I’ve spent a fortune on plastic surgery because I’m afraid no man wants an old woman
Dear Jane,
I have been single for much of my life. It’s never been a problem, I don’t mind being single, and I’ve always been quite successful in the dating scene.
But being single at my age (47) means I have to go the extra mile to keep looking my best. No man wants a woman who has let herself go. So over the past few years I’ve spent about $15,000 on Botox and other cosmetic procedures. Nothing surgical, just a few treatments, a filler here and there, and so on.
Now I’m considering going under the knife for a breast lift, face lift and some liposuction. But when I told my friends that I would like to, they started to express serious concerns – they told me that I already looked ‘plastic’ and ‘fake’, and that I have become almost unrecognizable.
I can’t help but think that at least some of their opinions stem from jealousy.
What man wants to date a woman who actually looks that old? And what woman wants to look in the mirror and see wrinkles and lines and sagging skin when she has the power to do something about it?
I certainly don’t want to look like a ridiculous Barbie doll, but I also don’t want to look like a sad old woman left alone because she didn’t take care of herself.
Van, Living in plastic
Dear Jane, I spend a fortune on botox and plastic surgery because I fear no one will want me if I look old… but now my friends say I look too ‘fake’ and ‘plastic’
Dear plastic life,
You say that no man wants a woman who has let herself go, but there is a very big difference between aging naturally and taking care of yourself, and opting for plastic surgery. In fact, the vast majority of men infinitely prefer the natural look.
Honestly, I’m trying to think of anyone I know who prefers trout, unnaturally filled cheekbones, and towering eyebrows, and I can’t think of any decent man who would choose that.
International best-selling author offers sage advice on the most burning issues of DailyMail.com readers in her weekly column Dear Jane agony aunt
I’m not against plastic surgery, but I’m asking you to question your own self-esteem. Turning yourself into an Instagram-ready copy of a million other women isn’t going to make you any happier.
What will make you happier is coming to terms with your age (which is actually not very old) and embracing your differences.
I say this as someone who has spent many, many years trying to fit in because I didn’t feel good enough. I wasn’t thin enough, or pretty enough, or smart enough, so even though I wasn’t going down a giant plastic surgery rabbit hole, it was exhausting to keep up all the time.
I shopped at the right stores, wore the right shoes, and felt like I was always pretending to be someone. It wasn’t until I turned 50 that I decided I had to figure out who I was, and stop trying to be like everyone else, and five years later I’ve never been happier.
And so, Life in Plastic, I’d say start focusing on what makes you feel good, and stop focusing on looks. As for what a man would want a woman her age to look like, I’d say the right kind of man. Men who gravitate towards the model-like trophy wife do so because of looks rather than personality, and because of their own insecurity.
The truth is there will always be a younger, newer model waiting to strike.
Listen to your friends. By all means adjust to make yourself feel better, but have you seen the people going down this road? With bands for lips and breasts that could knock out a small country? It is indeed addictive, and I would say dangerous.
If your friends already tell you that you look plastic, believe them. Look at Charlotte Rampling, Kristen Scott-Thomas or any French actress to see how wonderful it is to age gracefully. Good luck!
Dear Jane,
I’ve been an open lesbian since 16 so now that I’m 27 it’s a big part of my identity.
I recently started a new job and quickly hit it off with a co-worker as work friends. He’s handsome, funny, charming, smart, just the kind of guy my straight friends think is a good catch, but I’ve never thought of him that way because, well, I’m a lesbian. And he knows my sexuality and is very accepting.
But at a job we both were at a while ago, we had been drinking quite a bit and came back to his place where we definitely reached the point of having “too much” drunk.
It really was a “one thing led to another” situation, and we ended up in his bedroom. In the morning, we agreed it was a weird, one-time thing that probably shouldn’t have happened (although we both seemed to enjoy it just fine), and just got on with it.
But since then I can’t stop thinking about him and him, and my fantasies are running wild. I practically acted like a clumsy schoolgirl around him because just seeing him seems to speed everything up in my mind!
Being a lesbian is such a big part of who I am, so I feel completely unprepared to deal with a man like that in my mind, and I’m really not sure what to do next. I would like some advice
Of Identity Crisis
Dear identity crisis,
Viewing sexuality as a continuum can remove the need for labels. There is black on one side, white on the other, and many shades of gray in between.
Identifying yourself as one thing for most of your life does not automatically rule out shades of gray as you are experiencing right now.
And how we identify ourselves when we’re young doesn’t mean we have to stay there.
My God. If I stayed with who I thought I was when I was 16, I’d be a very strange goth who smoked like a chimney and had horrible hair. As we grow, we are allowed to change. And if the friends who accepted us in one way can’t accept us in another way, maybe they weren’t real friends to begin with.
The beauty of life is that we can decide who we are and who we love at any time.
And I would say that if you fall anywhere on the sexuality continuum, you fall in love with the person, not the gender.
What a fantastic world of opportunity you have! Ignore the labels. You don’t have to be a lesbian, you have to be yourself, and the most important thing is that you love, not who you love.
I wish you good luck and fun on your journey.