I once dreamed of becoming a fashion designer, spending countless hours sketching various outfits. My first job allowed me to indulge in my passion for fashion, as I spent every paycheck on Lady Stetson and bargains from T.J.Maxx. I would hold makeup tutorials in front of the mirror using my mother’s Mary Kay products, even though I wasn’t technically allowed to use them, and I pretended to be an expert in front of an imaginary audience.
Before the rise of social media, my children would tease me because while cooking, I narrated my process like I was hosting a cooking show. “Now, you spread the pizza dough, drizzle it with olive oil, and sprinkle it with salt,” I would explain, much to their amusement.
One of my favorite pastimes is sitting with my girlfriends and sisters, chatting about hair, makeup, and the latest fashion trends. It’s a therapeutic experience that brings me joy. So when my Instagram started gaining traction due to my writing, I was thrilled to share my fashion finds and home decor tips. I loved connecting with people who were interested in where I sourced my outfits and home goods.
Now that I’m nearly 46, filming myself trying on new mascara or face masks can be a challenge. I just completed multiple takes of myself applying a face mask for a promotion, and without makeup, all I could focus on were my dark circles, forehead wrinkles, and sagging neck. It would be easy to slap on a beauty filter to feel better, but I refuse to do so.
These filters don’t represent my true self. They alter my features, changing the shape of my eyes and nose, and erase the essence of who I am. How can I accurately demonstrate how effective a face mask is if I’m heavily filtered?
Moreover, after observing countless individuals using these filters, I found myself feeling worse about my appearance. I recognize that filters enhance looks, but it’s difficult to remember that the same applies to others. It has a detrimental impact on my self-esteem.
The primary reason I choose to keep it real online (and ignore any negative feedback) is to avoid contributing to the insecurities that these filters instill in our teenagers. Last fall, my daughter shared several TikTok videos of girls expressing desires for cosmetic surgery after using filters. We’ve transcended mere photo editing; people are using apps like FaceTune alongside filters, presenting a version of themselves that is far from reality.
It’s tough to face my aging features. My jowls sag, my nose feels oversized, and my skin shows every vein. My hair isn’t amazing, and my eyebrows rarely look right. I could use some help, but I refuse to live in a filtered world. I won’t endorse a product while presenting a filtered version of myself as proof of its effectiveness. There’s no product that can replicate the magic of an Instagram filter.
How can we encourage younger generations to embrace self-acceptance and self-love if we constantly present filtered versions of ourselves? My teenage daughter is watching me. What example am I setting if she sees me filtered online? She knows my true appearance, and I would be sending a message that I’m not content with my authentic self.
Although I am older than many influencers, I’ve worked hard to accept my age and imperfections. I refuse to let a filter diminish my authenticity and impact how others view themselves by hiding behind an unrealistic facade. Yes, I feel vulnerable at times, but if showing my aging, sometimes makeup-free face can inspire even a few others, it’s worth it.
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