Photo by Alexandra Gorn on Unsplash
This piece makes a heavy reference to an existing comedy skit. If you haven’t seen Amy Schumer’s sketch “Last F*ckable Day” from her show Inside Amy Schumer, watch this first.
I reached my last f*ckable day. It was in the summer of 2019. It came and went and I didn’t even get to give it a party.
If you’re a woman and you don’t know what a “last f*ckable day” is, it’s a tongue-in-cheek way to talk about the demise of a woman’s looks due to age, weight, etc. Amy Schumer’s comedy skit does a very good job conveying what this is and how it impacts some notable and aging female celebrities (and in a very NSFW way, FYI).
I’d never heard of this concept until I saw the skit mentioned online. And after I watched the episode, I had two reactions.
First, I laughed. Because, you know, Amy Schumer.
Then, I nearly cried when I realized I had already reached my last f*ckable day.
The summer of 2019 was a memorable one for me. It was the last hurrah before quarantine (although none of us knew that at the time). It was one of the highest points in my career. I was at a conference and I had exercised very hard for 9 months to lose 20 pounds to fit into a superhero outfit. Just to be clear, it wasn’t like I could pass for the superhero or anything, but for me, I looked good. People recognized what I was trying to pull off. I got the stares. I felt good about myself and my body accomplishments.
Shortly after that summer, my life fell apart. Then quarantine happened. Then I quit my job.
And when so many life changes happen in a short amount of time combined with a lovely side of aging, your body goes to crap. Sometime during quarantine, I gained back all 20 pounds that I had lost in 2019.
I watched it happen since I was weighing myself once a week (while eating more and more ice cream), but I didn’t stop it. I just kept eating carbs and trying to deal with all that was happening in life.
Now that I’m middle-aged, I’m learning the hard way how very difficult it is to do things like lose weight, reverse the signs of aging and be less stressed about my looks. My body is on a train hurtling towards the golden years while my mind is screaming at it to stop.
I wish society were different in how we treat women, especially aging women.
I wish I were different, too, and didn’t put so much importance on it. I’m not one of those naturally beautiful women out there. I’m average. Honestly, I have to work hard just to keep the status quo of average.
Being average has its advantages, though. I can roll out of bed, put on some sweats, wear zero makeup, and go to the grocery store without fear. No one cares because I‘m invisible, especially now in quarantine.
I started rebelling against my looks just this year, and, instead, worked towards a healthier me. I stopped dyeing my grays, which were already getting bad before quarantine. I take better care of my skin. I’m slowly optimizing my eating habits, and I now cook nearly every meal at home. And I decided to stop weighing myself so obsessively.
What I decided was to stop stressing about vanity.
I choose happiness and health.
But vanity still whispers in my ear from time to time like a long, lost frenemy. She reminds me of my weight gain. She tsks when my pants fit tightly. She points out the wrinkles. She can’t get over the grays.
It’s a journey.
I don’t know if I’ll lose those 20 pounds again.
But I’m not going to obsess about it anymore.
I have zero affiliation with Amy Schumer or her shows. But I am a fangirl. :)