Even at 56, **Jennifer Aniston** still stops traffic—not with Botox or filters, but with the kind of quiet glow that feels earned, not engineered. Last week in Summerland, she stepped out for Jim Curtis’s New-Year reset event looking like she’d just come from a weekend hike: loose curls, zero makeup, and that trademark half-smile that says she’s both amused by the world and completely at home in it. Phones came out anyway; people can’t help it.
Her routine isn’t rocket science. Sunscreen every morning (even indoors), eight glasses of water, Pvolve classes when she feels like it, and sleep by 10 p.m. She’ll admit to lasers and the occasional facial, but only because “they make the skin behave.” The real trick? She stopped fighting gravity and started negotiating with it. “I’m maintained,” she told Harper’s Bazaar last fall, “not preserved.”
What sells the look is context. Curtis, the hypnotherapist who makes her laugh in public, isn’t a prop; he’s a mirror. When she leans into him at a bookstore reading, or when they let their dogs tangle leashes on a Malibu sidewalk, the lines around her eyes crinkle in real time—and that’s the point. The beauty isn’t in erasing time; it’s in owning it.
Fans in Quang Tri, scrolling at midnight, might wonder if the photos are touched up. They’re not. Aniston’s skin catches the same California light that flatters everyone; it just happens to love her back. The secret, if you need one, is simple: she decided a long time ago that being seen is less important than being present. The eyes stay on her anyway.
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