It's an odd sensation to look in the mirror and have an older version of yourself stare back that no longer quite matches the one you carry around in your mind.Mine has acquired fine lines, softer contours and the unmistakable slip of age. Yet the woman I imagine myself to be remains stubbornly unchanged. She is still energetic, curious and, if not exactly young, then certainly younger than her reflection suggests. Reconciling the two is harder than I expected. Which is why I understand the appeal of cosmetic treatments. I have often been tempted to book an appointment for fillers, Botox, or the other modern aesthetics that have become as mainstream as going to the gym.I don't judge those who choose it; quite the opposite. Growing older requires a continual negotiation between identity and appearance, and the gap between the two can feel startlingly wide at times. As one grappling with some of the same insecurities, I understand the desire for some magic potion to wipe away the years. Yet, in the words of the American comedian Dustin Anderson, who, speaking about cosmetic “tweakments”, observed: “You can either look old or you can look weird. But you will never look younger. That's gone now.”The remark hits home because it contains an uncomfortable truth. Youth is about smooth skin and high cheekbones. Cosmetic medicine can soften time's fingerprints, but it will never roll back the clock. Which, for me, begs the question why so many of us – women, in particular – seem compelled to pursue the unobtainable.Nobody will tell you to erase your age, yet those who do are rewarded. Engin Akyurt / UnsplashInfoThis is not about shaming people for the choices they make, but rather about questioning why so many of us feel compelled to take this route. Why have so many smart and savvy adults drunk the same youth-obsessed Kool-Aid?The pressure is subtle. Nobody will tell you to erase your age, yet those who do are rewarded. We have all seen the overly smooth foreheads, the mouth stretched a fraction too wide. Nowhere is this more evident than Hollywood, which exists like some living Picture of Dorian Grey, increasingly filled with vague facsimiles of famous stars. Yes, Demi Moore looks amazing for 63, but she no longer looks like Demi Moore. Ditto Nicole Kidman. And don't get me started on Madonna.Semaglutides such as Ozempic or Wegovy allow us to shrink ourselves to impossible sizes, as fillers plaster over the cracks. Yet, inevitably, there comes a point when the pursuit is more visible than the ageing it attempts to disguise.I feel we have forgotten there is another way to approach growing older. It has brought losses, certainly. My body is less familiar than it once was, and there are mornings when gravity appears to have worked overtime while I slept. Despite this, I am with Mark Twain, who reportedly once said: “Do not complain about growing old. It is a privilege denied to many.”Innovations in semaglutides have allowed us to shrink ourselves to impossible sizes. ReutersInfoWe all know people who didn't make it. Manish, a boy at my school, was just 11 when he died, while Rachel was only 21. Becky was barely in her early thirties, and Mohannad didn't see his 40th birthday. Compared to the alternative, how can I in good conscience complain about saggy jowls? I prefer to think I owe it to those who won't get to experience it, to embrace ageing and all its imperfections.And this physical evolution is not all grim – far from it. Ageing has also brought freedoms I could never have anticipated, such as invisibility.Every woman will recognise the observation that is part of her existence. From adolescence onwards, she is constantly aware of being looked at, assessed and commented upon, as if her exterior belongs to others. Then, ageing happens, and that same gaze moves on. At first, the invisibility felt unsettling, but it brought liberation in its wake. For perhaps the first time, I now experience the world as I imagine men do. Interactions no longer have a subtext, making everyday conversations lighter and simpler. It’s completely empowering. And this has made me think differently about ageing itself. Humans are one of only a handful of species known to experience menopause. Among the thousands of mammal species, only six, including orcas and pilot whales, have evolved for females to outlive their reproductive usefulness. From an evolutionary perspective, it's an oddity. Nature is brutal in its economy, and traits that serve no purpose rarely survive; yet, women live for decades after fertility has ended. Dr Samuel Ellis notes in his research on menopause in toothed whales that women can expect to spend 42.5 per cent of their adult life post-reproductive. This, he explains, contrasts starkly with our closest relatives, female chimpanzees, who barely get “2 per cent of their adult life post-reproductive”.Older female orcas are thought to increase the survival of younger generations by sharing knowledge, caring for grandchildren, and drawing on experience to help their family navigate periods of scarcity. Wisdom, it turns out, carries an evolutionary value.So what if wrinkles are not evidence of decline, but rather proof of survival? What is ageing if not the physical evidence that we have made it thus far, a walking, talking declaration that says “look at me, I made it”? None of this means people should reject cosmetic treatments if they genuinely enjoy them. No one gets to dictate what we do with our own body after all, but I wonder whether our conversation about ageing has become unnecessarily narrow, reducing a rich and complex stage of life to a maintenance problem requiring continual correction.Cosmetic treatment can soften time's fingerprint, but it will never roll back the clock. AFPInfoPerhaps women are misunderstood in later life because we insist on measuring them against fertility and appearance long after nature has stopped doing so. Perhaps the greater act of confidence is not preserving the illusion of youth, but embracing what comes after it. There is, after all, something quietly extraordinary about the fact that Mother Nature thinks older women are special enough to hold on to. Perhaps the real gift of growing older is that we become visible to ourselves. Youth has beauty, but age brings perspective; it is the outward sign of knowledge acquired. Nature regards older women as being somehow vital for the continuation of our species, as something precious and irreplaceable. Perhaps it's time we did too.Science tells us the carbon in our DNA, the calcium in our bones and the iron in our blood were forged in ancient stars long before the Earth existed. We are, quite literally, made of stardust, and that to me seems reason enough to marvel at every day of our existence. Far from being past it, I would argue older women – and men – are just getting started. This is our time to shine.