Recently a girlfriend came to visit me with her husband, and as they were leaving he took a picture of the two of us hugging and smiling. Later that day he sent me the photo in an email, proudly announcing, “I retouched your wrinkles. You look great.” Ouch.
My forehead wrinkles started to show when I was a teenager. My mother used to say, “If you don’t stop frowning you’re going to have those wrinkles for the rest of your life.” And she was right. When I think, my forehead bunches up, possibly trying to squeeze light into the dark corners of my mind. Or maybe it’s a trait I inherited from my father. In any case, I never thought of my forehead as something to hide.
Some people have smile wrinkles, some people have squint wrinkles. I have two deep grooves like railroad tracks between my eyebrows. Now I see photos of so many beautiful women my age with foreheads flat as parchment, and I wonder what they’re hiding. Who decided wrinkles weren’t cool? These are my think lines. The more I think the more I frown. So what? I don’t want to look like I never had a serious thought. I’m not sailing on the Good Ship Lollipop.
My wrinkles are symbolic of my accomplishments. Imagine a photographer retouching a photo of Albert Einstein and telling him, “I erased your wrinkles so people will take you seriously. No one’s going to buy those scientific theories coming from an old guy who looks like you.” If Einstein needed Botox to get a job, the Allies might have lost World War II, My Favorite Martian wouldn’t have been in prime time, and Dick Tracy would have been talking into his necktie instead of his wristwatch.
Smart people have wrinkles. The nerves in our faces are connected to the thought centers in our brains in a feedback loop that moves our muscles and stretches our skin. When a face like Einstein’s becomes famous, we know intuitively it’s the face of his brain. If he looked like Justin Bieber we might be skeptical. Honestly, if Einstein had gone full Kardashian in order to achieve fame, would we still trust him? Or would we worry that his fragile ego may have corrupted his math?
Wrinkles are the symbol of wisdom. Yet traditional standards of beauty for women preclude wrinkles. The entire cosmetics industry is devoted to erasing the telltale signs of our genius. Wrinkle shaming puts older women at a disadvantage in the competitive world. It denies the value of our perspective and our experience. So let’s kick the habit of wrinkle shaming. If 60 is the new 40 and grey is the new blond, wrinkles are the new diploma. Like a general’s stars, we’ve earned them. Let’s wear them proudly.
10 thoughts on “Einstein’s Forehead”
Thank you for letting me know you like my stuff. Sometimes writing online feels like talking to an empty room. So your words let me know you’re out there. I appreciate that.
I love reading your blogs.
if i remember correctly it was you who would take yr thumb and rub that slot between my eyes and on my forehead to smear away MY fabulous crevases
Yes, you and I have similarly groovy think lines.
I love this. I need to work on getting more think lines.
I suspect you have your fair share of think lines, although they may be more subtle than mine.
Tell it, Billie!!! Love this one!!! I recall sitting with my adorable mom, watching one of the Gabor sisters (the precursors of plastic obsession) and a beauty ‘expert’ on an old talk show when I was a kid – the Gabor gal pal purveyor of perfection said, “It’s very simple to avoid ugly wrinkles – don’t stretch your face with expression; don’t smile.” My mom burst out in her hearty warm laugh and said, “That’s just nuts! Who wants to live like that?!!” (She is forever my hero???!))
Your mom is one of my heroes, too. She was way smarter than the Gabor sisters, and just as pretty.
If Einstein looked like Justin Bieber we might be skeptical… Your brilliant witty words slay me.
I am so glad to know you are amused. Hopefully I haven’t offended Justin Bieber.