French Women... [insert stereotype here]

Isabelle Huppert, 57. Photo from New York Times here.

Going through my e-mail Thursday morning, I saw that the lovely Rubiatonta had sent me a link to a NYT article entitled "Aging Gracefully, the French Way," and my interest, bien sur, was piqued.  I didn't have a chance to read the entire article (actually, two articles) and all of the fascinating reader responses in the comments section until later that night and throughout the next day. 

The article itself is mostly a re-hash of much of what has already been written about French Women™ including some truths (e.g. they pay more attention to skin care than makeup), some gross generalizations, stereotypes, and more than a few "bon" mots that almost made me spew cafe-au-lait all over the monitor.  (This snorter for example: "And even the average Frenchwoman — say, shopping along the Rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré or enjoying a leisurely lunch on the Left Bank, or strolling through the Luxembourg Gardens..." This is the equivalent of saying the "average" American woman shops on Fifth Avenue or Rodeo Drive, enjoys an extended lunch at a posh restaurant and then goes for a stroll in Central Park.)  Several of the commenters including some French women or people currently living in France, pointed out the ridiculousness of these examples and the fallacies of many of the generalizations within the article, so I won't fisk everything in there.  (I find that "lifestyle" and "trend" writers in the NYT tend to be from a rarefied, privileged demographic and assume everyone leads the same kind of upper-class lives that they do.)

As une femme americaine who has visited Paris three times in the last four years and tried to pay close attention to the women there, I do see some overall differences between the women of our two countries, even taking the broad diversity of both places into account.  Yes, les femmes d'un certain age in Paris and the few outlying areas we've visited do tend to wear less makeup than their counterparts here.  No, one doesn't see the freakish, sometimes scary results of overdone plastic surgery while walking through the more upscale arrondisements that one might encounter in Beverly Hills (though some commenters observed that the obviously Botoxed face is becoming more common in Paris).  I did see exceptions in Paris, but generally women over 40 don't try to dress like teenagers or 20-something celebrities. Nor does one see legions of women teetering around on stilletto heels.  True, the occasional high heel is seen, however low heels or flats dominate as is often noted, Parisian women do a lot of walking and climbing of stairs on a day-to-day basis. While generally well put-together, not every woman you pass on les rues is stylish or chic.  Frump is evident in Paris too, though you don't see women schlepping around in baggy sweats or oversized tee shirts bearing the logo of a local radio station or a picture of their grandchild.

And yes, *overall* the women in Paris were thinner than a comparable cross-section of American women, but not all Parisiennes are whippet-thin.  While we're on the (inevitable) topic of weight, the assumption that staying slim is a primary component aging well, repeatedly voiced in the article and comments, has limits.  While I'm not advocating that we abandon healthy habits and moderate portion sizes, especially as our metabolisms slow with age, I've also known women who maintain a fashionable gauntness through unrelenting deprivation, only to look haggard, tired and worn.  And how much joie de vivre can we experience when we're always hungry? Do I even need to say that smoking to keep weight down (which French women are reputed to do in large numbers) plays havoc with the skin, not to mention health, or that the reducing "pills and creams" mentioned in the articles are dubious at best?

I say all of the above as a general admirer of French women and style, just to be clear.

But I think the major difference is cultural.  There was a bumper sticker from a few years back, "Change How You See, Not How You Look" and I think the French see women over 40 or 50 very differently than our culture does.  The French are very comfortable with The Feminine (and I mean that more in the grand metaphysical sense rather than just "femininity") and don't stop seeing or valuing women once they reach a certain age.  Though I think it's slowly changing, women in the US seem to have an expiration date and are often culturally invisible after that point.  Duchesse once spoke of the concept of "granny goggles" in relation to hair stylists and older women; I sometimes think our culture wears granny goggles, and this spills over into how women see and treat themselves.  Here in the US, where so often beauty = youth, women go to great lengths to look youthful in the hope of looking beautiful and often wind up looking neither.  Or they give up entirely on trying to look their best or even thinking of themselves as attractive, as women.  Some mentioned in the article's comments section that French women's relentless drive to stay attractive and keep weight off stems from wanting to keep their husbands out of the arms of a mistress, in a culture that tends to be more tolerant of such things.   Perhaps in some circles that's true.  But I also think there's something to be gained from the attitude of valuing ourselves no matter what our age, taking care of our physical selves, not allowing ourselves to become drab and invisible, but rather using our appearance as a form of expression, and allowing our inner radiance to shine through.

