A road map to old age
By Gilda Cordero-Fernando
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 03:05:00 06/29/2008
Filed Under: People, Senior Citizens, Lifestyle & Leisure
MANILA, Philippines - A woman who woke up looked in the mirror and noticed that she had only three hairs left on her head. “Well,” she said, “I think I’ll braid my hair today.” So she did and she had a wonderful day.
The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and saw that she had only two hairs on her head. “Hmm,” she said, “I think I’ll part my hair down the middle today.” So she did and she had a grand day.
The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that she had only one hair on her head. “Well, “she said, “today I’m going to wear my hair in a ponytail.” So she did and she had a fun day.
The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that there wasn’t a single hair on her head. “Yey!” she exclaimed. “I don’t have to fix my hair anymore!”
Yes, indeed, it’s all a matter of attitude.
My mother was a pretty woman but she had very low self-esteem. I remember one day in her 70s when she told me, oh so very sadly, “I am not pretty anymore.” One moment she was still pretty and the next, every little wrinkle and sagging muscle began to be visible to me. She had stopped believing she was beautiful and so did the people around her.
I don’t know if I did learn anything from that incident. But I have since observed that only women who are convinced that they are beautiful can give the impression that they are. I am not talking here of deluded beings who believe that a beauty salon or beauty bar can provide magic. And emerge from a parlor with that trademark “perfect” look that they have sported since the beginning of time.
Elderly adjectives
It is a “not-a-hair-out-of-place” matronic look that I unwittingly associate with adjectives bestowed on the elderly. “Distinguished” is one of those adjectives. Another is “well-preserved” (eek—pickled in brine!). “Institution” is another, better ascribed to universities and religions; and “legendary” (since the beginning of time). Then “iconic” (statue of Rizal) “crush ng bayan” (since 1940) and “looks the same as 30 years ago.” (relic?) And they are meant to be complimentary! So there, I have got that off my chest.
My mother was into a beauty ritual that I used to scoff at (she forced it on me when I was 15!) but I have since recanted and been grateful. She had flawless, peaches-and-cream complexion. Of course it was inherited but mama knew how to keep it going. There was never a time when face and neck were without some kind of moisturizer—at night some “nourishing” or “anti-aging” cold cream, in the day, a moisturizer under her light foundation.
There is logic to my mother’s keeping her skin lubricated at all times. If you steep even animal leather in oil, it will stay supple. I have since substituted her imported overnight cream with olive oil, and then, because I am nationalistic, virgin coconut oil, and, when available, almond oil. The latter is a traditional skin purifier of women in India—it is light, natural and quickly absorbed by the skin. Edible oils are, of course, less comfortable to use overnight than beauty preparations, but at least they are affordable by me.
Cosmetic-tight
Women of my age (78) and the generation of my mother, who grew up when Max Factor only had one shade of lipstick (red) are clinically tight about spending on cosmetics. Okay to splurge on food—that was the maxim, and so we grew fat.
The reason I go into this Jurassic beauty discourse is because the few times I have shared it, my younger friends were interested. Maybe they didn’t like to spend all their money on cosmetics either. Or maybe not all mamas were as vain as mine.
My pal Mariel even said she envied my having a mother who could advise me about these things because hers was a scholarly schoolmarm completely clueless about glamour. (In turn I envied her resident literature consultant).
My mother was fiercely loyal to a bleaching cream called Bella Aurora also known as Stillman’s Freckle cream, (now Stillman’s Whitening cream), available in countries that have been under British rule like Hong Kong, Singapore and India. It was one of the very few bleaching creams also in the Philippines in the ’50s and ’60s. My mother used it because she wanted a fair, Caucasian-looking complexion. So, of course nationalistic me rebelled against her forcing me to use it. Until this millennium when whitening creams have flooded the stores and brainwashed the Asians. My young friends defend their use of these whitening agents as simply “for clearing the skin,” ignoring its colonial mentality implications.
‘Gugo’ days
In the old days commercial shampoos were not popular. The choice was gugo bark or soap. Gugo is a very thin, foot-long sheet of thread-like bark pounded flat. My mother’s ritual: the sheet of stiff gugo would soak for a few minutes in half a basin of warm water or until soft. The gugo bark was then rubbed together (like washing a garment) until the warm water in the basin lathered. The gugo was removed and the liquid strained. A kalamansi was squeezed into it (supposed to make the hair squeaky clean). With a tabo the maid poured the gugo preparation sparingly on the crowning glory of mama who shampooed it in.
Today gugo is still available in stalls where medicinal herbs are sold. It is shampoo, conditioner and dandruff remover all in one. No matter how many times you shampoo with gugo it is guaranteed never to cause a hair to fall. The average cost per shampoo is P40 (two sheets).
Gugo takes five minutes to prepare and five minutes to use. It doesn’t lather much which may bother those used to bubbly, alopoecia-inducing commercial shampoos. (I’ll never make it as a product endorser!).
