A lot of Francophiles become such partly because they’re fascinated and perhaps not a little envious at just how youthful many French women of A Certain Age are. I know I am, but not really because they look or act youthful; rather, I look to them because they more than just about anyone I know have taken the old adage about “aging gracefully” to heart and actually live that as their life’s overarching philosophy. They’re not tethered to treadmills, slathering copious amounts of face creams that cost more than a week’s salary, and spending even more amounts of money on questionable dermatological procedures that more often than not actually detract from our naturally pleasing appearances. After all, if someone like Madonna or Janice Dickinson–they with all the money at their disposal–can still fail to stop time from marching unceremoniously across their faces, then what little hope do we have of being able to accomplish that with our own relatively modest incomes?
A recent article in the Times of London titled, “Why French Women Don’t Get Old,” presents a laundry list of reasons of precisely why our Gallic sisters seem immune to the social lashing we Americans and our fellow Brits receive in the hands of our friends, family and even total strangers as we move forward in the chronology of our lives. It’s not that French women have necessarily smoother, tighter skin, but rather that their culture so reveres the older woman that youthfulness is basically beside the point. The journalist points to stellar examples such as Charlotte Rampling, Catherine Deneuve, Jane Birkin, and Juliette Binoche, not to mention non-celebrity types such as the politician and former presidential candidate Segolene Royal and writer/playwright Yasmina Reza, both of whom are fiftysomethings and would make any nubile Millennial look positively dull by comparison. We Americans love to mock every wrinkle, every crease, every extra pound of flesh on a mature woman’s body, while at the same time behave mercilessly towards the same woman should she decide to do something about it–plastic surgery, Juvaderm, turtlenecks–to stop our insulting yammering. The French, on the other hand? They practically fall all over themselves in wonder and amazement at the richness of experience and intelligence, not to mention the luminous glow of a life well-lived, of women well beyond the age at which we on this side of the Atlantic throw our female elders under the nearest senior bus.
I had a delightful birthday not two weeks ago–I turned 38–and had a party at which more than one person remarked on how young I look, how delightful it must be to not look one’s age. I suppose people thought I would feel complimented, and in some cases I do. I do take care of myself and buy the best skincare creams I can afford–Olay, Paula’s Choice, Porselene–and exercise and try to eat right (although yes, I have my Cheetos moments, especially when a deadline looms and I’ve yet to complete even half the assignment) but if I were to be completely honest, I don’t mind the aging at all. I mind the tasteless jokes about being over the hill, the crass cards that I’ll never forgive Hallmark for–you know, the ones with the cemeteries and the inexplicable comments about having one foot in the grave and AARP membership and all that–the idea that somehow my personal stock decreases in value with each passing year on the great social exchange of American culture.
I don’t, however, mind the hard-earned wisdom that comes from having traveled widely, eaten well, loved much, and been equally loved in return by some amazing people, both men and women. I don’t mind at all the knowledge that my twen
ties are well behind me. They were gorgeous years, full of energy and speed and painful lessons, and they’re over, thank God. They gave me much and did their job in molding the person I am today and have yet to become.
Perhaps if we accorded our elders–whether they’re forty or ninety–the respect they not only demand but rightfully deserve, we wouldn’t be in so much of the mess we’re in now, with healthcare such a crazy quilt of unworkable compromises and personal tragedies. We would care as much about our weaker but wiser members of our community as we do the younger and stronger ones. We would recognize that everyone has something to contribute, whether they were born in the 1990s or 1930s. The term “generational divide” would only refer to chronology rather than actual social tensions, and we would be all the greater because we not only would have history on our side but also as our teacher.
And maybe we can finally lay to rest forever all the awful, offensive and truly obnoxious jokes about old age. Aging is something to celebrate, a life process we should honor for the perspective it gives us about what’s truly important in life. I know of more than a few people who never had the privilege of experiencing it. It’s a shame that we should mock and be terrified of the one thing that they would have wanted more than anything to have.
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Marjorie,
How nice to open up my laptop & see your post. You must be very busy.
I have been dismayed, surprised, & rather upset by the either/or of compliments here in the States. No, I guess I “don’t look” my age but at the same time, there is some sort of radar off which one falls after a certain age in the States. It’s bizarre & you don’t really see it coming. (As I have learned from other friends & reading.) At the same time as my friends in France (& elsewhere) are coming into their prime, it is so different? It happens rather quickly & is jarring.