Street style photos of les femmes fantastiques from Paris and environs by the gorgeous Tish from A Femme d'un Certain Age. Used with permission.

~

Laissez-faire

Of all the judgements that are passed on women's appearances, the one that irks une femme most is "she's really let herself go."

Perhaps because I've been on the receiving end of this accusation during times when I was really struggling (to lose weight, or dress decently on a shoestring budget, or balance a demanding job and young child with special needs), I'm a bit sensitive when it comes to those words.
Perhaps it's because of the moralizing subtext indicating that sins of gluttony and sloth are made manifest. Perhaps it's because of the erroneous belief that all aspects of our appearance are ultimately within our control.
But truly, I have yet to meet the woman who has truly "let herself go," this mythical creature who just decides one day that she just doesn't give a fig anymore about her appearance, about the state of her home, about her work, and suddenly is perfectly content to sit on the sofa all day eating bonbons. If you scratch the surface of someone who used to dress to the nines but now is seen shlepping about in sweats and greasy hair, I'll bet you find someone whose life has taken a turn that has her feeling overwhelmed and out of control. Perhaps it's illness, job loss, depression, or sudden demands such as care taking for a sick family member. Perhaps we should ask how things are going for her, rather than assume she doesn't care anymore.
And I've also heard those "letting herself go" assessments levied against women whose only transgressions are showing some natural signs of ageing. Weight gain, wrinkles, softening jawlines, greying hair...the balance between a willingness to invest time and money to hold back the visible manifestations of passing years and a desire to just enjoy and experience whatever finite amount of time we've been granted is one we continuously negotiate. None of us will retain our youthful beauty forever; we each have to decide what level of effort put toward our appearance enhances or diminishes our lives.
Personally, I can't imagine the day that I won't want to dress well, but I can hope to achieve a level of acceptance where a few extra pounds no longer drive me to distraction, and a few more wrinkles don't make a dent in my self-esteem, and nothing stops me from living life to the fullest.
So can we retire this outdated expression?
~

Bien dans sa peau, encore

(Because I needed to give myself a pep talk, this is a repost from last year.)

"Bien dans sa peau." It's that mythical state that French women supposedly embody from birth (though the vast number of minceur creams and pills in French pharmacies may be a chink in that armor), and, we're told, the foundation to achieving effortless chic.
Being comfortable in one's own skin is not a state that comes easily to some of us. We struggle with our failure to meet cultural standards or even just our own. We starve, crunch, pluck, dye, wax, inject ourselves toward an arbitrary and unattainable ideal. We practice denial: the comfort of going sleeveless on a hot day, ice cream from Berthillon, sex with the lights on, a day at the beach, clothes that actually fit our bodies as they are now.
Not to be morbid, but recent deaths of family, friends and people we knew only from their work bring home the point that Life Is Short. Life is too short to worry that your thighs are too dimply or your ears are too pointy or your boobs are too small or your upper arms sag. Life is to short to get upset at finding another wrinkle or grey hair. Life is too short to spend apologizing for the genetic hand we were dealt.

But "bien dans sa peau" also goes deeper, I think. It's a type of comfort and acceptance of our likes and dislikes, our choices and values, and how we live our lives. It's the knowledge that we're not perfect, and mistakes do not make us worthless. It's a form of grace, of living (and yes, dressing) in alignment with who we are, and not trying to fit ourselves into a mold.
In his usual eloquent way, the Manolo sums it up perfectly: Dress well, live well, treat others well, and do all you can with joyful confidence and others will invariably come to love your flaws as you yourself cannot.
Photo of Simone Signoret from here.

