Jennifer Aniston is old.
Not old old, mind you—but at 43, she’s older than Shaquille O’Neal, and he’s been retired for years. She’s older than the Internet. She’s old enough to be Justin Bieber’s mom.
She’s older than me, for goodness sake—by like three whole months. Had we dated in high school, my friends would’ve jokingly accused her of robbing the cradle.
Not that she would’ve. Back then, I was burdened with braces and pimples and a stick-thin frame, and she would’ve been (I’m assuming) pretty cute.
I’ve changed quite a bit in the last 25 years. I’m (ahem) not-so-stick-thin. And while I don’t have braces and pimples anymore, neither do I have much hair.
And Aniston? Has she aged in the last 25 years? At all?
Aging gracefully in Hollywood seems, to a certain point, optional these days—at least until you hit the freakish plastic surgery stage. Aniston, it is said, spends more than $141,000 a year to look as good as she does—or about $400 a day. She undergoes super-expensive laser peels, buys pricey creams, and contracts yoga instructors and nutritionists to keep her in tip-top shape. Me, I spend a hundred bucks on running shoes every year … and significantly more on cheeseburgers.
I guess you get what you pay for.
“I don’t feel my age,” Aniston told InStyle magazine recently. “I feel young every day.”
And maybe that’s where Aniston and I share something in common. I don’t feel my age, either. I’m a little shocked, quite frankly, when I look in the mirror.
But nor do I mind getting old. Not really. In fact, I kinda like it. I don’t have the awful insecurities I had when I was 17 or 22. I don’t sweat the small stuff quite as much. I get to drive my own car and go to bed when I want, and I have a job where I can talk with y’all on a pretty regular basis. And, if I have a pesky itch on my back, I don’t have to strain my arms so much trying to reach it: Because the skin is a little looser these days, I can just pull the itch up to me.
The only time, frankly, getting older bothers me at all is when I watch TV or the movies or something. Most of the “stars” are in their 20s and 30s. If we do see the occasional fortysomething, they’re often relegated to a supporting role: The uptight boss or clueless dad or lame-o authority figure. Somewhere between 30 and 40, many actors and actresses transition from “leading man/woman” to “character actor.” It’s particularly hard for women to snag relevant parts as they age. If you’re name’s not Meryl Streep, you might be out of luck.
So I gotta say, I feel a little sorry for Aniston. She’s a funny, talented and—yes, beautiful actress. But I worry (and maybe she does, too) that when she’s not quite as beautiful, people will forget how funny and talented she is. Hollywood’s harsh like that sometimes.
Me, I never have to worry about losing my good looks. I never had ’em to begin with—and even if I did, I don’t need to have a full head of hair to write. No matter how I look or how old I get, I’m still a leading man in my own small drama, and an important character actor in God’s overarching play. The fact that He’s allowed me to age gracefully in this role for so long is something to be thankful for, not to be ashamed of. And, if I keep the role for another 43 healthy years—well, that’d be great. I’d rather be old than beautiful, frankly. There’s a lot less stress involved. And the senior citizen discounts will be nice, too.
Now if you excuse me, I’ve got a pesky itch to take care of.
Recent Comments