I feel weird about everyone's new faces

And I had to write a whole essay about it

It’s weird that we all know what a deep plane facelift is, right? I don’t mean that in a holier than thou way. My group chats are filled—filled!—with speculation about plastic surgery. I don’t watch sports or Bravo shows, so I guess that’s my version? I have a friend who has dedicated her Instagram close friends to just wild videos of women and a few men getting work done here in America, in Brazil, in the Dominican Republic, in Korea. It’s funny and gruesome and magical to watch.

I am also at the age (47, 48 quite soon) where I can very plainly see myself aging. My hair started going gray when I was obscenely young, like 24, and I let it very slowly take over, so I’ve had ample time to adjust to that. But my face started changing maybe in my mid-30s. First with crow’s feet, and then, a few years ago, the literal effects of gravity are visible. Sagging, jowls, don’t even get me stated on my eye lids. I used to see my father’s face in the mirror, which I hated. Now I see my maternal grandmother, which I find startling. Last summer, while extremely hungover on the LIRR, a train conductor asked me if I needed a senior ticket. I was wearing an Hermès scarf as a halter top! But I’m not here to get you to tell me I look good, or decent, or whatever, I’m just saying aging surprises you, and there is no way to understand how you’re going to feel about it or react to it until you’re going through it.

That’s why I’m inviting you into the process and recovery of my upcoming facelift.