Morphing la mode

Picture from here.

Back around third grade during science class, we were introduced to the concept of body somatypes (ectomorph, mesomorph, endomorph). Though the concept of body types was originally developed in the 1940's in part to catalog personality traits attributable to each (not surprisingly, now debunked), the somatypes are still used today to generalize basic physical traits.

I remember my eight-year-old self thinking, "aha! I'm an endomorph!" Yet despite the fact that somatypes were presented as inherited and relatively immutable, the idea that having a rounder body was indicative of basic flaws of character (weakness, greediness) also held sway, at least in my family and culture. So I spent decades trying to starve my endomorphic body into ectomorphism. Even at my thinnest, I never achieved the willowy, angular look I so coveted. At best, I achieved a smaller version of my softer, rounded self. (I remember my first boyfriend who used to pinch the "flab" around my waist, even when I weighed 99 pounds. Yes, I eventually broke up with him.)

Fast forward a few decades, and I was re-introduced to the concept of body somatypes at Imogen Lamport's workshop in May. It turns out that ectomorphs are best suited to more structured styles, endomorphs to more soft styles, and mesomorphs will probably look best with a middling amount of structure. The hedonistic part of me has always loved and gravitated toward clothing that flows and drapes, though I've spend many years trying to wear more tailored, structured styles in the name of "professional" dressing, and in an attempt to emulate classic looks that have inspired me since I was a girl and first became aware of fashion.

But lately those stiffer fabrics and more architectural garments just haven't felt right, and I've slowly been moving toward softer silhouettes. I still need to look polished and professional for work ("professional" being much more casual than a decade ago), but cardigan sweaters have been inching out the more constructed jackets, and tees or silk jersey shells have replaced woven blouses.

Call the resulting aesthetic "Hippie Chic" or maybe "Bourgeois Bohemian," but I really can't see myself going back toward a more strictly tailored, structured style. Regardless of the nomenclature, I seem to be getting closer to creating a wardrobe mix that integrates what works best for my body with the basic stylistic elements that have always appealed to me (clean, simple, natural, chic). That accord between body and head seems to be an essential component of bien dans sa peau, without which "ageing gracefully" is next to impossible. As someone who has always felt pulled in conflicting directions style-wise, and has been (probably unduly) influenced by others' style pronouncements, having more of these "click" moments where what I'm wearing feels Just Right is like a balm on my psyche.

What about you? How do you incorporate what appeals to you aesthetically with what works best for your body type? Has the formula changed as you've matured?

~

The Age of Irony

Before too much time goes by, I wanted to catch up with the discussion about dressing ironically after 50 presented in Cathy Horyn's NYT article, "Irony and the Old Lady," and commented on by Duchesse at Passages des Perles.

Horyn:

“The fashion message we’re so used to in New York doesn’t translate elsewhere in the country,” said Charla Krupp, a stylist and the author of “How Not to Look Old.” “People don’t get the joke.”

For that reason, Ms. Krupp tells older women to err on the side of classic and elegant. “No irony,” she said. “You can’t wear that porkpie hat. People will think you’ve lost it.”

It may just be that we’ve had a bellyful of abstractions like irony and now hanker for something direct and concrete. This desire for clarity isn’t limited to an age group — young people seem to crave it, too — and it’s not a defense against the standard complaint that you’re not cool enough to get the joke. Who cares if the joke is available to everyone through the Internet?

Duchesse seems to concur, saying:

Dressing with ironic intent is best left to the young, who enjoy irony's cousin, sarcasm, and think their costumes are highly original. And sometimes they are, but mostly they're just a goof, a wink, a bagatelle.

Irony is a form of self-referential elitism: I get the joke, do you? I'm willing to miss the recherché humour, and aim for well, instead of ironically, dressed.

