“I don’t like it,” Kylie Jenners states bluntly. She casually tosses her hair and gazes into the camera, observing the AI-generated wrinkles that the TikTok aging filter has imposed on her face. With a soft voice, she whispers, “I really don’t like it at all.” These types of videos inundate my TikTok feed. Users watch in awe, their eyes wide and horrified, as the viral filter, created through artificial intelligence, ages their faces, giving them sagging jowls, hollow cheeks, and deep lines on their foreheads and around their mouths. Like Kylie, most young people who try this filter are displeased with what they see. The media’s response to the filter’s popularity mainly focuses on dermatology, procedures, and products that can potentially mitigate the effects of aging. However, this filter evokes a different kind of unease in me. I don’t claim to be virtuous or immune to the allure of vanity in the modern world. I’m 37 years old and just as superficial as the next person. However, when I witness this onslaught of artificially aged faces, I’m not fixated on the aesthetics of wrinkles. Instead, I think about the older faces that I will never have the chance to see.
I envision the face of my little brother, who tragically passed away almost a decade ago at the age of 26. I imagine how his face, forever frozen in my memories, would look at 60 or 70 years old. I ponder how I took for granted the privilege of gazing upon his youthful countenance. I envision him gracefully navigating his mid-30s, outgrowing his boyish features. His face would bear the marks of a life well-lived — the laughter lines, the furrowed brow from skeptical gazes at reality TV shows, and the imprints from nights spent with his cheek pressed against the pillow in blissful sleep. All those beautiful experiences that skincare experts warn against in the pursuit of flawless skin. The aging filter reminds me that not everyone has the opportunity to grow old. My brother shed his mortal shell prematurely. He was meant to live longer; I am certain of it. Unfortunately, circumstances intervened, leaving him burdened with unbearable pain and overwhelming medication. He left this world too soon, missing out on the joys of growing old. If he had conquered his struggles, I believe he would have worn that special look in his eyes, the one I greatly admire in people recovering from addiction. It’s a look that says, “I have witnessed the void, and now I appreciate every moment.” Perhaps engaging with our imagined older selves is a way to remind ourselves that the bodies we inhabit are destined to become lifeless shells. No amount of eye cream can alter this reality. I don’t mean to come across as morbid or nihilistic; in fact, I aim for the opposite. This life is phenomenal! It’s extraordinary! And it’s fleeting. Death doula Alua Arthur simplifies it as follows: “Embracing our mortality allows us to marvel at the fact that we exist at all.”
Our time here is incredibly brief. If we pause to consider just how short it truly is, it will leave us breathless. On average, we are given about 4,700 weeks in a lifetime. How many of those weeks have we rushed through blindly? I have rushed through countless weeks, seemingly without reason, driven by anxiety and dread about the state of the world. Meanwhile, my beloved old dog continues to age, my crow’s feet deepen, and my remaining time with loved ones dwindles. And yet, our public conversation about aging begins and ends with preventing fine lines. Instead of fixating on skincare ingredients, wouldn’t it be extraordinary if we could talk about what aging truly means to us? Our fears, our pains, our aspirations? Imagine if we could embrace the idea of growing old as we grapple with our fleeting existence. This utopian vision may still be distant, but I believe we are getting closer. Even Barbie contemplates mortality these days. We won’t wake up one morning and suddenly confront a drastically aged face. Aging happens gradually, over time, if we are fortunate enough. With luck, by the time I reach 70, my life will be overflowing with love and happiness, leaving me little room to dwell on the passage of time.
As for the age filter, many TikTok users have moved beyond the initial shock and have settled into a state of acceptance. Some millennials and Gen Zers use the filter to explain concepts like AOL Instant Messenger, Raya, and Four Seasons Total Landscaping to their imaginary future grandchildren. Others, like Amy Poehler, simply wear the filter and smile serenely, captioning it with “May I be so lucky.” Aging is indeed a privilege, as the saying goes. While I perform my own skincare routine in front of the mirror, I sometimes search for glimpses of my brother in my own face. I closely examine the shared traits between us. Yes, there’s his button nose, his distinctive teeth, his thin upper lip with a slight curve. Yet, my face also bears the signs of a decade of aging. The lines are subtle but permanent, visible even when my face is at rest, like miniature dry riverbeds. Naturally, my initial reaction is panic. However, amidst my distress over crow’s feet, I find solace in the knowledge that I am fortunate to be growing older, even if it means witnessing the physical manifestations of a life well-lived etching themselves onto my face. Oh, how much I would give to have the pleasure of watching my brother age too.
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