My body rocks.
It’s healthy and strong and, on occasion, I can still turn a few
heads. Not that it’s perfect. Oh God, no.
Fat that should be on my ass has instead traveled to form a stubborn “pooch”
on my stomach that no amount of diet or exercise can dispel. “Smile lines” have
begun to appear and, but for the good fortune of an extended period of
depression back in the eighties, they would be even worse. But you know what? Fuck it. Most days I can still look in the mirror and say
“Not bad for an old broad!”
Once I hit the big 4-0 birthday, I began to
realize that being “hot” was a lot more than a shapely ass and smooth skin.
“Hot” is how we feel about ourselves. Confidence
is the gift we get with age and yet everywhere we look there is some form of
media trying to kick our confidence to the curb.
When I see older women, who are already beautiful,
running out to get their faces inflated with the equivalent of “Tire Fix” in
order to conform to a standard of beauty only possible with Photoshop, it truly
saddens me. I wanted to cry for Kim
Novak on the Oscar telecast. She’s 84,
for God’s sake. She shouldn’t have to
feel crappy about herself.
I have no problem with plastic surgery. A little nip, a little tuck, in the hands of
a skilled surgeon – Go for it! We’re all living a lot longer these days. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look as
good as we can for as long as possible. That’s
why we dye our hair. That’s why we use
makeup. I don’t even put down the use of
fillers. There’s a stubborn vertical line
right under my nose that I’d like to pump up a bit, and maybe one day I will, but
I’d still like to be recognized by my dog.
Saturday was International Women’s Day. When I think about some of the women I
admire, not one of them is under 50 and they are all smart, accomplished and
yes, beautiful.
Hillary Clinton will turn 67 later this year and,
of the possibility of becoming president in 2016, some Republicans are already
playing the age card, “She’ll be 69. Too old!
Too old!” How conveniently they
forget about old farts John McCain, Ronald Reagan, and Viagra spokesman, Bob
Dole.
Gloria Steinem, who turns 80 this month, said “Every
place I go I tell my age, because it’s a form of coming out.”
Comedian Carol
Leifer has written a very funny book titled, “When We Lie About Our Age, The
Terrorists Win.” I agree. My birthday is April 21st. I will be 65. I’d like to say that when I look in the mirror I wouldn’t want to change a thing, but there are
days when I find myself with my index fingers strategically placed on my
cheekbones and my thumbs along my jaw line doing a little self-lifting, and
wondering what I can sell to raise some quick cash.
I know that there are those out there, especially
in the professional world, who will learn my age and write me off. Maybe what women are really seeking when we
fight to hold back time is not eternal youth, but eternal relevance in a
disposable society.