In my twenties, I was a frequent flyer in the ironic dressing program, though at the time I didn't consciously label it as such. My budget relegated my shopping to thrift stores, so I went all in, cultivating a John Waters-inspired aesthetic. Donna Reed shirtwaist dresses, ragged vintage beaded sweaters, bowling and Hawaiian shirts, cat-eye sunglasses with glittery gold frames all were among my wardrobe treasures. "Bad taste as an art form," was how I probably would have described my style, the sartorial equivalent of plastic pink flamingos in the front yard.

Even so, I longed for a level of disposable income that would support a more sophisticated and elegant style of dressing. As my clothing budget slowly grew, I began to dial back on the irony, to the point that by my late thirties, I had adopted a more serious, classic style (necessitated in part by my office environment). But after a few years, dressing more or less classically and conventionally began to feel stultifying and I realized that there was a part of me that wasn't being expressed: the irreverent, whimsical, creative, goofy part.

While I do concur with the wisdom that un certain age allows an expression of elegance that would have been misplaced on our younger selves, there is a part of me that is not willing to let go entirely of a bit of humor and whimsy when it comes to mes ensembles. I think of l'amie de ma grand-mère, whom we knew as "A.P."(Auntie Peg). A.P. was the master of the unique, clever and fun gift, and though she wore the dresses or skirted suits with thick-heeled shoes that seemed to be the standard uniform for older women of means during the 1960's, she always had one element that was just a little bit tweaked, whether a large brooch in the shape of a lobster, a scarf decorated with a martini glass print, or a charm bracelet with cacti and cowboy hats and boots. She expressed her humorous side subtly, but she always expressed it.

So while I've let go of the in-your-face irony of my younger years and still gravitate toward the simple and classic, I've made an effort to integrate some humor and joie de vivre into the mix. I think the trick to keep from looking like a parody is to pick one or two elements at a time, whether it be ankle boots with attitude, or a gold brocade "Jackie Kennedy" jacket, or an Hermès scarf tied in knots and worn like a necklace with a t-shirt and jeans. I'll leave the bowling shirts and gold glitter sunglasses frames to the kids. Dressing like a loopy old lady or conversely comme une jeune fille (e.g. accessories from Hello Kitty or Tokidoki) works either way when one is barely above drinking age, but easily becomes too literal or precious after forty unless one is an honest-to-God eccentric; in that case, anything goes and more power to you.

Horyn again:

Or Anna Piaggi of Italian Vogue, whose highly theatrical style places her above mundane questions of appropriateness. It must be said that Ms. Piaggi’s look, highlighted by bright color and a miniature hat tipped over her whitened brow, demands a commitment few women possess.

As Luca said: “Even in the middle of summer, in the countryside, she doesn’t go out unless she’s dressed like that. It’s her sense of life.”

(bolds mine)

Which is really the crux of the matter, n'est-ce pas? Regardless of age, if our style is out of sync with our personality, we will look out of place and ill at ease even if we are otherwise impeccably dressed. Certainly we often have the inclination to judge and police another's style based upon our own tastes, and while I may not always love someone else's choices or find them appropriate, ultimately it boils down to chacun à son gout, non?

~

Nice sentiment...

...but I wouldn't want to wear it.

I've never understood the desire to lie about one's age, unless it's being 19 and swearing up and down to the bouncer that you're 21 so you can get into the bar to see your friend's band play. Still, maybe it's understandable in a culture that tends to view women as commodities with a short shelf life.

(On the other hand, I'm perfectly happy to look younger than my age, though I'm not going full Charla Krupp or considering anything that requires anathesia at this point. While I'm not chasing that thirty-something look, I'm serious about sunblock, and have recommitted to healthier eating and a little more exercise.)

What about you, do you lie about your age, or own up?

(Talbot's tee)
~

Extreme Maintenance

Hmmm...

