I notice that the older models in glossy magazines like “More” and “Oprah” NEVER look like me. Their arms are smooth (in those inevitable sleeveless tops), bellies flat, torsos slim, faces unlined and their sparkling, even white teeth all but twinkle in radiant smiles. Mind you, these are the models whose ages are often prominently displayed in the text, as if to say, “If YOU would just get with it, YOU could look like this too!’”
Yea….right. And I’m not buying the Brooklyn Bridge today either. Those photos are a sham. And the purpose of the sham is to make older models appear unnaturally young, untouched by time.
Those models don’t look like me because I don’t have an army of attendants and magicians to coif, paint, inject, corset and dress me. I don’t have any techno wizards to photoshop my pictures either. And GUESS WHAT?
I DON’T WANT ANY! And what is more, I don’t care to peruse photographs of those who do.
Keeping it Real
How about let’s see some real, UN-retouched, UN-Botoxed, surgically and dentally UN-enhanced women in those glossy pages, women whose faces and bodies show evidence of lives well and fully lived: who have carried and birthed babies, lost sleep over children and grandchildren, picked up dirty socks and wet towels, ironed shirts and folded underwear, cooked uncountable meals, washed a million dishes, planted trees, cultivated gardens, cut the grass, walked dogs in sun, wind and rain, worked long hours both at home and in jobs, made cookies for bake sales, volunteered in their community, put children through college, and cared for elderly parents. THESE, my friends, are the real beautiful women of the world!
And yes, they have been visibly touched by time.
Now I’m going to relate a true story. A few years back, I was in Clinton with my mother. She was in her early eighties. We ran into Gary on Main Street and stopped to chat briefly. That evening, my sister called to tell me about a little conversation she’d just had with Gary in the grocery store.
“Hey Anita,” he said, “I saw the most beautiful woman in all the County of Anderson today.”
Anita: “Oh no, don’t tell me you saw Martha!”
“Martha????” Gary said, apparently incredulous. “No, I’m not talking about Martha. I mean, you and Martha are okay, but neither one of you can hold a candle to your mother.”
That’s right. Gary was referring to my eighty something year-old mother as “the most beautiful woman in all the County of Anderson.” (For the record, Gary is a little younger than I am.)
My Beautiful Mother
It’s true. My mother was a beautiful old woman. Her hair was long, she wore it in a bun, her face was lined but still beautiful. She dressed in her own quirky style: denim skirt, plaid flannel shirt, often with a vest and always with a silver bola, dangly earrings and brightly colored Keds with ribbon shoe laces. My mother had Alzheimer’s and was more than a little lost in time and space, but she was still engaging and lively. I can truly say, she never met a stranger, and she always made an effort to say a little something to lift everyone else’s spirits. She was the master of the sincere compliment. I really think people thought she was beautiful because they liked her so much.
My mother died on December 21st, 2008. I’m happy when people tell me I look like her.
My hair is long too. Like Mother, I usually wear it in a bun. I inherited a lot of her silver bolas, big earrings and flannel shirts and I wear them. Sometimes I even wear her glasses. Her prescription bifocals, I’ve discovered, are perfect for me too.
I don’t waste my time, energy or sanity trying to look like what I’m not and never will be again: young. If I’m lucky, I’ll live to be truly old. I hope to be the kind of beautiful old woman my mother was, one that even a young man may call “the most beautiful woman in all the County of Anderson,” just because he likes me so much.
By the way, I don’t BUY any of those glossy magazines any more. They do, however, help to pass the time while I’m standing in line at the grocery store.
Be well and good luck! Martha Maria