Afternoon:
9°c
So shoot me now: according to a survey of 4,000 women, we lose our looks at 28. I knew mine had slipped behind the sofa some time ago - but at 28? No: at 28 I felt fabulous. At 35? Hmm, not so sure. But then we all have our personal watershed: the beach holiday when we realised our stomach hung over our bikini bottoms, the birthday pics where we suddenly sprouted a wattle and a double chin. Mine was probably at 35, when I questioned, for the first time ever, whether I could wear a mini skirt in June without the camouflage of opaque black tights.
Getting old sucks, but never more so than when you work in the fashion industry. Compared to some of my fashion friends, who had Botox the moment they turned 30, I feel fairly relaxed about ageing - apart from when I go to the shows. This is because my colleagues look more fresh-faced and dewy every season - even if they're 50. Especially if they're 50. Getting older is hard enough without everyone around you getting younger.
The seductive thing about surgery is that it doesn't necessarily look obvious: those acquaintances who have succumbed don't so much look like Joan Rivers as themselves after a really good night's sleep. Frown lines are softened, cheeks are plumped or eyes look marginally wider.
Once during the shows, after I'd actually had a really good night's sleep, a fashion colleague leaned over and whispered: "You look great, Laura. Have you had work?" I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but I took it - tragically - as a compliment.
To mark my 40th I was going to throw caution to the wind and get my teeth whitened - now I'm thinking more invasive action might be called for, unless I want to look like the oldest swinger in town. But I resent it: the pressure, and the fact that we have all lost sight of what a real 30-/40-/50-year-old should look like. No wonder we think we've lost our looks at 28.
Really, there is only one thing to do about getting older, and that's have children. It's not that they will keep you looking younger (anyone who says so hasn't had them) but that raising them will guarantee you have no time to look in the mirror until the youngest one starts school. Obviously, this tactic will only work for so long, but maybe it's preferable to the self-obsessive fug of vanity into which many childless women seem to descend. I'm sure I would be a veritable Cassiopeia if I didn't have a toddler to keep my crow lines and my cellulite in perspective.
When does a woman start losing her looks? "Twenty years earlier than her husband," says my boss. "That depends on how rich she is," says my husband. Alas, I fear that both answers are right. Er, does anyone have a number for whoever does Sharon Osbourne?
