Have you ever noticed that the older a woman gets, the stronger the tendency to wear more bangles and dangles? Don’t get me wrong, I like a well placed silver bracelet as much as the next chick. What frightens me, however, is that the layers of adornment seem to multiply with the age factor.
It is no secret that those of us in the over fifty crowd are in an all out war against gravity and the loss of elasticity. The neck cords start gobbling. The skin gets crepey (rhymes with drapey, also a made up word). The hair changes to colors not found on the color wheel. And the waistline, hmmm, not sure where that is anymore.
We tug, we pull, we suck it in, we cover it up, we buy sensible shoes. And for some folks, it’s time for more bling. Earrings the size of Tennessee. A dozen jingly, jangly bracelets. Necklaces with goblet sized dangles. And the reading glasses…don’t get me started.
So, what’s wrong with a little dazzle in the golden years? I’m not a jewelry hater and certainly not afraid of the over 50 crowd, me being a card carrying member. What I am concerned about is the message that seems to be emitted from the overly adorned, fifty plus generation. I sense that the gravitational pull toward the gaudy is simply an attempt at covering up the gravitational effects of age.
It is, no doubt, difficult to be at ease with a body that seems to be fighting me rather than helping me stay in the fight. The woman looking back at me in the mirror is more often a stranger than my best friend. The lotions, creams and serums seem to only go so far before another wrinkle or flapping muscle gets in the way.
And for some women, the answer is more jewelry. The chunky necklace hides the droopy skin and sagging bosom. The ostrich feather earrings draw the eye away from yet another bad hair day. The leopard print reading glasses hint at a glamorous myopic experience. The set of wrist bangles clang away the fear of another ache or pain.
I believe it is time to face our age head on. If we didn’t have magazines, television or the internet world, would we still think that something was wrong with us? Would we not take it in stride that aging is a natural process? Would we not love ourselves for who we are? Covering up means we have something to hide. Keeping up with the young ‘uns means always having to say sorry. Longing for the skin of a 20-year old means that we are grieving.
In light of this, I’m not ready to wave the flag of the fabulous-at-fifty crowd. Once again, just stating that phrase implies the need to use a mantra to keep going. We are not fabulous-at-fifty. We are fifty, plain and simple. If that includes fabulousness, so be it. If that includes some not so fabulousness, accept it.
But, please, oh please, don’t add another jingle jangle to the wardrobe. I want to be able to see your face. I want to hear what you have to say. I want to nod with you in agreement that who we are is okay and who we will become is a surprise waiting to happen.
