IDGAF

I will not go quietly into the night. Here is why and what I intend to do about it…

A few weeks ago, I saw a tweet that stopped me in my tracks. It was an illustrated infographic from a brand about the ages of women. The 20s was a vibrant young woman, smiling and having fun. The 30s was a stylish, attractive woman, 40s was a classically dressed, beautiful woman. The 50s, well 50s looked like a stern geography teacher from 1954 and from the 60s onwards the images were actually in black and white. Somebody in their wisdom had decided that women over the age of 60 shouldn’t even have coloured ink wasted on them. I was aghast, frustrated but not surprised.

Older women have always been out as far as advertising goes. No one it seems wants to sell a product to a woman beyond the age of 59. Sure, you see Jane Fonda and the odd iconic looking silver-haired model but by and large, we fall off a cliff mere moments after our 60th birthdays.

Well, I can tell you now that I’m not having it. Part of my strong feelings on this comes down, I think, to having a particularly glamourous mother. I don’t think she’ll mind me telling you that she had just turned 70 before my wedding. She drew admiring looks on the day for her stunning cobalt blue bodycon dress, fabulous heels and stylish headpiece. She was on the dance floor jumping around to Haddaway at 2 am having a ball with my friends and our family. She is never knowingly underdressed, has impeccable taste and an innate sense of style. She would certainly not appreciate being drawn as a Peig-alike, black and white, hunchbacked old lady.

There is a growing movement towards growing old naturally. Embrace your grey hair, wear comfortable shoes, be proud of your ageing. Which is all well and good if that’s what you want, and if it didn’t, ultimately, just play into the erasure of older women. Naturally is fine, silently is not.

I think the growing old gracefully or naturally trope is complete bullshit and just another way to have women go silently into the night.

I like comfortable shoes. I just bought a really ugly pair that feel like walking on clouds and I’ve never had so many queries about anything that I posted on Instagram! But I also really like a graphic eyeliner, highlights and medi-cosmetic treatments. And I like telling people about it.

As soon as I’m comfortable heading to a clinic (and as soon as I can get childcare) I’m booking in for a serious bout of facial laser. I’ve been looking forward to it for ages. My skin has responded really well to a blast of IPL when I’ve had it in the past and I’m excited to fix my post-baby pigmentation and sleep deprivation wrinkles.

When I have it, if I look good, I’ll post something about my skin on social media and I won’t say ‘I’ve upped my water intake’ or ‘I’ve been trialling a new cream’. I often find myself watching Insta Stories and screaming into my phone because I know lots of the women I’m looking at have had laser, Botox, fillers and more. And I don’t care a jot about what they’ve had done, I just wish they’d say it. I don’t want Fiona and Aisling and all their other followers to be saving their money for a cream that’s essentially no better than a tub of Ponds when they could hand their piggy bank over to a professional who can actually help.

I think we’re supposed to feel bad about wanting to look good which is as troublesome as being made to feel less than if you want to embrace your grey hair, dress exclusively in Cos comfort pieces and wear Ecco shoes.

All I want at this point is for everyone to stop having an opinion on every little thing women choose to do and just leave us alone to get on with our lives and get on with the business of ageing whether we want to do it loudly, while going to bed with Horlicks and a book at 9 pm or a combination of both. It’s time to shout loudly, I am woman, I am getting older and I don’t give a fuck what you think about it!

So here are my (continued) plans for ageing.

I’m getting laser and possibly Botox, I’ll know after I’ve blasted my face, driven home with a latex glove filled with ice water pressed up against my cheek and my skin has healed.
Whenever I see gold boots with a nice heel I’m buying them. Gold is basically a neutral.
I’m about to start doing Couch 2 5K again because I want to be healthy enough to age how I want.
But while I’m exercising, I will definitely still be eating industrial amounts of cheese and cake because what’s one without the other.
I will grumble that the models on Zara look 14 but I’m definitely still buying the cool dress whether they meant it to be on a middle-aged Mam in Kildare or not.
I will continue to dance around whatever room I’m in with my friends like I’ve lost all reason, whether that’s a bar in town (one day, one day) or a mate’s living room.
I will tell my daughters that growing old is a privilege many don’t get and they should enjoy and embrace it and do it with vibrancy.
I shall read Roald Dahl and Julia Donaldson and David Walliams because the more you read funny, crazy, happy children’s books the more you smile and smiling is the key to everything.
I shall shout loudly about injustices. I’m not becoming an angry old lady, I’ve always been angry, I just no longer care who knows.
And, when it’s ok, and everyone is safe, I shall hug and kiss and hold hands with abandonment because we’ve all seen how loneliness and a lack of human connection have been one of the saddest parts of the last few months. We just can’t know any more when a disaster might strike and I want to build up as many cuddle memories as I can for both the next lockdown and my twilight years.

Jennifer Stevens, July 2020.

P.S. read more thoughts on ageing in this piece - Notes on Blooming

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