I entered the pandemic as someone in their early 20's. I will soon identify as "someone in their late 20's." Catastrophic, I know.
In light of these developments, I've recently added retinol to my skincare routine (which I talked about in a recent show we are re-airing this weekend, "Living in Skin.") Dermatologists recommend starting on a retinoid in your 20's. It's supposed to help with aging, as if it's a problem that can and should be avoided.
Aging is something that I used to joke about a lot. I used to say that I could not wait to be an old person because it sounded so much fun to be old. At the time, I imagined it was being happily retired near some body of water and playing shuffleboard or something with a drink in my hand.
Lately, I've been a little afraid to grow older. Will I still be in good health? Is the world going to be a safe place for me? But an even more distressing question for me is will the person I become be happy with the person that I am now?
Just by looking, it's hard to tell how much I've aged. I look pretty much the same as I did in high school. Some might call it a blessing, I call it good genetics. I don't mean to lament the privileges of having nice skin, but it makes me wonder how much I've changed when the outside looks the same. In however many times my skin has renewed itself on a cellular level, how have I fundamentally changed as a person?
We mark milestones with our skin. We have our supple baby skin holding back the fatness of our cheeks. Acne starts to dot our faces. Crows' feet slowly creeping at the edge of our faces. Maybe we get a tattoo to help us remember or make us feel like ourselves.
As much as I try to avoid it by slathering on serums and sunscreen, I want to welcome the first wrinkle I get. I think by then, the wrinkle will come with a better sense of self.
My receding hairline, however, is a different story.
—Angelo