I’m seventy years old, and I have always loved wearing makeup. It’s not about hiding my age—it’s about feeling confident and happy when I look in the mirror and see myself, vibrant and full of life.
Yesterday, as I was getting ready for our family dinner, I sat at my vanity, carefully applying a bit of blush and my favorite red lipstick. I was just finishing my mascara when Lisa, my daughter-in-law, walked in. She glanced at me through the mirror, smirked, and said,
“Oh, you look pathetic trying to cover up your wrinkles.”
I froze. Her words hit me like a sharp knife. I stared at my reflection—the wrinkles around my eyes, the skin that no longer had the smoothness of youth. Yes, I was aging. But did that mean I no longer had the right to feel beautiful?
Taking a deep breath, I put down my mascara and turned to Lisa.
“You know, Lisa,” I said calmly, “I don’t wear makeup to hide my age. I wear it because I enjoy it. Because it makes me feel confident and happy.” I smiled, tapping my powder brush lightly against my cheek. “Confidence has no expiration date, dear.”
Lisa blinked, clearly taken aback. She didn’t say much, just mumbled something under her breath before walking away. I turned back to the mirror, taking one last look at myself. I was still me—the older, wiser version, but still full of spirit.
That evening, I walked into the family gathering with my head held high, my red lips bold and unapologetic—just like the pride in my heart. And I knew one thing for sure: I would never let anyone dictate how I express my beauty.