The Story: the lines on my face
In 2007, when Brandi Carlile (a fellow Gemini who is 2 years older than me) released the song “The Story” I was 24 years old. Just 2 years out of college, I was partying like a fool, going to work hungover and generally making the poor choices that many folks do at that age. I liked the song well enough, but it had a tinge of heartache and sadness that I wasn’t mature enough to fully hold. I was too busy trying to shake my ass while drinking Miller Lite so men (boys, really) would think I was cute. I couldn’t even imagine having lines on my face.
The lyrics include:
All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
In March 2024 I saw Brandi perform at the Anthem in DC. To hear “The Story” live, through her incredible voice, felt like a coming home of sorts. The song hit me in a very different way and got me thinking about the stories we tell and how our face is an expression of our lives.
Tomorrow is my 41st birthday and as a woman with many lines across my face, it feels like there is constant pressure to erase them. I’m told by media, marketing and society in general that these lines and wrinkles are bad, that aging (at least for a woman) isn’t attractive or good. That youthfulness as it has been for centuries, is prized and makes women worthy / valid. As we age, our value goes down because we are no longer pretty. So to increase our value we must minimize our age. We must remove the lines and wrinkles to make sure no one knows that we are (gasp!) getting older.
Botox / fillers / injections, etc seem as easy to come by now as a pedicure. Friends my age are getting these augmentations, yes, but even women as young as 30 are “getting a little work done” because it’s “preventative.” Who is saying Botox is preventative? Oh, that’s right…the pharma companies that make these products. And the insta influencers who have no medical training. “Slow the aging process” is often the call that goes out to women as soon as they leave college. And yet, I find it’s getting harder to tell a woman’s age. 50+ year old women look younger because of the Botox, yet 25 year old women look older because of the same procedure. This has many women walking around with the same frozen face expression. Weird, right?
Looking younger is praised because dominant Western culture doesn’t value the Crone, we only value the Maiden. More on these archetypes as described by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes can be found in the amazing book, “Women Who Run With the Wolves.” We praise youth for beauty rather than exalting the wisdom that comes with age. This has me throwing up my hands and furrowing my brow (causing my facial muscles to move in yet another way to create additional wrinkles) in a classic “WTF!” expression.
Botox works because it paralyzes the muscles of the face, although this is temporary and follow-up appointments are necessary. Paralyzing muscles is detaching our ability to express ourselves fully. This cuts us off from sharing our stories. I wouldn’t temporarily paralyze my bicep or hamstring because I need those muscles for hugging and hiking, two of my favorite activities. We’re told to build and strengthen some muscles: get a firm + tight butt or 6 pack abs for example, yet other muscles, like those in the face we’re supposed to weaken so we don’t look older. How odd this is, how confusing. To be so particular about what muscles to strengthen or weaken for the sake of appearing younger? <<cue me throwing up my hands again with additional wrinkle inducing wide-eyed expression>>
I have a very expressive face…I have since I was a kid. My eyebrows, nose and mouth seem to each have their own mind. To numb these expressions would severely impact how I interact with the world. Without an expressive face, would my story change? And without the lines on my face, would the story I share have the same impact? I love that I have a face that has lived life, that has stories to tell.
So here, on the eve of my 41st birthday, it’s me owning the lines on my face for they tell the story of who I am: a human that laughs a lot, tells tales of adventures with humor and big gestures. I enjoy sunshine, wind and nature. These lines are my stories and without them, wouldn’t I just look like everyone else?
My fear is that in the future, when women’s faces are frozen, how will we know if they are happy or sad? If everyone looks surprised all the damn time, how will we know when someone is actually nervous, curious or just trying to hold in a fart? Will communication change because we aren’t able to make the facial expressions to match our emotions? Will women want to laugh at stories but can’t because 20+ years of “preventative” botox has paralyzed their muscles?
I will only get older…as will you my friend. But in 2034 or 2064, when women are frozen with impossibly smooth foreheads, don’t ask them for their stories…because they won’t be able to tell them to you. Come to me, I’ll tell you the stories of where I’ve been and how I got to where I am. I want to hear your story, sister…I want the real story, not the smoothed out made-for-TV version. Not the version that has you looking like everyone else that followed a trendy idea for a few years. I want the real, full story of you. Be authentic and share your story…because that’s what makes you so damn beautiful.
I hope we learn to honor to wisdom of the Crone. To witness her journey and pay homage to the wisdom she shares. That we value women of many ages and bodies and abilities. I hope we can hold space for the variety of stories that women share, through their words, actions and lines on their faces. This is my birthday wish, my wish every day.