The Aging of a Beautiful Woman

How Do We Carry Ourselves?

Last year I posed the following two questions on a Facebook. In March I asked “Do women who were very pretty in their youth have a harder time with aging? I know that old women can be beautiful but it is not the same. There is a loss of visibility that comes with age for women in our culture.” and in November “If you are a woman "of a certain age" how do you deal with your own self-perceived loss of looks? I know that men suffer loss with age too, but it is different.” The response I received was overwhelming. Hundreds of comments. I had clearly hit a nerve.

There were several themes in the comments, from those who felt all attention to appearance was superficial to those who use whatever means necessary to beat the calendar, to those who said they were never pretty, much less beautiful, so there was nothing to lose. The saddest were the women who had relied on looks all their adult lives and knew they were “slipping” in the eyes of the world, and in their own eyes. I understand this all too well.

Leaving aside the ones who dismiss either the concept of beauty or themselves as having any part of it, the laments carried some common themes. The first is self esteem. If a woman is beautiful and knows it, this creates a certain type of pleasure. We like to dress up, do our hair, put on make up. It creates a sense of self-attraction.

It also invites attention from others. Many commenters mentioned the relief of no longer drawing the male gaze. It reminded me of a wonderful Amy Schumer skit on “The Last Fuckable Day”, wherein Amy meets a group of actresses she admires, celebrating one of their number on her Last Fuckable Day. At first Amy thinks the guest of honor is upset. Then it turns out she is over the moon. She can eat all the ice cream and then burp. And nobody cares. Older women, even the ones that are clearly STILL beautiful, are invisible. The line seems to be around 50, though milage may vary depending on genetics, and sometimes surgery.

But as much as the freedom from the oppression of our looks may please us when it comes to random men, the situation in intimate relationships is another matter. We are still “in the game”. We WANT certain men to still see us as desirable. Sexual rejection hurts. It is so painful it burns. And, in committed relationships it is no doubt painful for the man as well.

Almost all men have very particular things that attract them. This is just the way it is. Likely hard wired. And they can't really help it. Several of those nearly universal attractants are things that fade with age. With couples who have been together for years it can be worked through. There are decades of history, shared pleasures, and a memory of each other when they were young.

This is not true for older single women. You see it in the age range that most men in the online dating scene put for their ideal match. Men in their 70s seek 45-50 year olds. And women over 60 are almost invisible unless they employ some sort of physical equalizer. Like hard workouts and a little "work".

When I speak of rejection it is generally more subtle for a woman who likes a particular man. Unless she is like Kim Cattrall's portrayal of the sexually over-active Samantha in Sex and the City, she is more likely to flirt subtly and hope the guy goes for it. When it doesn't happen, especially when it is because we are "too old" it hurts.

Along with the hurt was anger. Several of the women who commented were pissed that men would be so cold. That they would not appreciate the things we appreciate in ourselves. One of them insisted that men can and should think their way out of this. I replied that the dick does not take instructions from the brain, or even the heart necessarily. I know I can't control what attracts me. But I don't have an antenna stuck to me advertising the fact. How many times have we tried to WILL ourselves to be attracted to the one who was "good" for us, and how did that work out?

I am not ready to retire that part of my life yet, though it is clearly not entirely up to me. I don't want every jerk on the corner to look at me "that way". I would like the right man to do so. But I am not willing to take radical steps to get there.

There are three obvious schools on this. One is to "let yourself go." Another is to fight with all resources, which, if you have the means, may entail plastic surgery and a few hundred thousand dollars. The third is the middle way, adopted by women who care about their appearance, know that taking care of themselves is a social message, and who will take reasonable measures such as eating with health in mind, or getting reasonable exercise. 

This group also embraces non- invasive cosmetics such as skin care lines. They also continue to dress well and know what looks good. They believe that old woman can be very attractive, even beautiful, just not in the same way a 22 year old is. 

I am the third type. And I know it might not be enough with some potential partners. But there must be balance, and I am betting that this hard wiring towards youth is not evenly distributed and likely barely affects some men. Those men are my guys.

Even deeper than the anger was grief. And women who excoriated themselves for being as shallow as the men for even caring. It isn’t just the looks though. It is clear evidence of the inexorable passage of time, going only one direction. It is the marker that one phase of our lives is over and will never come again. It is a little death, partly of the ego, but deeper than that. No wonder we grieve. In spite of what our intellects are telling us. That we are still worthy. That there is a different kind of beauty that belongs to the best of elders. The translucence of those who completely accept themselves and who love the world and all the life within. The ones who remain entirely alive until they are on the edge of death. The ones who don’t “let themselves go” but instead let go. Of all the boxes of youth.

I have seen a 100 year old woman steal the show at a party. She had the room mesmerized. And we all would have been poorer for it if she had sidelined herself.

Here are three photos of me. At 24, 50, and last year.