Grotesque, monstrous, obscene. The visualization of gore, blood, guts and needles stitching ripped open wounds together. Skin shriveling, hair falling out, nails chipping and turning black.

Aging has been a fear for men and women alike all throughout history. Baths of milk, face masks of animal dung, serums of human blood – the obsession of staying young is a tale as old as time. In modern times, even more permanent techniques have been popularized and helpful for the wealthy who want to stay cemented in their youth: Botox, fillers, microneedling, chemical peels, plastic surgery, hair transplants, veneers. But where does the line cross between a desire to feel confident and a desire to change completely? Why do these procedures get pointed out in a negative light and why do people feel the need to get them done?

The Substance, a 2024 movie directed by Coralie Fargeat and starring Demi Moore, takes grotesque visuals to simulate the ludacracy of people’s hatred of aging. Moore’s character, Elisabeth, gets fired from her job as a tv personality because of her age - people want someone young and “fresh.” To keep her spotlight, Elisabeth births a younger version of herself, Sue, by injecting herself with a strange chemical. It’s a promise to create a “better version of herself.” This better version being an ageless one.

Sue rips out of Elisabeth’s back, and emerges fresh and clean like a newborn baby. Pale, flawless skin, wet long, curly hair, with naivety and confusion on her face. Alternatively, Elisabeth’s body lies ripped open and bleeding on the ground with an expression etched in pain. What Sue gains always hurts Elisabeth. In this, the audience always sees Sue at her cruelest and most selfish; she has no remorse for what she does to Elisabeth and treats other people based on how they can help her own desires. Her smooth skin is the embodiment of the lack of life she’s lived - the lack of smiles and laughs, of tears shed, of effort put into anything. Her skin reflects that she has felt no highs and lows. She is cruel because she is emotionless, and she is emotionless because she is ageless.

The more Elisabeth lives as Sue, the more it takes a toll on her real body. Throughout the film, Elisabeth becomes more and more difficult to look at, with her bones jutting out, her figure limping across the screen, her body crunching and cracking when she falls. It’s monstrous, disgusting, and it’s the inevitability of her own actions. She looks at an old photo of herself, a picture of her as she is in the beginning of the movie, as if she was the prettiest thing in the world. The very woman she had wanted to change in the first place, the woman that beauty standards had driven her to hate.

But it’s hard to blame Elisabeth for wanting to regain her youth. There are obvious differences in the way men treat her when she is in her own body versus Sue’s: The ratings are through the roof with Sue as the star, her landlord lets her break any rule she wants, younger men want to be with her. At the beginning of the film, Elisabeth is beautiful, but no one around her treats her as such. So, when she has the opportunity to go on a date with a man who actually thinks she’s pretty, she chickens out, never feeling pretty or worthy enough in comparison to Sue. All other people want is Sue, so all she wants to be is Sue. The reception of the movie is also indicative of this: people watch the movie for Sue, the advertisements are about Sue. The movie is shot to flatter Sue – she has the more revealing outfits, is lit more favorably, and is posed perfectly in every shot. On the other hand, Elisabeth is given baggier clothing, lit in a way that reveals every flaw on her skin, and always lays curled or hunched over. But she’s the real one. Her imperfections and flaws are a result of the wonderful life and experiences she’s had. But some people don’t see that as beautiful, and she lets that get to her.

The fear is only getting worse. Little kids destroy their skin barrier with retinol to prevent aging before it’s even possible. Influencers have been teaching how to laugh without getting smile lines. Girls will go to bed with their mouths taped shut and their heads bound with cloth because of the belief it’ll keep them skinny. Only sleeping on the back is allowed. There are special straws designed to wrinkle lips less. Beauty standards are still grounded in people as they are when they are born: no lines, soft skin, a hairless body. A futile naivety. It is impossible to freeze in the infantile, to stop time from changing the body. The skin will sag, the lines will deepen, the hair will thin and fall out, and it will be beautiful. Because every sign of age is a sign of laughing until the ribs hurt. A sign of crying over a heartbreak. A sign of drinking a delicious milkshake from a straw. A sign of a night slept comfortably. A sign of a wonderful life lived.

Written by Gracie Streetman, Photography: Quentin Deming, Social Media: Ellianah Murcia, Styling: Isabella Garcia

Frozen in Time