A wrinkle in time: how one 30-something learned to stop obsessing over her first dermo-crease

Shape, Feb, 2005 by Lisa B. Samalonis

I always swore I would embrace the procession of time and the wisdom that came with it. I would age gracefully just as my mother and grandmother have. A frozen face was not for me--the down-to-earth girl with naturally curly hair, no makeup, bare feet and ample opinions.

Then I discovered my first dermo-crease a month before my 34th birthday.

At first, I thought it was a wrinkle right smack where my smile should have stretched, but I found out from the beauty experts at the makeup counter that it was in fact a dermo-crease, a precursor to the dreaded wrinkle.

So, I did what any self-respecting 30-something would do: I plunked down my plastic for the latest scientifically enhanced, moisturizing, anti-wrinkle, dermo-crease-ceasing cure-all. While signing the credit slip, my hand trembled slightly at the notion that I had somehow purchased what Ponce de Leon had long sought. (Hmmm ... or maybe it shook due to the $68 price tag?)

One week later, after having moisturized religiously, my fingers slipped over smooth, supple skin. The line--the dermo-crease--had disappeared.

Or at least I thought it had.

Was it really there at all? I asked myself. Or was I just being vain on a navel-gazing day? I was definitely obsessed that first afternoon of discovery, traveling to the mirror again and again, pressing the pad of my fingertip against my face. Maybe my skin had really only been in need of plain old night cream. Or maybe I just needed to drink more water.

And who cares if it was a wrinkle, I thought as time went on. I am, after all, fit and firm, having lost 35 pounds thanks to a healthful diet and consistent exercise. My BMI is a boffo 22, and I am managing to maintain my weight loss. I get more toned with each trek on the treadmill, each walk around the block, each set of biceps curls. Better still, my newly improved lifestyle gives me excess energy when I climb the stairs or run after my two little boys. I am married to a good man, working in my chosen profession and living close to my extended family. These are the really important things, no?

So what if one damned dermo-crease decided to take up residence on my face? It is no cause for me to reach for the Retin-A or dash to the dermatologist for a blast of Botox. These measures may work for others (and more power to them!) but I promised myself they wouldn't be for me.

Deep down I know that my life is more substantial than one laugh line. Since my children were born, I have laughed more over little things than I ever thought possible, and I plan to continue. I, the type-A woman who once constructed elaborate five- and 10-year plans, am finally learning to live in the moment, taking life one wrinkle at a time.

But I'll keep chugging water and applying night cream--just in case.

Lisa B. Samalonis applies copious amounts of face cream in Gloucester Township, N.J.