Is Your Mirror Lying to You?

I’ve never been a mirror person. I don’t wear makeup, and up until recently, my hairstyle was “long”. My regimen was brush-and-go. I didn’t need to look in the mirror for that. For all I know, I’ve been walking around with mustard on my face for years. I have no beauty routine unless you call soaking in a tub while reading a beauty routine.

Because of my lack of self-interest, I rarely glanced at my reflection in the mirror. When I needed to put in a contact lens, for instance, I’d have a focused look in the mirror. I’d look only at my eye. I was never the type to stop and look at my reflection in a shop window, and I’ve always hated having my picture taken. As far as I knew, I looked the same as I always did.

It’s no wonder that when I finally got a good look, I was mortified, shocked by who was staring back at me. It was my mother or my grandmother; I wasn’t sure which. Both at once? Whoever it was, it wasn’t me. My brain still has a mental image of me from when I was 30! Was this some sort of trick mirror that added 30 years to your appearance? It had to be a prank.

Have you ever gone to a high school reunion or back to the old neighborhood after decades of being away? You see someone you knew well back then. Everyone is saying things like, “She hasn’t changed a bit since high school, has she?” You look on in shock. Wondering if some substance leaked into the water that caused citywide blindness or delusions. But, in reality, to them, she hasn’t changed. They watched her grow old in bits and pieces, day by day, so she in fact looks the same to them.

Well, that’s me. I’m the reunion guest who swooped in after decades of being away, only to look on in shock as I observe my present state of being.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not superficial. Other people my age, who I’ve seen year in and year out, look great. I’m just not used to seeing myself outside of the mental image I had held for so long. It’s still shocking. Every single time I look in the mirror my heart skips a beat and I have a moment of confusion.

My advice?

1. Look in the mirror. Do it often. Don’t do it with a critical eye, simply look. I promise the subtle changes that happen day by day will be unnoticeable.
2. If you’re like me and haven’t visited your reflection in decades, take a shot of your favorite libation before taking a good, hard look. Who you see staring back at you might be a surprise. Don’t look away, though. You need to make the image of the older you the placeholder for the idea of “you” in your brain.
3. Remember that if we’re lucky, we will all age, and the process is similar for everyone. And it’s better than the alternative!
4. Remind yourself that looking like your mom isn’t such a bad thing; she was pretty hot in her day!
5. Don’t see a plastic surgeon. Not right away, anyway. I did, to get some loose skin removed. It was a horrifying experience:

I sat in the exam room in a paper gown until the surgeon walked in with her entourage. I’m not exaggerating. She had her scribe, a nurse, and 2 surgery residents with her. After they all crowded into the tiny room, she told me to stand up and take the gown off. Oh, and not just stand up, but stand up on the step for the exam table. They wanted me elevated so I could be seen by those crowded in the back of the exam room.

Say what?

In shock, I dropped the paper gown. It wasn’t like I had much choice. Five faces were looking up at me as if I was America’s top Model. Boy, were they about to get a surprise! The scribe even had his pen poised, ready to write.

For the next 10 minutes, the surgeon explained to her students everything wrong with my body and what needed fixing. This was a teaching hospital, after all. The surgical residents needed to know exactly what was socially unacceptable with body. I needed a mastopexy to get rid of excess skin on my breasts and put them back where they belong (There go my built-in knee pads). I needed a tummy tuck (the belly button tattoo would have to go). My side boobs needed to be addressed, as well. I’m still not sure what the plan was for that. The saggy skin under my chin needed lifting.

All this humiliation, and they had yet to tell me to turn around.

Right about the time I thought the worst was over and I’d be allowed to crawl under the exam table and disappear for a while, the surgeon looked me dead in the eye. “You have fat deposits on your mons pubis. We’re going to have to do a wedge resection to get some of that out. It would look ridiculous to have a flat stomach and a fatty mons pubis.”

My mouth dropped open. Did I hear that correctly? Did she just  fat shame my pussy? I have a fat pussy? I threw on my clothes, not caring if they were inside out or backward, and left.

I still have had no surgery for the loose skin. Next time–if there is a next time–I’m taking a Valium before going in. And a shot of rum.