Over the past couple of years, I have become obsessed with necks. It started with my own neck, and has now developed into a full blown, voyeuristic neck obsession.

When I was a child, my neck was disproportionate to my body and head, and I was often teased and called E.T. (see photo for reference). But then, in a cinematic-type transformation, I grew into my neck and it became one of my best features–long and slim, it was probably the only part of my anatomy I could compare to Audrey Hepburn.

About two years ago, I noticed two little (saggy) lines in the skin at the very top of my neck. I slathered on creams and looked up neck exercises online. I had read a million articles about how your neck ages as you get older, but for some reason I was convinced that it wouldn’t happen to me. Well, it did. Over the past two years, those tiny lines in my neck have become full blown skin sails, catching the breeze and billowing between my neck and my chin.

I’m not in the market for plastic surgery, so I click on every link that promises to salvage my youthful neck, I douse myself in whatever skin tightening miracle is being sold at Costco, while also stocking up on scarves and turtlenecks. But I’ve also become kind of a celebrity neck stalker. I put on my reading glasses to better examine pictures of our celebrities that seem to be aging backwards, looking for signs that their necks are dropping and sagging the way mine is. Still photos are hard, since photoshop is such a liar, but when I see an interview with an actress that is hovering around 50, I watch intently. J.Lo, Cate Blanchett, Julia Roberts, Jennifer Garner, Halle Berry, Marisa Tomei, Winona Ryder, Jennifer Aniston–I watch their necks like investors watch the stock market. I know they have help avoiding the age monster, but I can’t help but look for any evidence that I’m not alone in this fight.