There is an old joke I like: Being 29 are the best years of a woman's life. I trot it out often, but usually it doesn't result in the gales of laughter it so richly deserves.
Age is a touchy subject in society. I remember thinking that the pressure of sitting school certificate and university entrance examinations would be unbearable, but that the day was so far off that I could defer my anxiety (it's easy when you are eleven and have a buffer of four years before D-Day).
As a 19 year old punk the prospect of turning 20 seemed like a betrayal of the punk ethos - but even Johnny Rotten is an old geezer like me now.
By 30 I had reached my goal of being the youngest creative director for a multi-national ad agency in New Zealand and was in the process of wondering why I should work for anyone else and began my first company - Milk Moustache - branded communications since quarter past two (being infantile is a characteristic I'm comfortable with).
Being in my forties I have to say has been a doddle. Jung describes middle age as a time for individuation: Jung called this final step self-realization-- “We could therefore translate individuation as “coming to selfhood” or “self-realization” - in other words, this is who I am, and if you don't like it I am OK with that too, now - excuse me I have a blog to write. Aside from a little extra weight, zoom lenses in my glasses and monumental blood pressure I feel pretty mush the same way I always have...
Anyway, so far so good.
I came across these images of from Paris vogue (via Picdit) Using just make-up and styling the same model is transformed from a 10 year old to a sixty year old. Slightly creepy on one level, but nicely done.
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