Fashionista to Passionista

I’m not sure how old Bette Davis was when she said “Getting old ain’t for sissies” but I think she was into her 70’s. I’m just around the corner from 50 and (say the rest in a gravelly-voiced-Keanu-Reeves-in-Speed voice) Sister, I’m already there….

I’ve noticed obvious changes over the decade of my 40’s.  There is more grey than colour in my roots now, and where I was once hard and defined, I’m now a little soft and doughy (and not in a good way). I’ve had to start trimming nose hairs, waxing a moustache that would make a 13-year old boy proud, and plucking those pesky stray eyebrows that spring up at various points along my once-tight jaw line. I cannot see properly no matter what I do. I’m either exchanging distance glasses for reading glasses, or looking over or under my transition lenses, or closing one eye so I can read a novel. (I have discovered that if I duct-tape the outside corners of my eyelids to my hairline I can see fine.) I refuse to wear nude pantyhose in the summer for fear I’ll resemble Ruth Buzzi but bare legs are no longer acceptable due to veins and discolouration:  spray-on cover up is a must. Let’s not even talk about what happens when I sneeze unexpectedly. I have learned to identify and overcome these challenges with merciless precision. However, a new indignity has recently come to light.

Last spring I experienced a hair disaster. It’s too painful to talk about so we’ll leave that for another post. The result was that after 20 years with long hair, it had to be cut to above my shoulders. Sure, it was cute and current and fun (horrifyingly, at some point someone called it “sassy”), but that’s not the point.  When it was long, I wore it up regularly.  After my cut, it was too short to wear up so I hadn’t actually seen my profile in almost a year. Recently, as my hair now rests on my shoulders, I decided to wear it in a low ponytail. As always, I check my view from the back and sides before leaving the house. Much to my horror, upon examining my profile, I experienced a new brand of horror: I now have f^&^%$!! sideburns.

Not actually believing it, I thought perhaps I’d failed to wash my face properly (although I’m not known to come home from my corporate job in the suburbs with facial grime). Alas no, it didn’t wash off. Gingerly, I attempted to touch it and I could actually feel soft, fuzzy little hairs that were there enough to pull on. What fresh hell is this?! I flashed back to my childhood…..

Here’s an adorable, precocious, 5-year-old me, sitting on my beloved grandmother’s lap, patting the sides of her face, cooing “I love you Grandma. You’re fuzzy.” She was probably 50 at the time, and it speaks to her kind nature that she didn’t unceremoniously toss me off her lap and tell me little girls shouldn’t make such comments. Instead, she just hugged me tight and told me how much she loved me. And then she probably broke the land speed record driving to the beauty shop for waxing.

It seems I am now my grandmother. Or more accurately, my grandfather. Because here is what is happening. Here is the big secret no one talks about as we age. Everyone wants to know why men just get better looking with age and why women don’t. It’s because men are turning into stately older men which is good. Unfortunately women are also turning into stately older men, which is bad.

As women go through the stages of their lives, they pass their peak fertility years. As much as we’d like to think that we’re civilized, evolved beings, we are still largely governed by biology. The reason that 20 and 30 somethings look so desirable is because nature intended it that way. As women age, our fertility declines as does our desirability, which is the natural order of things. If hot, young men were all jumping the bones of post-menopausal women in favour of their 20-something sisters, our species literally wouldn’t survive. I believe the aging process of women is designed to make us as unappealing to the male animal as possible. I guess turning me into a wrinkled, pudgy, grey-haired hobbit isn’t enough to keep the young men away, so nature decided to add sideburns to the mix. Awesome.

Before I say anymore, let me just say that I am not a desperate woman trying to hold onto my youth. I am venturing boldly into this new stage of middle-age. I am certainly more comfortable in my (less than taut) skin, and more at peace than any other time of my life. I am confident and assured. My grown children are decent human beings I am proud to give to the world. I am succeeding professionally. My personal style has changed from one of trendy to one of elegance. Ironically, my personal style strategy has always been to mix elements of both the feminine and the masculine. The look I’m going for, however, is to mix an over-sized men’s watch with a delicate bracelet, not to mix Blue Suede Shoes eye shadow with Elvis sideburns. Geez, what’s next, a soul patch? 

I find 40+ women an incredible species, all fashioned with the fabric of their own fascinating stories. I am – and I say this with complete honesty – absolutely okay with the crow’s feet that surround my eyes. I am happy with the elegance and grace that comes with confidence and inner peace. I am less emotional and more cerebral. I like these changes very much. I don’t want to remain young, but for crying out loud, I do want to remain a woman. 

I’m not sure what the next 50 years have in store for me. The “old broads” who have come before me inspire me with their candour about aging: Bette Davis, Lauren Bacall. I am proud to be on my way to “old broad-dom”. Meryl Streep, in her 60’s, was recently quoted in Vanity Fair as saying “I don’t remember the last time I cared about being appealing.” That is a wonderful freedom which I am just beginning to experience and appreciate. And I like it. On the other hand, Gloria Steinem, inspiring confidence and self-sufficiency in women, was quoted as saying “We are becoming the men we wanted to marry.” I figure she meant socially and professionally. Who knew it was also happening physically? (Or maybe it’s just happening to me. I’ve heard other women share their horror stories with the opposite issue: balding.) Either way, these conditions are associated with males, not females.

The benefits of middle-age – wisdom, grace, inner peace, and more - far outweigh the (mostly superficial) changes. I’m still not crazy about the fact that I now have to buy my waxing strips in bulk, but given that fresh (hell) challenges are still waiting for me, I’d better man up.