Looking at me from behind, or full frontal shoulders to toes, I’m pretty smokin’ hot for any age. The butt sits nice and high, boobs not saggy but indubitably real, nice firm thighs and toned legs, slender arms, and even pretty feet. I’m like a caricature of all things Los Angeles, it all looks great on the outside but the reality is that one knee needs replacing, the shoulders are wonky, the lower back manages thanks to regular epidural cortisone injections and cataract surgery looms. Wearing capri lulu’s and a tank, I was catcalled this week headed into a pilates class. But the socially unenlightened fellow was in back of me, and I never turned around. Had I turned around and had he seen my face and neck, there would be no mistaking me for a woman of child-bearing age, because that is the driving force, right? Finding someone to carry on your (in-this-case pathetic) little clump of DNA? Leaving aside the misogynistic objectification of this behavior, let’s just mention the efficacy of it. Has it ever worked, even once? So why expend the effort, why not save the energy for someone with even a remotely successful chance of interaction? I guess he’s hoping for some attention.
I used to like getting attention, having people look at me, subtly tally me up, rating me on their own scales of attractiveness and desirability. But really, maybe not so much, as it came with a price, which is the pressure of feeling that I had to always be looking my best, regardless of had happened at work or with the two toddlers at home or fighting the flu. Because no matter what I did or said, if I didn’t look together, well then, I wasn’t going to be noticed.
Sometimes I’d see these old ladies at RiteAid, with cherry-red curls under a baseball cap advertising Blockbuster Video, wearing tangerine stretch pants and a YMCA t-shirt with ancient New Balance sneakers, and think, wow, they really start to look a little crazy when they let themselves go. But the thing I realize now, she liked the way she looked and really didn’t care about how others saw her. She was the honey badger of the senior ladies – she just didn’t give a f**k.
Because that is the new freedom of this age I’m entering now – you can finally start to let go. I’ve been a contributing member of the economic force, I’ve had and raised the desired number of children (in the 90s, when that number was 2), I’ve been proactive in my community and amassed several social networks (this used to be called having a number of different types of friends that you talked to and even spent time with in person). And all of it while making a real, concerted effort to look attractive and fashion-appropriate, and stay in really good physical shape. It will come as no surprise to at least half of you dear readers that the first casualty of my new self-acceptance were high heels. This was really hard for me, because (and I refer you to my previous suggestion of the LA woman caricature) shoes were part of my fashion religious trinity. Earrings and sunglasses complete the triptych. I realized that nobody really cares whether I wear high heels or not, it simply doesn’t matter. Nobody’s looking at me like that anymore, and for that matter, I don’t look at myself in that assessing, rating way either. Or at least not as much…
So that’s the new freedom of being an older woman now. After spending decades – decades! – taking care of others, I can take care of myself by doing what I want now. It isn’t some sort of total free-for-all of self-indulgent wish-granting, as the reality is that now in the U.S., the social safety net for seniors is barely a couple of pieces of fishing line. I dress for me, and for my friends who actually will look at me. Older women are society’s invisible tribe – no one looks at us, we are the in-your-face affirmation that everyone just gets old. Old men still have some draw, usually financial or ‘success’ but we just become less noticed. And there is freedom in that, a freedom we can embrace and enjoy.
So that’s what we’ll be exploring here, the freedom of self-expression and fantasy, and the freedom to realize our own fulfillment. We’ll not just acknowledge each other, but we’ll appreciate each other’s quirks and genius. It’s complicated, with lots of little rabbit holes to look in, and sometimes things can even seem contradictory – but that’s what this life is like. So, let’s begin!