"We don't want to look younger-that implies a desperate, clutching reach for a past that's already decayed. We want to look like we just returned from a 21-day sabbatical in a place where wifi doesn't exist and the water is alkaline."
- The Performance of Being
I am currently staring at a tiny green dot on my laptop bezel, trying to remember if I actually looked like this in 2011 or if I've just been gaslit by my own Instagram archive. My colleague, a woman who hasn't slept more than 5 hours a night since the late nineties, just told me I look 'refreshed.' That is the word now. It's the gold standard. But I didn't go to the Maldives. I spent 41 minutes in a reclining chair while a professional systematically erased the physical evidence of my last three quarterly reports.
The light from the ring lamp hits my forehead, which remains suspiciously smooth while I explain the logistics of the Q4 rollout. I can feel the faint, rhythmic thumping of a song stuck in my head-'Under Pressure,' ironically enough-and I'm wondering if anyone can see the pulse in my neck or if the neurotoxin has successfully dampened my ability to project anxiety. It's a strange performance, this state of being. We are living in an era where the most expensive thing you can own is a face that suggests you have no needs, no stress, and no biological clock.
(Insight 1: Queue Management of Obsolescence)
Harper T.-M., a friend of mine who works as a queue management specialist for high-traffic transit hubs, once told me that the most successful systems are the ones where people don't realize they are waiting. I think about that every time I book a maintenance appointment. We are all just managing the queue of our own obsolescence. She applies the same terrifying logic to her skincare. She doesn't call it 'fixing' herself; she calls it 'bandwidth optimization.'
The Cognitive Dissonance of Self-Care
I hate the term bandwidth. I hate it almost as much as I hate the fact that I'm currently wearing $401 worth of topical serums that claim to bridge the gap between my actual age and the age I project on LinkedIn. There is a specific kind of cognitive dissonance that comes with being a feminist who also knows exactly which wavelength of laser is required to blast away the hyperpigmentation on her left cheek. I criticize the industry for its predatory nature, then I book my next session before the first one has even settled.
We've pathologized the human experience. Fatigue used to be a badge of honor, then it became a symptom, and now it's a design flaw. To look rested is to signal that you are winning the war against your own schedule. It's a silent arms race. The irony of spending a mortgage payment to look like you aren't wearing anything at all is not lost on me, yet here I am, checking the mirror every 31 minutes to see if the swelling has gone down.
The Wellness Pivot
The shift from 'anti-aging' to 'wellness' is the most brilliant marketing pivot of the century. It's no longer about vanity; it's about 'self-care.' By reframing a chemical peel as a meditative act, the industry has removed the guilt and replaced it with a sense of duty. You owe it to your 'soul' to have clear pores. You owe it to your 'vibrancy' to have a jawline that could cut glass. It's a tax on existence that we pay willingly because the alternative-looking our actual, exhausted age-feels like a social demotion.
(Insight 2: The Brightness of 'Bright')
Harper T.-M. and I once had a heated argument about this at a bar... I argued that a suit doesn't require a needle to the face. But then I looked at her, and she looked so... bright. Not fake, not stretched, just bright. Like a lightbulb that had been dusted. I found myself asking for her provider's number before the second round of drinks arrived.
This desire for a subtle, undetectable enhancement is exactly why people seek out specialized environments like Anara Medspa & Cosmetic Laser Center. There is a premium on the 'untouched' look. The goal isn't to look like a different person; it's to look like the best possible version of yourself that slept for 11 hours and doesn't know what a spreadsheet is.
The Ghost Economy
I've spent roughly $3001 this year on things that disappear. It's a ghost economy.
But then I walk into a meeting, and I don't feel the need to apologize for my appearance. I just exist, smooth and seemingly unbothered. It's a cloak. A very, very expensive cloak.
(Insight 3: The Relentless Engine)
Harper says the queue would just move elsewhere. We would find something else to optimize-our gut biomes, our sleep cycles, the way our voices sound on podcasts. The human drive to improve is a relentless engine, and the mirror is just the most convenient place to check the oil.
The Scent of Suppression
There is a specific smell to a cosmetic laser. it's a faint, ozonic scent, like a thunderstorm happening inside a very clean office. It smells like the future, or at least the version of the future we were promised in the nineties. Every time I smell it, I feel a strange sense of relief. It's the smell of a problem being solved. Or rather, it's the smell of a symptom being suppressed. We aren't fixing the burnout; we're just painting over the smoke damage.
(Insight 4: Aesthetic CPR)
I'm currently humming that song again-the one I can't get out of my head. It's 'Staying Alive.' The beat is exactly 101 beats per minute, which is the rhythm you use for CPR. It's fitting. We are all performing a kind of aesthetic CPR on ourselves, trying to keep the image of our 'rested' selves alive even as the reality of our schedules tries to flatline us.
Last week, I actually forgot to book my follow-up appointment. I felt a genuine moment of panic, as if my face might suddenly deflate like a tired balloon. It's a dependency we don't like to talk about. We talk about 'empowerment' and 'confidence,' but we rarely talk about the fear. The fear that if we look as tired as we feel, we will become invisible.
The Paradox of Admiration
Positive Feedback
Willing Participants
Harper recently managed a queue for a pop-up gallery that featured nothing but unedited photos of people over sixty... They admired the 'bravery' of the aging, but they weren't ready to enlist in that particular army. We want the wisdom, but we want it delivered in a package that looks like it's been vacuum-sealed.
The Collective Agreement
Agency vs. Requirement
Line between desire and duty is blurred.
Ghost Economy
Paying for things that disappear immediately.
The Lie
The collective agreement to pretend we are rested.
I'll probably keep doing it. I'll keep paying the tax. We are a collection of highly optimized, perfectly rested-looking ghosts, haunting the hallways of our own productivity. And as long as the results look natural, we'll keep telling each other how great we look, pretending that we just happen to have excellent genes and a very good water bottle. It's the most successful lie we've ever collectively agreed to tell.
We are paying for the privilege of not being noticed for our flaws.