Somewhere on a woodland walk my mum watched me and her grandson run, liberally, towards her (there's 27 years between us, but our running style is almost identical - for visual image picture Friends episode 'The one where Phoebe runs'). When we reached our destination, breathless and giggly, my Mother said "Sometimes it'd be nice if age went backwards, then I could look at you and think: one day I'll be able to run like that"
She meant run with energy and freedom, not run like a four year old. The words stuck.
Wouldn't it be nice, when pulling at your crow's feet in the rear view mirror and your reflection is impaired by a twenty-year-old's glow, as it bounces off the car window, that you could think "it's ok one day I'll have skin like that"?
Or when hoiking around your dutiful boobs in a multi-support contraption and you come face to face with a braless whippet-snapper, to think "I'm looking forward to that"?
For women, we gain and lose with Time. I think we get funnier, definitely wiser, generally more stylish, a lot of the time sexier, (it's a confidence thing), but, physically, you're always going to look back with anger... "I wish I'd made the most of what I had!"
Women never look distinguished with grey hair, or become charismatic with wrinkles. Occasionally, they are referred to as "having blossomed" in their twenties, but then we flower and wilt. The worst part is growing old gracefully is now translated to "letting yourself go". It's become a failure.
Mind you, maybe nature knows what's doing - evolution is pretty clever stuff! Imagine that every self-assured, sexy, intelligent and witty female had skin of a twenty-two year old, bouncing hair and a body that pinged back into youthful perfection - wow! That would be a rather overpowering species.