An Old Lady Selfie - JT's Tales From The Trail

Jill Thomas is a Rambler, traveler, and storyteller with a big laugh who thinks it's funny how life leads you right where you need to be, however the roundabout path. 

A while back, a friend posted a joke on social media about the shock and horror we feel when we unexpectedly find our phone camera in selfie mode. I cracked up. It was nice to discover I’m not the only one.

When this happens to me, my inner critic immediately pipes up: “This can’t be right. My face couldn’t possibly look that saggy, lined, and… chubby.”

If we were twenty-somethings, our feeds would be awash in selfies. Anyone who grew up with an omnipresent, instant-gratification camera in their pocket has mastered the art of the self-portrait. They live in a world that holds thousands upon thousands of images of their faces — filtered, curated, and practiced.

I did not grow up with that technology. I wasn’t taught to admire myself or how to effortlessly capture a flattering photo. And since our society doesn’t exactly shower aging women with confetti, it’s not surprising that I’ve never fully embraced the selfie.

One of the quiet hopes I carry about getting older is that I’ll become less focused on my flaws. I want to look at photos of myself with softer eyes. I’m actively working on it — because the alternative is spending precious time in a mental wrestling match with my own face.

Lately, my mantra is this: no matter how old I think I look today, a few years from now I’ll look back and say, “What on earth was I complaining about?”

So I’m trying not to waste one more minute on it.

The truth is, I’ve always disliked pictures of myself — even when I was young and objectively pretty. Even then, I scanned every photo with a critical, judgmental eye, searching for something to fix.

But now, when I look at a photo of myself from high school, I don’t want to improve her. I marvel at how gorgeous she was, and I ache a little that she couldn’t see it. Even if I don’t love the haircut, the outfit, or the expression on my face, I feel tenderness toward that girl. How could I be mean to her?

And with that perspective, I’m hoping I can learn to give my middle-aged face a little more grace, too.

Still… selfies are a tough sell.

In my forties, I avoided photos altogether. If you scrolled through our family vacation albums from that era, you’d assume my husband traveled alone — or maybe with our kids after tragically losing his wife. Every trip, I told myself I’d be fit enough for photos on the next one.

Then, in my early fifties, I read an article about how sad it is — for you and for the people who love you — not to have pictures of you at every stage of your life. It hit me like a gut punch. 

And it happened at a time when maturity was finally starting to soften my edges. I was slowly, grudgingly, beginning to accept my face.

Now, I keep reminding myself: I look how I look. And it’s okay.

It’s not easy. I still struggle. I still delete more photos than I save and I still zoom in and nitpick.

But I’m trying not to flinch away from the camera anymore.

Because someday, I want there to be proof that I was here — living, laughing, traveling, loving… and Rambling my way through this one wild, beautiful life.

I must continually remind myself that our bodies and faces are meant to transform. In times of love, I’ve grown fatter, my waist expanding with the joy of intimacy and the excitement of being loved. My husband and I used to joke, “You’re a baby. I’m a cat. When we’re happy, we both get fat.”

In times of turmoil, I’ve shrunk, eroded by insecurity, loss and sadness. The only exception to this trend was when the prospect of upcoming wedding pictures motivated me to lose thirty pounds. I gained every ounce back (plus some extra) after my wedding.

Selfies may or may not be a positive societal trend for women, young or old. I can’t imagine I would have cherished being photographed so often and so publicly as a young adult.

In researching this post, I found an article saying that the number of young women seeking plastic surgery to look better for selfies has increased by 35% since 2016. Also, the self-promotion aspect of taking a selfie might be a sad emblem of our self-interested culture.

I have learned that the negative psychological impacts of thousands of selfies has sparked younger generations to initiate social movements urging us to accept our bodies and faces in their glorious multitudes of diversity. I am enjoying following along with this trend on Instagram: #bodypositivitymovement. I hope it’s not too late for us oldies.

A while back, the hashtag #FeministsAreUgly started to trend on social media. A few people got up in arms and decried this tired fixation on women’s looks. But as it turned out, the hashtag was created by two women who were making a statement about our society’s obsession with unattainable beauty standards calibrated to white, thin women.

They were asking for selfies from women of color, queer women, and trans women to expand the definition of feminist beauty—and the selfies they got.

Of course, not every selfie is an act of political demonstration against misogyny and the self-hatred it brings with it. But posting a candid photo of yourself, with all your glorious, beautiful, well-earned lines, wrinkles, and sagging skin, is undoubtedly a rebellion of sorts.

It's easy to shy away from the photographs because you're so busy, so exhausted, not feeling your best. It's easy to be the taker and never let yourself be in, when the world makes you feel exposed or less than. But one day, your loved ones will search for those memories to bolster their own. Those pictures, no matter how you look, are set to become absolutely precious. And no one, not one of them, will care how together you appear. They will care, very much, that it is you. And all of your you-ness will be the exact gift they very much need in that moment. Be in the photo, my friends. They are not for you! - Donna Ashworth

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