You are right also about the ridicule of older women & then the ridicule if they have any work done, or seem to be doing anything (really) to address the aging situation. One is absolutely damned if one does, damned if one does not.
So I’m proceeding as usual & reminding myself that the US is weird this way when I feel badly about it – which is inevitable. You’d have to have the hide of a rhino not to let it bother you, at times. Ramping up efforts to move elsewhere within two years. (Not only because of this but the side benefits will be worth it, too.)
Good luck on all of your deadlines.
Bonjour, Susan! Wow, thanks so much for your kind note!
The thing is, I still think we live in the greatest, most amazing country in the world. I’m an American citizen by choice, not by birth, and I don’t regret taking that oath of citizenship. Still, I think there will be few people out there–feminists, non-feminsts, whatever–who would argue that women are placed in such untenable positions in our own country, and so much of it is just pure misogynism disgused as humor. It’s not okay to make fun of Asians, African-Americans, Latinos, etc., for their physical attributes, but women’s appearances? Completely fair game.
I have to admit, even the Philippines has this right. Filipino women only get more respect and admiration as they get older, and while they get attached for superficial reasons in public when they do something visible such as run for public office or star in films, men get their equal share of such treatment as well. Our culture has our share of Deneuves, Hepburns, Birkins, etc., with older women well into their sixties and seventies getting plum dramatic and comedic roles, talk shows, news shows, etc. I’m not sure if America’s youth obsession is because of our nation’s relative youth, or if our culture of hyperactivity and speed means that we revere those among us who live by that ethos (i.e., the very young who generally do make decisions and move faster than their elders, not always to their benefit). Whatever the reason, I hope that as our country matures–boomers getting older, Generation X moving into middle age–that paradigm will shift. I’m not holding my breath, though.
How does one deal with this? I live in my own mental world and try and ignore the drumbeat of age that our society insists on playing, but it’s difficult, especially when we have all these ridiculous lists like, “Top Ten Under 30 Authors,” “Top Teen Stars,” etc. No one ever celebrates the “Top Ten Over 40 Authors.” We have the “Top Over-40 Actors,” but we only include those who don’t look over 40, which helps those of us who do look over forty not at all.
Hmmmm…future blog post….
On a different note: yes, it has been quite busy over here! I haven’t mentioned it here at all, but my husband and I found a Chihuahua mix stray in a local neighborhood in early February and have been fostering him ever since. Plus, our own Dog had knee surgery a couple of weeks ago and is under strict orders to remain primarily indoors for six weeks. AND I just launched a new, huge part of my business, Blue Volcano Media, and have been furiously trying to keep up. Still, I miss engaging in conversations and thoughts about all these issues that concern women and Francophiles in particular, so I’m glad to be back! How are you?
Salut,
Marjorie
Amen!!!!!! That’s all, just amen. If I tried to say much more – I’d just end up repeating what you’ve so eloquently said already. Merci for writing an honest post on the proper perspective to aging!
Yes, thank goodness we DO get past our twenties. Not that it was a bad decade, I just don’t want to repeat it. And I’m sure we are all glad to be past our teens as well. If this is how we feel after each passing decade, then it seems like we should be pleased to be aging!
What a perceptive article. Yes, it’s very true about the differences in attitude to aging between anglos and “latins”. I never like these generalisations about French women this, French women that, but I totally agree that we need to change at how we look at women and not just see the sagging skins and wrinkles. (Thankfully, like a Filipina like you, the wrinkles have stayed off for a bit from me).
Geez, you are a busy girl. Running a business, adopting a dog, keeping a hubby happy… What else have you not told us you are doing ? (Working on a cure to malaria perhaps? LOL
Keep it up. Proud of you!
Happy Belated Birthday… I see we are the same age.
Most days, I’m OK with this gentle aging thing, although I am alarmed at how quickly the years are now going by. (Have I really known my husband half my life? Yikes!).
I honestly do think life is getting better as I get older; I’m happier because I’m slowly getting to know myself and learning when to give myself a break.
What a beautifully written post. I can not tell you how thankful I am to have come out stronger and more confident after living through my twenties. I learned so many lesson (painful at times too as you mentioned), but I don’t want to go back. I want to move forward. I believe it was Morrie Schwartz who said, aching to return to our youth is due to a life not fully lived.
Enjoying your blog tremendously.
Marjorie,
As mentioned already, I love this post, as well as your blog. I’ve included this particular post on my weekly cups of tea which will post Sunday, April 4th – PDT. Stop on by and have a peek. I just have a feeling my readers will appreciate what you have to say.
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