I love my neck. I know Nora Ephron was half joking when she wrote the opposite as the title of her book, “I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman,” but there was also the other half that wasn’t joking. The part that was true. I’m sure she did hate her neck. And in her wonderfully funny and right-on way, Ephron wrote about the dilemma of getting older and coming to terms with the changes that accompany aging.
When I was young and nubile and a beautiful woman, my lovers would tell me that I was physically perfect, but I never believed them. I’m not saying I should have believed them, I should have believed my own eyes. I was perfect. And I still am.
What’s upsetting about the true part of Ephron’s statement is that we aren’t doing a good job of accepting aging. I’m partly to blame. I wanted the babyboomers to figure out how to normalize aging. But, many babyboomers have doubled down on plastic surgery, botox and derma something or other. So it’s our turn. I love my neck. My sometimes chicken leg goosebumpy wrinkled neck. It has served me well and I hope will continue to keep my head up for many years to come.
So give yourself a break, ladies. You look, and have always looked, great. Just right. You’ve looked exactly like you and that’s good.
And, on days when I’m not feeling like a superhero that loves myself unconditionally, I might wear a scarf to cover my neck.