I've been mentally girding myself to do battle with the onslaught of "OMG TheHolidaysWillMakeYouFAT!!!!," "HowToKeepFromGainingWeightOverTheHolidays," (stick to the veggie tray at parties? How original!!!) and then the "LoseThatHolidayFat," and "SwimsuitSeasonIsJustAroundTheCorner" articles and the media blitz of weight loss advertisements that will hit one day after Christmas. The last few years I've been able to blissfully ignore these, having enjoyed a weight that while nowhere near as slim as my youthful Audrey Hepburn fantasies, was at least stable and had allowed me to build up a stylish wardrobe. But this last year, I've suddenly gained about ten pounds (doc says "Welcome to Menopause!"). I wish I could say I'm unfazed by this, but I'm feeling a bit susceptible to the annual bombardment of weight loss messages: half of my clever wardrobe is now too tight to wear.

If I could harness all of the wasted energy I've spent dieting/regaining/agonizing about my weight over most of my five decades of life, it could probably light up Times Square for a year. A few days ago, Duchesse linked to an article from Harpers in 1993, The Weight That Women Carry. In it, the author, Sallie Tisdale says "What I liked in myself seemed to shrivel and disappear when I dieted." That one sentence sums up why I'll never darken the door of Weight Watchers again, or sign up for the "Lifestyle Change*" du jour. Ultimately, I don't like the person I'd have to be to look how I'd like to look. (That person is obsessive, self-involved, self-righteous, anxious.) I've been down that path so many times, I know the period of elation after achieving the goal eventually fades, and facing an eternity of measuring out half cups of cottage cheese starts to feel like a prison sentence. Which doesn't mean that I don't mostly eat healthfully and in moderation; I do. My mind and body certainly feel better when I do. I get regular exercise, too. But that doesn't seem to be enough any more.

Until the last few decades, it wasn't as much of a stigma for women to get a bit stouter once they were beyond their menarche years, and in some cultures, it still isn't. They certainly weren't expected to look and dress like teenagers, and if you check out vintage clothing websites, you'll see there was a lot of elegant, stylish and well-made clothing available up to a modern size 16 or so. These days the word "matronly" is practically an epithet, and even great-grandmothers are trying to squeeze into Rock & Republic jeans. A failure to maintain the body we had in our twenties is now seen as letting oneself go, and dressing to accommodate our bodies and age, a sign we've given up.

When it comes to aging, weight is only one of a myriad of ways that we fight the advance of years. Creams, injections, cosmetic procedures, hair dye, teeth bleaching and veneers...there's always another frontier on which the battle is waged to maintain a more youthful appearance. (My hair stylist even told me that one can get hair implants to augment thinning eyebrows! o_O Thanks, think I'll pass.) There's a lot of money to be made in selling us what we think will hold time itself at bay.

At some point, don't we start to get the message from those wrinkles and grey hairs and sagging bits that Life Is Short, and that we need to think more carefully how we want to spend our finite time, energy and money? So much of what happens when we age is dependent on our genes, and often all but the most extreme efforts yield minimal results. Three hundred dollars can get us some super-duper magic face cream, or three singing lessons. Ten thousand dollars can buy a brow lift or a month travelling in Italy. Five hours a week on the treadmill or volunteering at the food bank? Which supports and sustains us more? That's a question each woman has to answer for herself.

I still wrestle with this. On the one hand, I know diets are a recipe for failure, yet on the other I know that feeling frumpy detracts from the quality of my life. (Yes, I am that shallow.) I know the power that confidence can bring, and it eats away a bit at my confidence when my clothes no longer fit. To fight that feeling, I need to focus, to fine tune, to remember to eat some protein with each meal or snack, to grocery shop, to cook, to listen to my body, do what it takes to feel my best, which may or may not result in a return to last year's size. Perhaps I also need to start revamping my wardrobe. Life is short, after all.

*diet

Picture above from here.

