen as a good choice. Forty is the new 30, which is the new 21.
While our partners are allowed to embrace their ‘dad bods’ and go silver fox like George Clooney, we are supposed to look to 22-year old Victoria Secrets models for inspiration.