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I have this weird habit of pursing my lips when I check myself out in a mirror. In my mind, it gives me a haughty, sophisticated look that I find strangely desirable. So that's exactly what my lips were doing recently as I caught my reflection in a window at a swish reception. "Not bad for 56," I vainly mused.

Suddenly, my little moment with myself was rudely interrupted by a brazen fashionista friend. "You shouldn't be doing that to your lips!" she hissed.

I turned and blatantly puckered up, about to tell her what part of my body she could kiss, when she continued. "Sorry to tell you, but hey... if I don't who will? You've got some visible lip lines, and if I were you, I'd do something about them."

Detecting my shock, she tried to soften the blow. "After all, sweetie, people are always looking at your mouth - it's kind of your trademark, right?" She smiled sweetly. I wasn't smiling back. "I mean, look at me," she persisted. "Do you see one line on my face?" To be sure, the face was reminiscent of a freshly upholstered vinyl settee - smooth, if a little puffy.

"But I don't want to inject anything into my lips," I protested, visions of duck-billed fashion show regulars coming to mind.

"Oh, I'm not suggesting injections," she assured me. "This is a treatment that leaves you beet red for four days, but afterward, it's like you've got new skin - and all the lines disappear!" My lip hurt just hearing about it.

I spent the next few days obsessing about those vertical fine lines, trying to repress my inner hag. But I also pondered the etiquette of cosmetic observation. With all the innovations these days, is it rude to share new information with our sisters? I've seen some deeply furrowed brows that could be set straight with Botox and some bags that would put Louis Vuitton to shame that could be eradicated with an old-fashioned eye job.

But I'd never dream of mentioning the possibilities unless asked. Still, I may be in the minority.

The New York Times reported last week that bridesmaids are now getting pressure from brides to be Botoxed and have their teeth whitened before the event.

It was bad enough having to buy the shoes and dress.

To be sure, it's a matter of personal aesthetics, though some procedures are also tied into physical well-being. One friend, who is finally free of back pain and feels years younger after a successful breast reduction, wishes she could just go up to women encumbered by way-big bosoms and sing the praises of that particular operation.

Like it or not, we're living in an age-obsessed era, which is not to say we all yearn to be young again.

The current issue of U.S. Vogue is filled with notions of "looking amazing at every decade" - with a discerning application of cosmetic tweaks, of course.

Personally, I'm torn - feeling proud of how far I've come, but still trying to defy the ravages of time. I've had my share of Botox. And back when I was 39, my boss told me straight out to get an eye job. ("Your mother won't tell you, your husband won't tell you, your best friend won't tell you ... but I am telling you!") It was horrifying to take knife to face, but I felt my livelihood depended on it.

I'm older and wiser now; I'll no longer be bullied into someone else's aesthetic. Still, the perceptions of others can erode our own perspective. Until I read this "Age(less)" issue of Vogue, I never thought about having my nose lifted or my armpits tightened or my baggy knees lasered. And until my run-in with that wrinkle-free fashionista, I never gave my lip lines much thought.

"Oh, don't tell me she got to you!" my boyfriend groaned when I told him I'd dropped in for a cosmetic-procedure consultation. "I never noticed any lines." I'm not sure I believe him. But I was heartened by Dr. Trevor Born's eye-rolling when I told him that I been advised to take action ASAP. Born has always been conservative in his approach with me. He said there was indeed a little something I could do, but suggested I go easy. I said I would think about it.

And then just the other day, I got a surprise in a bag of Cracker Jacks. Printed on a bit of paper was an "Eye Bender" or optical illusion: that famous sketch of either an old woman or a young woman, depending on how you look at her. (The girl's chin becomes the old woman's nose).

"I can only see the old lady," I complained. "Oh, you would," the boyfriend joked. But all of a sudden, the image of the young woman came into view. And strangely, I couldn't find the old woman any more.

Which seemed to me a perfect metaphor for the fact that we all have the power to perceive ourselves any way we choose. Well-meaning fashionistas be damned!

Jeanne Beker is the host

of Fashion Television.