Ageing gracefully

That may well be the ‘ideal’ – but there is something to be said for ageing disgracefully as well

In all the shock-horror coverage of Renee Zellweger’s new face (don’t worry, I am not about to add my two-bits to the raging debate) the one phrase that popped up the most was that old cliché: ‘ageing gracefully’. The implication here, of course, was that Renee was ‘ageing’ but not at all ‘gracefully’. Instead, she was resorting to every trick in the book – tanning lotions, Botox, fillers, plastic surgery, and God alone knows what else! – to keep the depredations of Nature at bay (never mind that the actress herself put her new look down to being in a happy place in her life.)

I don’t know about you but if there is one phrase that is guaranteed to raise my hackles it is this one. ‘Ageing gracefully’. As if there is some societally approved standard of how every woman – and it is nearly always women who are discussed in this context – must age if she doesn’t want to fall foul of the Look Police.

She must not have had any obvious ‘work’ done. She must have a few wrinkles in place and her forehead should actually move. Any dyeing or primping must be so subtle as to be practically unnoticeable. It helps if she is the same size at 60 that she was at 30. But even so, she must not frighten the children by wearing short dresses, leather trousers, tank tops or (the ultimate transgression) bikinis at the beach.

‘Ageing gracefully’. You see it used in the media all the time. But it can’t be a coincidence that it is always used in the context of drop-dead beautiful women, who remain attractive despite the ravages of age. Leading the pack is the effervescent Meryl Streep, who wears her laugh lines and crows feet as a badge of pride. Following closely is Helen Mirren, who can still rock a red bikini at 60-something. Diane Keaton is another name that crops up on this list. Susan Sarandon was always given an honorable mention before she went and let the side down with a subtle facelift. Back home, we have our own icons of ‘ageing gracefully’ but the one who gets the most name checks is the late Gayatri Devi.

Whenever there is a shock-horror story about an ageing (by that I mean anyone on the wrong side of 30) star’s cosmetic surgery gone wrong, you can be sure that these women will be dragged into the narrative as examples of the ideal that all of us should aspire to: ‘ageing gracefully’.

Really? While I bow to none in my admiration of these ladies, they are hardly representative of our sex, are they? What they are is freaks of Nature, one born every 10 million or so, who are destined to be effortlessly beautiful, and remain so no matter how old they grow.

The rest of us? Not so much. We need help to look even marginally attractive when we are in our prime. So, what is wrong with trying a little harder as time goes on? Nobody blinks an eye at monthly waxing and bleaching appointments, fortnightly manicures and pedicures, six-weekly root touch-ups, and quarterly highlights: the minimum standard required for grooming these days. So what is wrong with pushing the boat out a little further when you feel you need a little more help? What’s the harm in trying to look like the best version of ourselves?

Do you look (and feel) permanently angry because of that frown line that glowers furiously from your forehead? Do you think a little Botox might make you feel better about yourself? Go right ahead and do it. Does the face looking back at you from the mirror look older and more tired than you feel? Will a few discreet touches of filler make a difference? It’s entirely your call. Do you (like Nora Ephron and millions of other women) feel bad about you neck? Get a little nip and tuck if that’s what you want. It’s your face, your body, your life, your choice. Do what makes you happy. And pay no attention to the naysayers around you.

On the other end of the spectrum, do you want to ‘age disgracefully’ in an entirely different way altogether? Give yourself permission to do so. Cancel the gym membership, fire the personal trainer, and junk that hideous diet regimen you’ve signed up for. Go for a walk in the park or do a little light yoga instead. Or just lie in bed and eat chocolate. It’s your life. And you’ve earned the right to live it as you wish.

As for me, I am determined to age as disgracefully as possible. Here, in no particular order of importance, are just some of things I intend to do as I get older:

• Cut my hair really short (think GI Jane) and dye it purple. (Grey is such a boring colour.
• Wear red leather trousers to all my business meetings.
• Tell it like it is – no more mealy-mouthed platitudes.
• Throw out all my high heels and live in ballet flats.
• Lie on the sofa all weekend watching endless reruns of Friends/Frasier/Modern Family.

I intend to do what I like, when I like, and to hell with the rest of the world. And while I’m at it, I’m going to retire the phrase ‘ageing gracefully’ from my vocabulary. Instead, I am going to celebrate ‘ageing disgracefully’. Now that has a nice ring to it!