~

Advanced Style

A friend just turned me on to this new (for me, anyway!) street style blog, Advanced Style. Prepare to be inspired by these stylish men and women.
~

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Materfamilias posted this poem a few days ago:

To My Last Period (Lucille Clifton, 1991)

well girl, goodbye,

after thirty-eight years.

thirty-eight years and you

never arrived

splendid in your red dress

without trouble for me

somewhere, somehow.

now it is done,

and i feel just like

the grandmothers who

after the hussy has gone,

sit holding her photograph

and sighing, wasn't she

beautiful? wasn't she beautiful?

The poem was very evocative for me, especially that second stanza. I don't miss the monthly trouble, but I feel caught in that disorienting space between the hussy and the grandmother, not one anymore, nor the other yet. D'un certain age.

My mother and her friends had a euphemism for menopause: The Change. As in, "Arlene's going through The Change," while exchanging the kind of knowing look that drove us kids crazy.

But now that I'm officially on the other side of menopause, the euphemism rings true. It's not just saying goodbye (and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out!) to your periods, accompanied by maybe a hot flash or two. Nope, there's a whole package, and sister, you're along for the ride.

Most of the changes I can accept. I pluck the coarse hairs that occasionally sprout on my chin, I add a dab of concealer to the brown patches that appear suddenly despite my liberal use of 50+ sunscreen. A good night's sleep is no longer a given; some nights it feels like I'm trying to snooze atop a pile of bricks. My libido has gone into hiding, but reemerges after a few kisses. I've never been one of those women who trusted in or (knowingly) traded on her good looks, so the prospect of being no longer young and pretty holds little dread for me.

But last weekend I culled a half dozen or so pair of pants from my closet that fit nine months ago and are now too tight. This bothers me, but what bothers me more is the part of me that sees this as some sort of failure. I really thought I'd evolved beyond this kind of thinking and made peace with my body, but here it is again showing me that there is still work to be done.

It's hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head. - Sally Kempton

I don't have many regrets in my life, but one that I still nurse is that I wasted so much physical and mental energy on the misguided attempt to force my body to achieve an impossible ideal, and to let the failure to achieve it impact my sense of self-worth so profoundly.
Wasn't she beautiful? Wasn't she beautiful?
A few days ago, Duchesse posted a picture of a lovely young woman in a tight red dress, and pondered whether she herself had ever dressed to create the same effect. Ultimately she concludes:
I know women who are mired in mourning for their lost effect. What is the point? I'd love to be able to carry off this dress, but know (and most of the time accept) that the natural arc of life has removed that possibility.
Let's have a moment of appreciation for our bodies, whether voluptuous or lean, smooth or lined, soft or firm. What we were, and on our journey, what we have become.
Hear, hear.
~

Somebody talk me back in off the ledge...

I'm having a moment. It started innocently enough, with an intriguing silk ombré scarf in the window. But twice this week, I've found myself in Eileen Fisher, trying on flowing, body-skimming clothes. Maybe it's my recently expanding dimensions, maybe it's the warm weather, but...I'm liking some of this stuff, and finding it to be flattering and comfortable. There's always been an aspect of my style personality that gravitates toward the hippie-dippy-artsy-fartsy, at times taking over my sartorial consciousness like one of Sybil's more insistent selves, only to vanish as suddenly and leaving that "what was I thinking???" section of my closet as a reminder.

But some of these look really good on, like this tunic tank.

Or these linen jeans (which are light and soft and have lots of movement):

This cardigan is fabulous over the tank, and has an interesting sleeve detail. I've always loved duster-length jackets or tops in soft, flowing fabrics, but hesitated out of fear of the Dreaded Bea Arthur Effect. But look at this silk duster! It's simple, it's elegant, it would look great accessorized with an Hermès scarf!These are clothes for women who have Given Up, right? But is it so wrong to just want to wear something loose and Wealthy-Marin-County-Aging-Hippie-esque sometimes? And I must confess that the Garanimals aspect is appealing for those days when pulling together disparate elements of the closet is just too daunting. Yet some of the pieces could be mixed with more tailored items as well. One would think that the "would I wear it in Paris?" standard would eliminate just about everything I've shown you, but last year I did see many women in Paris (in some of the tonier locations, yet) dressed in this looser, more bohemian style. Have I been abducted by the Yoga Chic Body Snatchers?? Or is this fascination just a manifestation of a midlife crisis, like when my dad went to EST and grew his hair long and started talking about his past lives?
.

