Kitty Kilian, It is not about seduction any longer, mixed media, 17 x 24 cm
Last week I did something brave.
Something daring.
Some would probably say: and stupid.
Well, sometimes you just have to take your chances in life, and act.
So I did:
I added my year of birth to my Linkedin profile.
1960.
Cut in: Music. Chorus. ‘Hurray, applaud this brave woman!’
Thank you, thank you.
Ahem, yes, well… (Smiles modestly).
(Takes two and a half seconds for a meaningful pause).
…
But seriously.
When I was 20 I thought I would NEVER be one of these women who enigmatically smile when asked for their age.
Nor, when I was 30, that I would be one of those who act insulted: ‘One Does Not Ask A Lady For Her Age.’
Even at 40 I was quite sure I would not smile cheekily when the question were popped, and then pull that silly trick of turning around the numbers: ‘Why, my dear, I am only just turning 28!’
Yet…
And yet over the last few years I have been guilty of omitting my age on online profiles.
On Facebook.
On Twitter.
On Linkedin.
On Flickr.
And on all the rest of them, too, to cut things short.
It did not sit right with me though. I knew full well what I was doing.
With each omission I was proving that I, too, had fallen victim to that ugly thing: internalised age discriminiation.
Grey hair manifesto
I am an all-nature kind of gal. No make up for me, no high heels. I want to be able to run when I need to.
Skirts? Hardly ever.
Perfume? Yikes.
So it is only logical that years ago I decided I would never dye my hair. (See my Grey Hair manifesto here).
I proudly stated so on my blog.
I for one would not nag and complain about growing old. I would do it gracefully.
I thought that had settled it once and for all.
Counting wrinkles
Sadly, such moments of cool resolution come and go, as you may well know.
Recently I have caught myself scrutinizing my younger sisters at family reunions.
- Is my one sister’s hair greying more rapidly than mine?
- Does my other sister really have such deep wrinkles?
- Is my third sister gaining a little weight around the hips? (About time she did, actually, for gosh, wasn’t she always annoyingly slim).
Friends, too.
I will come home and bore my husband to sleep with my reports of which friends really ought to regret having smoked and drank so much when they were young because phew, are they starting to show their age!
(I would quote my husband’s sensible answers here, but he wants to be kept out of my online life. Let me just assure you he says and thinks the right things under all circumstances.)
Rolemother
So there we are. Most of the time I can live without thinking about my age. Or ageing. And pretend all is still as it always was.
My outside does not look anything like I think it looks (or should look), anyhow.
But yesterday a Twitter friend shocked me.
‘Damn you can write. Do you want to be my rolemother?’
I laughed. How witty.
And then I thought: holy hell. Rolemother?
Of course that joke was wholly inspired by sound rhyme.
Yes.
Of course.
And anyhow, it inspired today’s lovely lady.
So I guess I should be grateful.
Tags: ageing, gracefully, grey hair, seduction, vintage photograph, wrinkles
Good post Kitty, I don’t put my age on anything, for exactly the reason you state, I think I’m in denial and hope to still pass for my mid 30′s, but you are right, its time to state it and be proud. As always Kitty your post is thought provoking and insightful.
Wat een grappige titel ‘Mixed Media Woman’ ;-)
THis taps into one of my countless internal dialogues/musings, and as one moves into this stage it actually begins to be a big relief. I havent really fussed my age so much, but I get cranky at the diminished energy. Im slowly moving into the blessed relief that reaching a certain age can give me – almost 58. I will hate 59, and will probably see 60 as opening up a new calmer chapter in my life. I think. I like to think. So, thank you kk.
What say? 58? 60? Ouch.. I remember you so clearly as a young graduate student in Amsterdam ;-) Time flies, but only in retrospect!