The naked truth

Wear a bikini if you want to – life is too short to be scared of a little cellulite or a large muffin top

Bikinis have been very much on my mind all of last week. Not because it’s a furnace out there and the swimming pool has never looked more tempting. No, I’ve been thinking of bikinis because of something that my late, great heroine, Nora Ephron, wrote in her book, I Feel Bad About My Neck. Talking about the pains of ageing she wrote: “Oh, how I regret not having worn a bikini for the entire year I was 26. If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don’t take it off until you’re 34.”

Now, I must confess that I’ve never ever worn a bikini: not at 16, not at 26, leave alone at 34. Partly, this is down to the fact that no matter how hard I tried – and I promise you, I did – I never did get the hang of that swimming thing. And partly, it is because I lacked the chutzpah to carry off wearing what is essentially underwear – except in nicer colours and styles – in front of a bunch of strangers as I lounged around the pool.

But now, as all the Ephron obituaries and tributes dutifully trot out her thoughts on bikinis (among other things: my favourite Ephron line is “Be the heroine of your life; not the victim”; and her bitchily pointing out that her second husband, Carl Bernstein, would even ‘make love to a Venetian blind’) I have begun to wonder if I did, in fact, leave it too late. You know what they say about youth being wasted on the young? Well, my youthful skinniness was certainly wasted on me...

Or wait, was it? Much as I would like to swear by all things Ephron, I have to concede that the zeitgeist on bikinis seems to have shifted since her book came out. When she wrote it, Ephron was 64, and the book had a gently elegiac quality about it, almost as if – in retrospect – it was foreshadowing her own death at 71.

But even as Ephron was writing sadly, if wittily, “If you’re fortunate enough to be in a sexual relationship, you’re not going to have the sex you once had. Plus, you can’t wear a bikini”, there were other women – her near contemporaries in age – who were all set to prove her wrong.

A mere two years later, across the Atlantic, the fabulous Helen Mirren was pictured in a bright red-bikini, frolicking in the sea with her husband, and looking like a million bucks. This was in 2008, when both Mirren and her husband were 63 years old. And yet, there they were, behaving like giddy, madly-in-love teenagers as they cavorted on the beach in Puglia with Mirren’s bikini body looking good enough to put any teenage girl to shame.

Since then, we have had our share of 40, 50 and 60-somethings lining up to show us that there are still some bikini years left in them. Whether it is the 44-year-old Carla Bruni, the 48-year-old Courtney Cox, the 56-year-old Jerry Hall or the 59-year-old Marie Helvin, they have all done their bit to prove that bikinis can look just as good on women of a certain age as they do on nubile young girls.

But then, these are women who look good for their age – hell, they look great for any age! What about the rest of us, who struggle to keep our muffin tops under control, who have borne children and have the scars to prove it, who have wobbly bits that no amount of lycra can keep under control?

What about the average woman like you and me? Should we dutifully set aside our bikinis at the magic age of 34 and slip into one-pieces (and oblivion)? Or should we throw off our inhibitions along with those much-despised one-pieces and put our mid-riffs boldly on display?

Well, I got my answer on a recent holiday in Italy when I ventured out into the hotel swimming pool. Every single woman in the pool area was wearing a bikini. Some of them were thin and toned. Others were overweight and out of shape. And then there were those who were, quite frankly, obese. And yet all of them sported their bikinis with such insouciance that I could only admire their self-confidence and their ease with their bodies.

Their breasts spilled out, their bellies flopped over, their bikini bottoms could barely contain their bums. But did they care? No, not a jot. They happily swam in the pool, went kayaking, sun-bathed, and even fetched up at the bar for a drink. I am ashamed to admit that I watched with a certain horrified fascination to begin with. And then, soon enough the novelty of all those lady bits on display wore off and I began to wonder what the fuss was about.

After all, if you are confident enough – and comfortable enough – to wear a bikini to the swimming pool, then why should you let any kind of body fascism stop you? As far as I am concerned when it comes to getting dressed – for the beach; the pool; the office; or a party – there is only one rule that matters. And that is: There are no rules.

That said, much as I admire these women, I have to admit that I won’t be wearing a bikini any time soon – not unless there is a tropical villa with a private pool involved. And even then – call me craven if you will – I’m going to keep that sarong well within reach.