I sat quietly in the bookstore, drinking my tea and minding my own business, as least as much as I am ever able, when I was subtly drawn to a rack of women’s magazines. It was that same sensation you get when you can "feel" someone staring at you from across the room. You can’t help but slowly turn and look, even though it gives you cold chills to do so. That’s exactly how it felt, and that’s exactly what I did.
There, examining me with the unblinking nascent eyes of youth were models and movie stars on the covers of the likes of Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan and Bazaar. Most of them were about twelve years old, tops. They were definitely eying me, double-dog daring me to look into a full-length mirror and make an objective assessment. I felt bullied and taunted, but just like a stranger’s stare from behind, I had to meet their gaze.
I wish I hadn’t. They might as well have said, "You’re a frightful frump, but we’re here to help!"
As I think about it, that is precisely what they said. Their covers blazed titles such as, "Get the new look you want," and "124 Ways to Look Younger." They even suggested I update my look and asked, pointedly, "Beginner Botox – Are you Ready to Commit?"
The editors of those magazines don’t realize that, when they talk to a woman who has grandchildren, she’s pretty well accepted the fact that there is no bottle of lotion anywhere on the face of this earth that will erase the lines on hers. Besides, what are they thinking? You don’t appeal to granny by telling her she can look like a prepubescent female. She knows better. She’s been a senior citizen longer than those babies have been alive, and for her the past is not just a matter of years – it’s another dimension, entirely.
Grandmas know, by now, what we do and don’t fit into, including jeans and those shoes on stilts that sadist designers call "stilettos." Isn’t that another word for a dagger, or some such sharp thing that inflicts pain and injury? Besides, as far as I’m concerned, anything over half an inch is a stiletto. Shoes, not switchblades.
I can’t tell you the last time I bought a fashion magazine, but it was probably around the time they moved the starter button from the car floor to the dashboard. Maybe I never did have much of a connection with such publications, but there was a time in my life when I was more interested in style than I am now, and – okay – it shows. Then there are those magazines, such as Vogue, that never, ever had even the slightest bit to do with me.
What’s more to the point, there are things I "get" now that I didn’t when I had my nose in trendy magazines. I now know there is no outfit, no make-up, hair-do, or skin care product that will turn me into the belle of the ball. Oh, sure, I believe in trying to be the best I can be, but that’s never going to resemble the girlie-women on most of those fashion magazine covers, and that’s as it should be.
Grannies are more concerned with reputation than image. They value substance more than style, and comfort is right at the top of the list of desirables. No more tottering on heels, no more support panty hose that push all the blood to our earlobes, and no plundering the budget for a dress we might wear once. Besides, our closets are already jammed with things we never wear because they show way too much of what we’ve had for way too long.
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