Day in the Sun

When I was 18 I was 5 foot 6 and weighed about 115 lbs. I had a clear complexion and hair that went down to my waist. Even though I was tremendously near sighted and refused to wear my truly ugly glasses “in public” I was dimly aware that I got looks when I walked down the street. It’s nearly 40 years later and I'm all too aware that I do not get any looks of any kind anywhere. The truth is that women reach a certain age and unless they are Goldie Hawn they don’t receive a passing glance. True, most men are too busy either talking on their cell phones or texting on their blackberries to notice if an elephant was on the sidewalk, but for those few who forgot their gadget in the car we middle aged ladies are grey ghosts just obstructing their way to Starbucks.

I remember reading my first O magazine and being truly amazed at the advertising in a magazine owned by a woman who has had very public weight issues. The magazine was exactly like all the other magazines, displaying little slim figures, no doubt air brushed to show flawless skin, tiny waists and deep cleavage. What was this all about? The articles might talk about Living Our Best Life and educate us on our self image in countless different ways but the advertising was stereotypical. I did not understand it. I resented it. I was upset. Here was a woman who had the chance to do something different in her magazine and at least use one or two middle aged, generously proportioned women in her articles on clothes. It was not to be.

It’s been ten years and I still buy O faithfully and yes, occasionally there is a larger sized woman on display. But she’s the exception. Is this what we really want to see, month in month out? Do we want to have our noses rubbed into twenty something nubileness?

Fortunately for myself I have come up with a nice little phrase that absolves me of angst. I say to my friends and colleagues when they bemoan their lost figures “We had our day in the sun, let them have theirs.” It’s true, once upon a time I was a nubile little nymphet even though I had no clue there was such a thing. Now I am on the shady side of 50 and I say “Pass the chocolates, please.”