I have tried to love my laugh lines, and I have failed. I realize that they reflect my long joy-filled life. I have stopped standing in front of my mirror imagining a new face by strategically placing my fingers at the edges of my eyebrows and pushing up. It’s hopeless.
Yes, I have made fun of public figures whose faces don’t move when they speak. Still, I regret all those days on the beach before sunscreen.
In a recent article called “The Case for Laugh Lines” (N.Y.Times 5/29/11) Dominique Browning talks about age-deniers and how common various procedures to hide wrinkles have become. She claims that even thirty-year-olds are jumping on the band wagon. She describes speeches she has attended where the presenters eyebrows didn’t raise or their foreheads didn’t wrinkle when they “frown”. She asks (herself) about others, “Who are you?” because she doesn’t recognize some of her acquaintances with their expression-less faces.
I’ve come to terms with my wrinkles. But I still don’t like them.