Things are going swimmingly

This was the winner in the swimwear search:

It fits well, looks fabulous on, and stays put.

Runner up:

Care and Feeding

In my 20's, I had a close friend who was heavily invested in her appearance, especially with regard to maintaining a very toned, thin body. She made no bones (no pun intended) about the fact that this was the most important thing in her life. People were always commenting on her slender figure and asking how she kept it. "I take care of myself," she'd sniff just a bit haughtily. Her version of taking care of herself demanded unswerving and relentless rigidity regardless of circumstance: eating less than 1000 calories per day, usually two but sometimes three daily aerobics classes, and eventually, abuse of laxatives. (Do I have to admit that my younger, eating-disordered self envied her for her thinness and for what I perceived at the time as strength and discipline, only understanding in later years that it sprung from self-hatred and obsession?) We started drifting apart after I started finding my way out of ED-ville, and began moving away from our shared worldview.

So a lot of years passed where hearing the words "I take care of myself" made une femme bristle a bit. It always fell on my ears sounding a bit self-righteous and disingenuous at the same time. I've seen a lot of people do a lot of ultimately self-destructive things in the name of "taking care of themselves" which to many always seems to equate to "staying thin and young-looking." And I've seen some naturally very thin people with really crappy habits get a pass, and get credited with good self-care when it's really mostly Doritos and genetics.

But to be able to live a stylish, adventurous, balanced, delicious life after 50, more and more attention to self care is required. So what does that look like? And how does one separate what really nurtures and energizes from what is intended to achieve a specific culturally-approved look? I've come to realize that this is a highly individual formula, and that it must shift with time and circumstances. Taking care of myself in my 20's meant (among other things) running three miles a few times a week, because it made me feel wonderful and gave me lots of energy, but that same regimen would be murder on my joints today. (I miss running, I really do.)

Self-care at this point in time involves the following (in no particular order):

• A bit of protein with every meal, and fresh fruits and veggies as often as possible.
• Limiting sugary foods to immediately after meals (prevents blood sugar crashes)
• Walking as much as possible, and once I'm cleared by the orthopedist, riding my recumbent stationary bike a few times a week
• Regular dental care (more and more evidence that gum disease is a factor in a host of other serious conditions, such as heart disease!) Flossing daily in addition to brushing.
• Regular medical checkups
• Remembering to take my thyroid med every morning
• Sleep (getting 8 hours is a challenge at times, but I try)
• Wearing clothing that fits my body NOW, not when I'm five pounds thinner
• Wearing a seatbelt (it's the law here, but still)
• Down time where no one is making demands on me (I get up an hour before the rest of my family to achieve this)
• SUNSCREEN. Every day. 40+ SPF.
• Writing for this blog.
• Doing some stretches daily, again once the orthopedist signs off (I'm restricted from certain movements until my bones have fused to my artificial hip)
• Vitamin, calcium, and fish oil tablets daily
• A bit of dark chocolate daily, and a glass of wine a few times a week.
• A good laugh at my own expense at least once a day. ("I used to be disgusted/But now I'm just amused.")

While this may sound like an exhaustive (and perhaps exhausting!) list, the truth is that I've been able to incorporate most of these into my daily routines and they now are mostly habit. Although no one would probably ever point to me as a picture of glowing fitness, the rest of my life doesn't have to wind and twist like a topiary around what I do in the name of health. Because really, how "healthy" would that be?

Fear and Loathing

Yes, it's time for une femme to replace the swimsuit.