When you grow old, you had better devote twice as much time on your grooming as before. Otherwise you will forever be hearing the comment that “You look tired,” (a euphemism for “What happened to you!”). Since you are now unemployed (unemployable) there is no more excuse to rush your makeover. You should look good always. It only takes a little more effort. Just don’t follow all those new fangled makeup instructions and instruments the young use—they will only confuse you. At any one time you should, with aplomb, be able to bump into an old/snobby acquaintance or former rival. No excuses like “I was just going to the mall to pick up a magazine...” No more time to be surprised at your worst. Tomorrow you may be dead.
There was always a lot of fruit—mangoes, oranges, bananas, pineapple, avocados, apples—on my mother’s dining table. I think they accounted a lot for her smooth complexion. (They are also good for a lazy colon).
After the fruit and before stepping out, make sure you have slathered moisturizer SPF 15 on your face (it makes the skin dewy). A light foundation and a dusting of powder. (never too much as it tends to nest in the crevices of drying skin). A touch of color on either cheek is nice if you know how to balance them.
Younger women prefer to use beige or copper on the cheeks (fake sun-tan-cream) instead of pink. It blends better and avoids any startling contrast so disastrous on the aging.
Beauty tips
Here are some advices from beauticians on how to avoid a preternatural look:
Don’t go to the same hairdresser all the time. Alternate between two or three cutters and coiffeurists. Figure out whether it is you or your usual old hairdresser who is stuck in a prewar mind-set. Fear of trying something new is the active ingredient of a frozen look.
Part your hair sometimes on the left, sometimes on the right, sometimes have no part at all.
According to hairdressers, elderly folk habitually ask for black with red hair color or pure dark brown when there are so many other subtle color combinations possible. Get out of the box.
Do throw away your old lipsticks once a year. Sticking doggedly to last year’s or last century’s colors will really date you. Also, old lipsticks get dry and cake-y. Try out some of your granddaughter’s.
Eyebrows need a bit of updating too. They frame your face. Stark black, too thin or wrongly arched eyebrows offend. Brown is better. Maybe. Ask Abby.
Eyes become smaller with age. To keep a wide perspective, older people may need, not just a black line on the upper lid but also one on the lower. Never complete the line on the lower lid from end to end. If your eyelids tend to be oily, use a harder eyeliner. You will avoid smudging and looking like a raccoon. If insecure about the process, omit. Or practice until perfect.
No to Botox
I have no experience with Botox or any surgical age-defiers. Maybe because there are still object lessons of botched plastic jobs walking around. Weird, lumpy faces that were once beautiful women.
I’d like to apply to my appearance what I would to the end of my existence—“no extraordinary measures to prolong my life.” Maybe someday they’ll perfect facial surgeries to become as fail-safe as cataract operations. But considering the speed with which even simple necessities as food enhancers are being found toxic (like aspartame, water in plastic bottles, food coloring, charcoal broiling, chemically grown vegetables) what chance does a drastic measure have?
What bothers about a newly born (or peeled) face on an ancient body? Or a halting gait atop a pair of super erect boobs? Maybe body, soul and spirit were meant to be in sync with one another. Maybe they were meant to grow or deteriorate together.
Dress bold
Now dress. Oh my. I’m really the wrong person. I dress bold. I like young designers like Patty Eustaquio and an older one like Steve de Leon for Filipiniana. I think it’s okay to look young but not to look like you’re trying to look young. I once had a tasteful cousin who was my fashion police. I showed him all my wild choices because he vowed to call my attention if he thought I looked like I was trying so hard to look young. Unfortunately he died at an early age. I’m still wondering if I can get away with those rough net stockings I bought from Cecille Z’s store.
Maybe I’ll take my cue from Doreen Fernandez’s mother. At 80 years old in the 1990s, she took to wearing Adidas rubber shoes which was, of course, the standard footwear only of teenagers. She was dignified, snowy haired and carried a cane but she was afraid of slipping and breaking a bone. I thought Doreen’s mother looked so darned good in those rubber shoes. She didn’t feel too old for them. Doreen’s mother just felt she had a right to those spiffy shoes. It was an unintended fashion statement. Sure enough, a decade later, teenagers were wearing their rubber shoes with party dresses and lace skirts!
Smile, be happy
It is said that until young adulthood you have the face you were given by God. In maturity, however, you get the face you deserve. An accumulation of anger or frustration or grief imprints on one’s face. Often, in my younger years, I would encounter scowling countenances in malls and would resolve never to grow old looking like that. But still I would surprise myself with that same dissatisfied look in a passing mirror and try harder not to look so grim.
To help my resolve along I decided to reach out and smile at friendly looking strangers. They almost invariably smiled back. Then I decided it was time to try smiling at the thunderclouds. To my surprise they almost always broke out into a smile. I decided to add to my “happy look” routine a casual, reassuring comment. In elevator, I kissed disabled folks on wheelchairs and mentally challenged ones.
I even have a special treatment for people who have a right to be cranky—the weary busboy loaded with a meter-high stack of dirty dishes, the cleaner of the mall’s ladies room. (Can you think of a more depressing job? The insolent, underpaid “casual” (“casualty” is more like it) salesgirl who has been on her feet for six hours. As unobtrusively as possible I would slip money in their pockets, for no reason at all. Just imagining their joy at finding the surprise gift more than makes my day.
So why should one be preoccupied about such trivia as wrinkles! As Mark Twain would say, Wrinkles merely indicate where smiles have been.
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