To live and be beautiful in LA

Okay, it's one thing to have an opinion about how the people we see might appear to us, but here in Los Angeles it seems to be a municipal duty to TELL others how they do and should look. I was having cocktails with a new friend at SLS when she determined that our 30-minutes of deep connection entitled her to give me some serious self-improvement advice. 

"You know, if you just got that neck tightened and your under-eyes fixed you'd look a lot better." She offered that as casually as telling me that her cosmo was weak. I know my neck is loose, I see it everyday in the mirror as I shave the damned thing. I'm a 57-year old redhead that was thrust out in the searing California sun almost two decades before sunblock was invented, my DNA being royally radiated and damaged for later appreciation failure. And my under-eyes? I used to look at my Cherokee forebears horrified at what genetics and whiskey could do to one's face, especially in producing flaccid flaps and folds below the eyelids. But, before moving to LA not a soul dared to rub the obvious about my face back into it. There we were, surrounded by Hollywood's most physically gifted, while I was being told why I should cover my head and crawl back to valet like a deformed Bernie Madoff. And for that enlightening moment I paid for a $28.00 drink, fortunately only the first round.

Now, you ask, what am I going to do about it? (not the girl but the crepey lunch meat hanging around my face...) What miracle products will I buy? Which surgical technique will I sign up for? What cliff will I leap from? The answer is simple: none of the above though the cliff option was attractive for for the first 10-minutes, but I knew my friend would struggle too hard to get her over it. The damage is too advanced for any topical anything to improve it much and I am just not ready for cut and stitch. More to the point, the flaws that exposed my friend to such public humiliation just don't bother me all that much, and isn't it how we respond to what we see that drives us to the cosmetics counter or operating table? Now, I don't love the way my eyes and neck have evolved, both definitely represent as the chief proof of my age and fair skin. But, neither make me feel badly enough to shell out the cash and endure the discomforts of their "correction." Instead, I try to be a person worthy of love regardless of the hideous imperfections that are posed to deny it. Yes, I apply glycolic serum to the offending areas. Yes, I wear sunblock as religiously as pants. And, yes, yes, yes I keep my skin hydrated and clean. Being single again after many years of marriage I have every incentive to look my best, but even more to be my best, and my best isn't a man fretting over every disappointing detail of his facial features. As it is I'm lucky not to carry a beer gut around or need to color my hair, hair that I still have! I could be a self-absorbed narcissist, plagued with a nasty temper or stand 5' 5" in Cuban heels. This is luck at its finest—why ruin the blessing with elective self-loathing? I passed on that.

The point of all this is to decide what's beautiful to and in you, and then to live faithfully according to what you feel is right. There's nothing wrong with improving your appearance regardless of how dramatic a method that improvement requires, but doing it for yourself, for your own sense of self-satisfaction is the only way to go. Do it because you love you, not to reduce self-rejection. And if you need reliable and honest advice about any of that I am here for you!

You're beautiful,

Douglas Preston

The Preston Beauty Blog