The Austrian Empress Sisi (1837 – 1898) was obsessed with her looks. She was considered a beauty back then and spent a lot of time especially on her slim waist and incredibly long hair. Around the age of 30, she prohibited any more photos to be taken of her. She didn’t want her fading beauty to be documented.

As odd as this may sound, it truly bothers me when someone compliments me on my looks. I probably have become too sensitive to such compliments. But it seems like the most important thing about a woman is her beautiful face and body, as if she was some object. I get so mad, for instance, when anchorwomen, no matter how good they are, are replaced by younger colleagues because they’re too old to be shown to us any longer.

Rather then receiving comments on my looks, I prefer being judged on my character. What I look like is mainly a result of how nature designed me, and my influence is pretty limited unless I have plastic surgery, and even that can go terribly wrong. My character, however, is something I can work on and hopefully improve over time.

Of course I’m not happy with my looks. Who really is? I see the number of wrinkles increase in my face as the years go by, and they appear in places where I don’t want them. I also have been waiting for my first white hair to appear on my head, and I know I’ll be shocked when it eventually shows up.

While vanity comes from comparing ourselves to others, I sometimes wonder if I still would be bothered by my wrinkles and white strands of hair if I was the only person left on this planet. I believe I would be. After all, they’re signs of an aging body.

Although I’m not as vain as Sisi, it does hurt to look at photos and see how my body slowly loses its youth, strength, and agility. Becoming weak, fragile, and dependent is nothing I think anyone looks forward to, and I do understand Sisi’s decision to not want to be photographed anymore. Sure, the body ages relatively slowly, but it ages, and there’s nothing I can do to stop my physical decay. And even if I covered my face with make-up, dyed my hair or resigned to plastic surgery, my body would keep decaying regardless.

“Public viewing” is an English term that has made it into the German language. The term is a “false friend” as it has a different meaning in each language. In German, it refers to the public broadcasting of live (sports) events on the big screen outside. Public viewing, as Americans understand it, is a concept I didn’t grow up with. While I have attended funeral services in Austria, my only public viewing happened a few years ago in the U.S. when my husband’s cousin died.

She was a truly wonderful lady. I really liked her a lot. She was kind, friendly, patient and thoughtful. I have to admit I felt uncomfortable visiting with people in the funeral home while she was at the other end of the room with her face showing. Next to the casket were photos of her as a young woman. She was such a beautiful young woman. There we go again: judging a woman’s looks. Yet her beauty in the photos made it even worse for me to understand the last memory of her should be her dead face. I also have to admit when we walked up to her, one after another, to say goodbye, I couldn’t bring myself to look at her face close-up; I had to close my eyes. I wanted to remember her the way she looked when I last saw her alive.

My dad died before she did. At the funeral service, the casket was displayed but not his face, and after the service, Mama and I went backstage and asked for the lid to be removed. I so much needed to see him to really understand he was in that casket. Of course his face hadn’t been prepared for public viewing. He looked like my dad, and yet he didn’t. It was hard to look at him, and yet I’m glad I did it. I felt though it was a most intimate moment that only belonged to us, and I never would have wanted anyone else to see him like this. And I’m sure he also wouldn’t have wanted other people to see him like this: so lifeless, so — as odd as it sounds — vulnerable and exposed.

I know it’s normal for the body to age. And to die. But with every passing year, I still feel like I’m too young for age to show. It took a long time for Oma’s hair to turn gray, and despite her high age, she still hasn’t turned white. Maybe I’m lucky and she passed that good gene on to me. My other Oma had a very wrinkled neck, and the wrinkles on my neck already show. And Opa had lachrymal sacks I’ll most likely get, too.

Aging is hard, and in my mind, it’s even harder for women because looks seem to be so important. But hopefully, as the years pass, I will — unlike Sisi — make peace with the natural course of life and accept my fading beauty.

Dr. Daniela Ribitsch, a native of Austria, is a resident of Lock Haven.