Judi Dench's Face
I'm obsessed with creased Judi. And I don’t think I’m the only one
I can’t stop looking at Judi Dench’s face.
That’s not a lifelong thing, it’s a since last Saturday thing.
I was making myself feel bad scrolling on Instagram on Saturday afternoon, with one eye on the rugby, when I was brought up short by a picture of a 90-year-old woman looking every single one of those 90 years (and two months) or 32,912 days, give or take a few. And so, crucially, did her hands. Of which more later.
The picture of Judi Dench was on the FT’s HTSI magazine’s feed, but interestingly it wasn’t one they used to promote their interview with her. Those were altogether more stately, as befits her standing as a grande dame. (Grande dames aren’t allowed to smile, it seems.) And a lot less mischievous.
I was so struck by the picture, by the abundance of life lived, the joy that emanated from it and its sheer beauty that I shared it on my Instagram feed and then, without really thinking, I popped it on Notes. And then I forgot all about it and went about my day. That was five days ago and even as I’m writing this, in a cafe around the corner, on my phone, the notifications are still popping up. Wow! People really do love Judi Dench’s wrinkles! (All except one person who has just popped up to tell me they’ve never thought she was attractive, because she’s “mumsy”. Each to their own, I guess.)