In a world that often glorifies youth and strives for the facade of eternal perfection, it's easy to forget the profound beauty that comes with aging. In my own moment of revelation, I found myself in a trendy coffee shop in Toronto's Yorkville, surrounded by faces that appeared flawlessly sculpted, with every wrinkle smoothed away and every imperfection concealed beneath layers of makeup. It was a tableau of what some may consider "perfection," a testament to the relentless pursuit of an unattainable ideal. But as I gazed upon these visages, I couldn't help but wonder, what does it truly take to maintain such a meticulously constructed appearance? How many hours are devoted each day to crafting this veneer of supposed beauty, and for what purpose? Is it merely to impress the elusive "Perfect Boyfriend," whose existence is a romantic notion we've all been taught to believe in? However, as I pondered these questions, a sense of melancholy washed over me. My mind drifted back to the words I had penned in my book, "Love Sense," where I had delved into the impact of cosmetic interventions like Botox. I had explored how these procedures, while claiming to enhance our appearances, often left us unable to communicate genuinely with others through our facial expressions. They numbed our ability to pick up on the subtle emotional cues etched on others' faces, missing the essence of their unspoken messages. In our relentless pursuit of perfection, it seemed we had lost something invaluable – the ability to truly connect. This reflection brought to mind memories of my grandmother, a woman who had reached the age of 80 with a face that bore the stories of a life well-lived. I remembered the joy, humor, rudeness, and kindness that radiated from every line and wrinkle on her face. I loved her face, every wrinkle a testament to her experiences and the wisdom she had gathered along the way. It struck me that we often fail to recognize the true beauty in faces that reflect a life filled with trials and triumphs, laughter and tears. Instead, we have come to view the signs of aging as something to be concealed, denied, and even treated as a source of shame. We are ensnared in the grip of a culture that relentlessly whispers the creed of plastic perfection. In my quest to embrace this revelation, I returned to Victoria and decided to embrace my true self. I spoke to my hairdresser, and we agreed that I would no longer color my hair. I remember the shock when she unveiled the white-haired woman in the mirror, but she was me, and I had earned every strand of white hair and every wrinkle etched on my face. I refused to be bound by the demands of plastic perfection. It was in the midst of these reflections that I stumbled upon the profound words of a renowned feminist from the UK. When asked who we should turn to for wisdom in an age marked by the relentless tsunami of information and ever-shifting norms, her answer resonated deeply within me. She said, "Our grandmothers." Indeed, many indigenous cultures understand the magic and history etched in the faces of their elders, honoring the wisdom that accompanies age. It is a beautiful concept – to cherish our wrinkles, to embrace the stories etched into the lines on our faces. Who needs the illusion of eternal youth and perfection when we possess the treasure of wisdom that accompanies growing older? In this world where the pursuit of unattainable ideals often obscures our vision, let us choose to embrace the beauty of aging, the authenticity of our true selves, and the profound wisdom that comes with each wrinkle. Let us honor our grandmothers and our elders, for in their faces, we discover the stories of lives well-lived, the wrinkles of wisdom.