Ageing Naturally, Botox and the “Bad Feminist” Dilemma

If I Don’t Get Botox, Will I Regret It? If I Do, Will I Regret That More?

“Ageing gracefully” is a phrase that sounds beautiful in theory. Like sipping herbal tea while wearing an organic linen dress and watching the sunset over a vineyard. In reality, ageing gracefully as a woman is a conceited topic that makes me, the steadfast feminist who shuts down patriarchal standards of beauty any time I can, suddenly start questioning if I’m a “bad feminist” because my face is beginning to show the passage of time through fine lines and a body that no longer looks like that of a 16-year-old, and I’m starting to feel bad. I have found myself at a crossroads. And I know other women are standing there with me. Facing down the reality of aging in a society where you have the words “ANTI-AGEING” written on everything from face creams to pillows to smoothies. It’s a minefield of being anti-age.

But… we all age. It’s inevitable. Why are we fighting it so much? Should I fight it?

Do I embrace my fine lines like a dignified woman, resilient and unwavering in the face of beauty adversity? Or do I smooth them into oblivion? Am I a bad feminist if I start getting my face injected with tinctures and tonics? Does that make me a witch? That’s kind of hot. Will it make me feel better about my appearance? Or is Botox a gateway drug to harder substances like cheek filler and lipo? Can I even afford this stuff? Shit, the angst is giving me even more frown lines.

Well? What is a girl to do?

The Allure of the Needle

The thing about Botox is that everyone swears they’re "not doing much". Just "a little touch-up", like it’s an innocent facial and not a literal neurotoxin being injected into your face. My friends have all started subtly hopping on the anti-ageing express, and they look great. Not in a frozen, Stepford Wife way, but in a “Babe, you’re so glowy lately, you look fab!” way. Their brows are lifted, their lips are fuller, and their foreheads are as smooth as the day they arrived on the planet. Drop-dead gorgeous.

My face, however, hasn’t yet been poked or prodded. It’s all me, baby. However, my face is starting to give away that I am daring to age. A face that shows a life full of laughter, stress, sun exposure, and a hit-and-miss relationship with my skincare routine. I have fine lines that show I’ve experienced true, unadulterated happiness, with gorgeous smile lines that light up every time I throw my head back and laugh. Forehead lines that show I’ve been concerned a lot. Or judgemental. Either way, they are there, and I look my age.

A healthy 28-year-old who experiences the whole spectrum of human emotions on my face any given day. But in a world where every piece of media, every actor or pop star, and now, due to the beauty industry being so accessible to the everyday person, most women you come into contact with have had some sort of work done. Because what we are being force-fed is, “You must be young and hot and have the face of a baby if you want to be desirable.” There is definitely something iffy there.

But youth is beauty, and beauty is power. Social power is a real thing. To be desirable. To be wanted. To be beautiful. To be YOUNG. To be LINELESS.

It does make me start to wonder, is my face telling the wrong story?

The Case For Ageing Disgracefully

On the other side of this debate is the romantic notion of ageing naturally. Embracing the passage of time, leaning into my wisdom, and accepting that my face is simply evolving, beautifully. There’s a power in looking at my reflection and saying, "Yes, I am getting older, and that's okay." I could be one of those women who reject the pressures of the beauty industry and proudly wear their life experience like a badge of honour.

However, the world isn’t kind to women who age, and there is rebellion in turning down the expectation from an industry worth over £600 billion that literally markets ageing as the ultimate horror. A disease that can be stamped out through buying their overpriced serums and anti-ageing gadgets. Entire marketing departments for beauty products are tasked with making women feel like ageing is a cardinal sin and they will surely age into a grotesque creature that will never find love and will die alone in a hut in the woods where they have been cast out to the fringes of society. Unless you buy their face cream, which will turn you into a Margot Robbie lookalike in less than two weeks. Capitalism LOVES making women feel unworthy because if you can market a woman's natural beauty as “undesirable”, then women will spend their money. Women move economies; that's a fact. And if you can market the inevitable, that means big bucks.

Fundamentally, ageing is punk, and how proud would 16-year-old punk Nancy be if she knew I was turning down the trendy, marketed narrative that ageing can be cured for a price? A rebel with a cause. Embracing the completely normal passage of time that we all experience.

