» City Speak: Seann
Seann Walsh faces up to the aging process
Earlier today I was looking through photos of myself on Facebook. It’s a peculiar, but common, thing to do. It is partly motivated by vanity and self-interest. It’s our way of answering questions like, “How does my hair look when it’s been raining?” without having to test that practically.
However, there is also a masochistic aspect to it, when the whole thing takes on an air of self-bullying. We notice, or even seek out, flaws in our appearances that are not apparent to anyone else.
Another reason to look at photos of our previous selves is what you might call anti-nostalgia: that relieving feeling of distance when we look at how we once styled ourselves. We can look back with disdain and say, “I can’t believe I used to wear that!” as if it were another person, when it’s really just you, a few years ago, during the nail varnish phase.
This last reason must be a device for making us feel better about however we look right now. Sometimes, though, this backfires and produces the opposite effect. There’s nothing pleasant about thinking, “I looked an awful lot better then.”
I saw a picture of myself from this time last year, and was perturbed by the change. And it wasn’t a change in style; it was in me.
Specifically, I’m talking about skin. It brings to mind one of the warnings on tobacco pouches: “Smoking causes ageing of the skin.” This is vindicated by the comparison between me last year and now. A year ago, I looked like a wax-work of me now. And now, I look like a wayward look-alike of myself.
I am aware that at my age (23), the body ages faster. Every year weighs more. Every year drags you closer to adulthood. Apparently it’s called growing up. But the change I saw was closer to ageing than to growing up, closer to deterioration than to development.
“At my age the body ages faster. This time next year I’ll be a walking callus”
I imagine this is normal. This time next year, I’ll be a walking callus, still smoking, looking at pictures on Facebook and wishing I could look like myself from 2009.
We do move fast in our youth. I’m already lost in the company of most 18-year-olds. Their music leaves me cold; their conversation confuses me; their slang baffles me. I heard an 18-year-old say elev’ instead of eleven. I can’t relate to a group of people who don’t pronounce every syllable of a number. It’s utterly ridic’.
Only five years on, I feel even more distant from them than I do from my youthful skin of yesteryear. Perhaps smoking also causes ageing of the spirit. Oh well. I’ll always have 2008.
