So now it appears I have something new to worry about: cleavage wrinkles. Yeah, that’s right. Cleavage. Wrinkles. Because, you know, there’s not enough going on the world to keep me up at night.
Until I read this article in the NY Times (the NY Times!! The Grey Lady! The same paper that tells me about the economy and war and, let’s be honest, food… I just love the Dining and Wine section… but still, what is this world coming to?), I was blissfully unaware that such indignities await me.
I mentioned this ‘cleavage wrinkles’ thing to my Mother and she said, without missing a beat, “You don’t have to worry about that until you’re my age.” So… shit. This is really a thing! (I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but my Mother knows everything. True story.)
According to this article, cleavage wrinkles are “deep, vertical creases caused by hours spent sleeping on one’s side, where gravity forces the top breast to bend farther past the body’s midline than it should. The lines can also be caused by sports and push-up bras, which smush the breasts together and are often worn for hours.”
Hmm. Well. Ahem…
I think it’s fair to say that I will never be mistaken for Dolly Parton. Nor am I likely to be confused with a 10-year-old boy. I am, shall we say, somewhere comfortably in between, though, and I hasten to admit this, less perky than 20 years ago. (It’s a drag, this gravity business.) Also, I am, mostly, a side sleeper. And I have more sports bras than jars of wrinkle cream. This does not bode well for me, cleavage wrinkle-wise.
There are a variety of boob pillows (not the technical term, but who are we kidding) that I can use at night to prevent these potentially unsavory lines on my chest, but I have enough trouble falling asleep and I’m pretty sure that a small, cylindrical pillow resting between my breasts is not going to make it any easier for me drift off into dreamland. Also, I’ll look and feel like an idiot.
But all is not lost! Since a pillow’s not my thing, there’s also the $750 shot of some chemical that will plump up the skin and get rid of those lines for six months to a year! Whew…
This ‘cleavage wrinkles’ issue is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all week, but at the root, it’s all about vanity, isn’t it? Vanity is not really my thing. I recently started coloring my hair to cover up the grays and I’ve got to tell you, this is a sincere pain in the ass. I now know why every woman over 50 is some version of blonde. It feels like I need to run to the colorist every ten minutes and spend three to four hours and a small fortune to look like the same brunette I was naturally two years ago. And yeah, I know, I could color my own hair. I tried that once. It was… well, I’m not going to say it was a disaster, but I will say that it was decidedly, admittedly and shamefully – not good. (The box said “dark brown.” I believed it. Can someone please explain to me why my hair was suddenly reddish-auburn-ish-orange-ish?)
All I’m saying is that I’m not really skilled at this whole ‘making an effort to look good’ thing. I’m a jeans and t-shirt girl (who occasionally puts on a dress). Though I may not care about a line or two appearing on my chest (many, many moons from now, let’s hope), enough women out there must, otherwise I wouldn’t be reading about pillows and shots to fix it.
I sent this article to a friend of mine who, though very much a woman, is not terribly well endowed. Her response, after her initial befuddlement, was, “Really? I guess it’s the one thing to be grateful for – I will never need to worry about this.”