I have learnt to love and adore the things on my face and body that make me different. I love my gappy teeth, and I love my thick thighs and juicy booty. I even love the one little boob hair that grows on my right boob. She’s a little cutie. But this has taken time and a lot of personal growth to get to this point. And with the availability of Botox and filler absolutely everywhere and in the faces of the women I know, there are days I’m caught on the fence thinking, “Fuck, am I going to miss out because all of my friends look younger than me? Should I get preventative Botox now so that I don’t look 36 when I’m 36?” All the 36-year-olds I know are hot as fuck.

Agh! The stress frown is back.

Unrealistic Beauty Standards Are As Unrealistic as Ever

In the last 12+ years, the self-love movement has blown up. Social media, product marketing and popular culture were really turning a corner with inclusivity. And it seemed, for a while at least, like we were really making lasting, positive change. We were seeing plus-size models in the mainstream, older women stepping into jobs and opportunities in the beauty industry that had always been given to younger and slimmer women. Change was happening, and millions of women and girls were seeing themselves represented. And let’s not forget, people: representation is vitally important for a happy, inclusive and functioning society.

However, I feel a change in the wind. And it’s a harsh one. With the rise of instant results and accessibility for everyday women through beauty treatments like Botox and Ozempic, it’s hard not to think that the work we have put into being a more accepting society is being undone at the tip of a needle. Unrealistic beauty standards were suddenly becoming realistic for those who can afford them. And can you really put a price on being comfortable in your own skin?

And even though I know that beauty standards are unrealistic, I also know that society is a whole lot kinder to women who look like they are cheating Father Time.

Men, of course, are allowed to age like fine whisky, growing distinguished and rugged. There is a reason we often describe men as Silver Foxes. Where’s the female equivalent? Women are expected to look like they did at 20. Fresh-faced, silky smooth skin, long, bouncy hair and a swift 120 pounds. Realistic? Fuck no. Time, hormones, pregnancy and a litany of other things change a woman’s body throughout her life. You know what that makes you? Human. Extraordinarily human. And that’s completely fucking okay.

The Journey to Reaching Body Neutrality

I was introduced to the concept of body neutrality through Drew Afualo’s book, Loud: Accept Nothing Less Than The Life You Deserve. To say this book helped shape my views on hundreds of women's issues is an understatement. She’s referenced in a lot of my writing because her book tackled so many pressing topics that sometimes you just need to hear from the internet's big sister.

Body neutrality, in a nutshell, is when you choose to see your body through a non-judgemental, accepting lens and that the body is simply a vessel that carries you through your time here on the planet instead of punishing it for not looking a certain way or emphasising it simply for how it’s perceived by other people. It goes beyond body positivity, which encourages you to love your body, faults and all (I say faults veeeery loosely here, people). But simply encourages acceptance. Kind of how you just accept that your liver, kidneys, brain or any vital organ in your body just does its job. No pressure to change them or feelings like you have to work to love them. They just do what they do. And that’s what body neutrality is for the body. It just is. It’s not an easy journey to get to, but I shit you not, it’s life-changing when you get there. As someone who has struggled with eating disorders and extreme self-image hatred, body neutrality was like finding the holy grail. And I drank and I drank.

This doesn't mean you don’t take care of yourself physically or take pride in your appearance. It just means that my body is simply my vessel, and that’s all I need from it.

I find a good mix of body neutrality and body positivity keeps me healthy, happy and not hurting my body or mental being. And a cheeky affirmation or two about having a phat ass. (Cause we have to keep it real here, gals.)

So, now that I have reached body neutrality and an incredible, respectful relationship with it, will I be undoing the precious and hard personal growth I worked so hard to achieve if I start getting Botox? Am I letting myself down?

So many questions, goddamnit.

The Verdict

So, what’s a woman to do? Honestly? I still don’t know. Part of me wants to hold onto every wrinkle with defiant pride. The other part wants to book an appointment with a dermatologist and “just see what they say” (which is always code for "I'm about to get Botox; don’t judge me").

Maybe the answer isn’t so black and white. Maybe ageing gracefully doesn’t have to mean letting everything go but rather choosing what makes you feel good and developing a healthy relationship with your body that doesn’t rely on what other people think of me. Maybe a little Botox here and there isn’t a betrayal of my feminist ideals, just as much as deciding to go full silver fox mode isn’t a sign of giving up or letting myself go when the time comes.

All I know is that whatever choice I make, it will be done on my terms. Whether that means embracing my lines or temporarily paralysing them. Either way, I’ll still be me. Loud, robust and opinionated, just with a little more wisdom and, possibly, a slightly less mobile forehead.