Not too long ago, i attended an event kickoff party hosted by a prominent designer. Prior to the party, i’d only seen him in magazine advertisements. never in person. When i first entered the gathering with a friend -- who was part of the event planning -- he split to do some obligatory schmoozing. i went to the bar. One drink and twenty minutes later, i was introduced to the designer/host. Were his name excluded from the introduction, i doubt i would have known it was he. Why? Because, as i later deduced in conjunction with gossiping confirmations, he’d had a facelift. Whether he’d had his eyes done was left
at questionable status. So was his age. But whatever in fact is his actual age, its proximity is not far from mine. We are both hovering near fifty.
Perhaps it was boredom waiting for my friend to complete his PR schmoozing. Perhaps it was my second drink that caused it. But while i waited, i began to scrutinize the social gathering -- cutting through the crowd for further signs of cosmetic surgery. Suffice it to say, a good amount of the women had pulled a decade or two off their age. and as for the men, there were three or four -- all of whom i know to be gay, and all to be around my age -- who’d (obviously) had “work done.” So, while killing time, i began to wonder what had driven the not-very-old gaggle of gays to submit to surgery. and because we are all close in age, i was also forced to face my own facts.
Six years ago, when i began writing this column, my purpose was “to be the face of middle-aged gay.” So, here’s the part where i want to lie and tell you i think the whole plastic surgery thing is gross. i want to take the position that i feel sorry for them. That doing “things” to their faces is sad and pathetic. That trying to stay afloat in the fountain of youth inevitably leads to sinking feelings. But -- i can’t. Why? Because, like many of the aging gay men around me, i’m no different. i, too, feel the pressures of maintaining a youthful appearance. and, although i dislike the cutting effects of plastic surgery, i also worry about being deemed obsolete by our youth-obsessed community. a-n-d so...if i’m going to put my “best” face forward, then here’s the truth: The week before my forty-fifth birthday, in my own little way, i too gave in. i had Botox injected into the big, deep annoying wrinkle in my forehead. For the next five months, my demeanour was void of the infamous raising of my right eyebrow over questionable situations -- like men who get facelifts. i missed my twitchy character, thus no more shots for me. Yet, like the men at the soirée, i am constantly surrounded by examples of gay men who are struggling with their barely-middle-age.
it goes without saying that, as homos, we are ensconced in the allure -- or warped standards (depending on your “reflection”) of youthful perfection. i’m all for fixing a broken nose, or covering a scar, but as a (gay) community, do we also fixate on unrealistic images of youth and perfection? and, by doing so, are we just further perpetuating this issue for subsequent generations?
To say that, at some point in every person’s life, we stop and stand in front of the mirror and ask the inevitable question: am i handsome? pretty? cute? We do this while pinching a fat roll or pushing our noses one direction or another. We do this as teenagers. We do this when embarking on swimsuit season. We do this while considering outfits in the mirror or while contemplating what underwear to put on (if any) before an intimate encounter. But to erase (with surgery) the marks time has bestowed upon us, to me, seems as if we are not only making it harder on ourselves, but also perpetuating the myth that there is nothing left to offer once gay men reach a certain age. again, here’s the part where i want to say only positive things; but, like the majority of women who have been faced with unrealistic, youth-obsessed body imaging, i can’t. yet, because of my age, if i complain about how my community -- (generally) fearful of aging -- treats men after a certain age, then i’m viewed as bitter.
And therein lies the conundrum! along with the deep annoying wrinkle in my forehead, as i muddle through midlife, my aging process has taught me one very important lesson: Self-confidence is sexy and there can be no cheating when attempting to acquire such a trait. Life experience is the only answer. But can an elderly position, along with its age-associated attributes, be appreciated by the proceeding generations if we, as a community, don’t embrace it? if we buy into the myth that youth is the most desirable trait, don’t we lose our mature men? One way or the other?
Through the aging process, like trees, nature creates majestic pillars of the community -- if we don’t cut into them first. if one looks past the exterior of said “trees,” interior rings can be found -- marks that showcase growth and life experience. and it is those marks of time that should be acknowledged as cherished reminders of endurance and perseverance. For me, age is not something to be cut away and turned into something else, but something to be appreciated, to climb on and enjoy the view. But... well, i’m middle aged and still, i suppose, in view of all sides. you may see it another way. as they say, the knife cuts both ways.
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