Personally, I believe that a person’s beauty truly blossoms in their 40s.
In their teens, there is little interest in beauty; in their 20s, one’s own unique character is buried amidst the pursuit of glamour; and in their 30s, it seems like a time when one is too busy growing, trapped in fierce competition. It appears that in their 40s, as a reward for such diligent time, one’s deep colors bloom gracefully toward the world.
I experienced a scene at a jazz club on the outskirts of Finland’s capital that seemed to prove this very point.
A band of veteran musicians, who looked well over 60, laid down a deep, rich jazz tune with long breaths, while a group of middle-aged people, appearing to be in their 40s, danced splendidly on a stage better than the actual stage. The dance continued for quite some time, with partners switching places moment by moment, sometimes accepting and sometimes being accepted, and I simply watched for a long while. I thought that this scene would truly stay in my memory for a long time, and for a while, it remained in my heart as the best jazz performance ever.
I thought that amidst rapidly changing trends and a wavering period of growth marked by harsh trials, the maturity that blossoms with one’s own unique color without collapsing is a true beauty that needs no one to acknowledge. Purely on a personal level, I believe that a person’s beauty blossoms in their 40s.