I read an article yesterday about Jennifer Lopez, Jennifer Aniston and Gwyneth Paltrow — women who are stunning, powerful, and who happen to be surrounded by every tool modern beauty culture can offer. But the article warned that even they cannot escape “tired eyes.”

Tired eyes. As if that’s some kind of moral failure. As if the evidence of a life fully lived is something to be corrected. As if the softness that gathers around a woman’s gaze is a problem to be solved rather than a story being told.

We don’t write think‑pieces about the tired eyes of George Clooney. We don’t wring our hands over Brad Pitt’s crow’s feet. Instead, we call them “distinguished,” “seasoned,” “better with age.”

The double standard is as stunning as those women.

Act Your Age

The article said:
“Stars like Jennifer Lopez
in their 50s and beyond
still have the unlined complexions
of 20-and 30-somethings
thanks to injectables, lasers,
and the best skincare products
money can buy.
But there is one area
of the face that is very tricky
to de-age,
even if the rest of your visage
is perfectly smooth.”

It’s your tired eyes,
by the way.
Terribly inconvenient,
of course—
how dare the body refuse,
how dare the body keep
a few secrets
no matter
how much we bargain
with time.
Social standards call it
tragic.

But
I have discovered
it’s okay
to be fifty-five
and look fifty-five.
I don’t need ten-steps
to reversing
the age of my pores
when I can two-step
in the kitchen
after supper
with my wife.

Three simple chair exercises
to reduce stubborn
middle age belly fat
sounds easy
enough
but what for—
when she keeps
the butterflies awake
in that belly.

Why worry
about your hair
turning silver
when you are still here
to collect
golden moments
golden sunsets
and those golden hours.

Why buy serums
and lotions
and retinol
when you can buy art
and fresh flowers
and ice cream
for dinner.

How is it even possible
to believe
that growing older
means growing still
if you never pass
a park swing
without taking a seat.

I mean
act your age, girl.
Don’t try
to be young—
live young.
Be willing to trade
the promise of anti-aging
for the thrill
of still becoming
because
the secret is
you really get prettier
as you get older
and
they don’t want women
to know that.

Living,
really living,
leaves its mark,
but nothing,
and I mean nothing,
makes a woman
more beautiful
than her own belief
that she is beautiful.