When I turned 50, I was surprised to find out that I had crossed over into the dark side. According to the arbitrars of aging. I was...old.
"What? 50? That's not old!"
"Oh, honey, 50 is old."
"It is?! Why didn't anyone warn me I had an expiration date? Damn it, people!"
Media, advertisers, marketers, manufacturers, and retailers ever in search of the younger demographic, are happy to drop older women like hot potatoes. Or hot flash potatoes. Or sweaty old spuds.
"Sorry, sweaty old spud, but we're keen on tastier tater tots these days."
"Tater tots? Please. They're so juvenile."
I'm sliding into 55 next month and suddenly I'm hitting a new milestone. I'm even less desirable than I was at 50, because I'm about to join the auspicious group known as 55 and older! Aw yiss! Congratulations! You made it! Woo hoo! Hello SENIOR! That's right, you can move into a 55 and older community! You get old people discounts! You are completely irrelevant to marketers! Are you a lady? You're even more irrelevant, because you don't need Viagra! We won't show ladies like you in sexy commercials with a hot young guy lounging on a bed while soft porn music plays and your old lady hair blows in the breeze of a fan. That's right, you're special like that. Nobody cares about your sex life, lady. Get a cat and some sensible shoes and exit stage left, thank you.
This is patently absurd! I don't feel old, I don't look old, and I'm not interested in 'old lady' things. I don't even know what 'old lady' things are. What are 'old lady' things? Doilies? Rubber swim caps? Toilet paper cozies? Gingham bloomers? Do they even sell those anymore?
Who decides this stuff?
I imagine there are lots of women over 55 collectively scratching their heads. We're punk rock, independent, defiant women of substance, and that doesn't change the moment we hit some arbitrary age milestone. We're the same person at 55 that we were the day before. We are the largest demographic with the most discretionary income, and we've got YEARS left to earn it and spend it.
Old lady my ass.
You can take that outmoded, archaic, patriarchal pile of crapadoodledoo and stuff it in a pair of gingham bloomers. This feisty feminist isn't having any of it. And hey, media, brands, marketers, advertisers...wake the hell up!
"That sweaty old spud's got some spice in her britches."
"Yes, yes I do. Take that, tater tot." Tosses back her hot pink mane, straightens her lady pants, and sashays into her day.
(If you like this post, and really what's not to like unless you're a tater tot, you might like my new book Fifty and Other F-Words. I'm just sayin'.)