Bangs Vs. Botox

Thank goodness for Taylor Swift.
She has made the bang cool again.
And I don’t mean bang for your buck. Or big bang theory.
But that fringe of hair that covers the forehead.
A fashion feature which I, myself, have been a fan of ever since I figured out how to smooth out my curly locks enough to become a bang.
I have had baby bangs, (a la Mia Farrow), curtain bangs, side swept bangs, feathered bangs, and good old fashioned straight-on bangs with a longer fringe at the sides.
And they have come in handy.
Especially now that the furrow between my eyebrows is becoming a chasm.
A side effect of growing older, I suppose.
Perhaps because of all the squinting I do because my eyesight is failing.
Perhaps because of all the worrying I do about things.
Whatever the reason, there they are.
With men they are a mantle of war, a showcase of experience.
With women they are a bit of a distraction, I feel.
And I am fully aware of them and the fact that they are getting bigger and deeper.
And so, I welcome my bangs.
Most days they cover my forehead to my eyebrows considerably enough to make me look youthful.
Some days when I am having a bad bang day or there is wind or rain or another meteorological phenomenon, my furrows are exposed for all the world to see.
I know these days I could opt for an injection of botox and hope that would smooth things over.
I once had a hairdresser (male) who was such a fan of botox that I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
His face was frozen.
A bit of overkill, methinks.
And I probably could investigate it as it may also help with migraines that I occasionally have, depending on the weather.
But the cost would be prohibitive. I am personally not prepared to spend hundreds if not thousands of dollars to smooth out some lines that were honest in the making.
There was a scene in the new reboot of Sex In The City where the main character is considering a facelift.
With money no object, she still thought against it, instead opting for embracing the memories that each wrinkle embodied.
To look 15 years younger, that would mean essentially wiping the slate clean of all those experiences and memories and emotions that took 15 years to gain.
A thought to ponder.
And as I look at my face with my reading glasses or my 10x magnifying mirror, I tend to be a bit horrified at all the lines that are coming in fast and furious.
Despite daily collagen supplements (in my coffee), full on sun screen moisturizer every day, nightly cleansing rituals and moisturizing routines that would keep the Sahara doused, there they still are. Coming for me. Every day.
I can only think that they may look much worse if I didn’t do all these things.
That is a small comfort, for sure.
But one that I will take.
I am interested to see how this will play out.
How my life experiences and such will reflect themselves on my face in the coming years.
Why don’t our arms get as wrinkled? Or our legs? Or our feet?
No, it is just our face.
The written proof of our existence. Our experiences.
Our proof of life.
Our proof that we had a life.
They say wrinkles are where the smiles have been.
And tears too, I might add.
But that is okay.
I am at peace with that.
And so, for now, I will choose bangs over botox, thank you very much.

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