When you are twenty or thirty you know that you are going to get old some day, but it seems so far, far away. However, every woman over the age of fifty has experienced the slow fade into invisibility. The guys at the bar that would buy you and your girl friends a drink when you were out for dinner, the man walking down the street that flashes a smile at you or gives a subtle look as you walk by, maybe even the occasional whistle as you pass a construction site. All gone. Now we see headlines like: Meryl Streep, the oldest woman ever to grace the cover of Vogue.
It’s funny, because I thought that when someone would see her on the cover of Vogue they would first think about her many acting roles or her recent Oscar win. When we see a George Clooney (over fifty) or a Richard Gere (over sixty) in a magazine it is usually accompanied by the sexy man description.
So where does that leave us women. I’m afraid we are stuck in the middle again, sort of in limbo. We are not twenty but we are not in our rocking chairs. We are not stiletto heels, but we are not orthopedic shoes either.
We want to be stylish without looking like we are trying to be twenty, or worse, looking like we remember our grandmothers looked.
I don’t mind getting older, I really don’t. It would just be nice to do it in clothes that are cute but comfortable and shoes that look good but don’t kill your feet, to be relevant for what we do rather than how old we are and once in a while to get a smile or nod from a complete stranger that lets us know that we are not so invisible after all.