The one I purchased a couple of years ago in Palm Springs, and loved like no swimsuit I'd had in decades, has given up the ghost. It's faded, stretched out, and the bottom is pilled and worn thin from pool chemicals and rough concrete steps. This suit shouldn't have been so flattering, there were no "slimming panels" or ruching, or v-necks "creating a more vertical line." There was no clever color blocking or underwire. It was a simple, brown tank with a soft cup bra and thin straps, and looked fabulous on. I started looking for its replacement last year with no luck.


Prior to my PS Perfect suit, I'd had pretty good luck with Land's End swimsuits. I should mention that a) I'm not a beach bunny or lounge-around-the-pool type (my family's proclivity for skin cancer means I'm a committed Siren of Shade, including the big hat, cover up and sunglasses in addition to my 50+ SPF sunscreen), and b) as with my clothes, I prefer my swimwear without a lot of gimmickry. I need something basic, comfortable, and flattering that's actually designed for swimming.


I'm also adverse to trying on swimsuits anywhere except at home. There's something about the lighting in most dressing rooms that highlight all of the features of my physique I'm less than enamoured of. Every bump and roll seems to be magnified in that fluorescent glow. So online I go. Let's see what's out there in one piece, V-neck styles.

Nordstrom's carries the Miraclesuit brand, which I've read good things about. This one is kind of cute, but the top looks less than secure, and brings back some embarassing memories of an accidental Girls Gone Wild moment after my Olympic-calibre jackknife from the diving board.
Option #2 meets my basic requirements (v-neck, simple) but is just a little too "boobs in bondage."

I'm all for a little animal print, but this one just screams Cabana Cougar.
Ouch. This is traumatic just to look at. Flashback to childhood summer swim lessons and the Fat Girl suits my mother made me wear (not to mention the swimcap adorned with multicolored rubber flowers).
Halters usually are flattering. Here's a possibility. The description says "underwire" AND it's available with a D cup...
Love the styling on this one, but the polka dots remind me of a dress my grandmother had circa 1965... On to Land's End. here's a one-piece that's not too stodgy, but I'm iffy on the shirring at the waist. sometimes when it's straight across like that it bunches up and creates the effect of an overly tight belt. If you want to rock a Betty Grable look, this little number is surprisingly flattering. It actually looks better on women with more curves than the model.
I've had Land's End tankini's in the past, and while they're not as flattering as a one piece, it's nice not having to peel out of and then back in to a tight, wet suit when you need to go to the bathroom. This halter tankini top might be worth a try (with bottoms here).
My pals at Travelsmith also offer some swimwear, and this style (also by Miraclesuit) is one of the more promising.
I'll let you know which I ultimately end up with, but will not be uploading any modeling pics.

Sage Advice or Ageism?

It's no secret that we live in a culture that doesn't exactly revere our elders. It's generally assumed that "looking younger" is a universal and laudable goal. Now, that goal is even being packaged as an economic investment, especially for women (but men aren't immune). To get a better job, or to keep the one you have, getting bleached, dyed, nipped, tucked, lipo'd, and/or botoxed is presented as a smart career move. Employers want people who are keeping up with the times in a fast-paced, constantly changing environment, we're told, and looking like the grandmother of the hiring manager signals that we no longer have the energy or mental nimbleness to keep up. The generation that declared, "never trust anyone over 30" is now reaping what we've sown.

One of the latest and most unambiguously titled books in this arena is How Not to Look Old: Fast and Effortless Ways to Look 10 Years Younger, 10 Pounds Lighter, 10 Times Better by Charla Krupp. I haven't read the book, but according to the New York Times article Nice Résumé. Have You Considered Botox?,

The book is the latest makeover title to treat the aging of one’s exterior as a disease whose symptoms are to be fought to the death or, at least, mightily camouflaged. But the book offers a serious rationale for such vigilant attempts at age control, arguing that trying to pass for younger is not so much a matter of sexual allure as of job security.

“Looking hip is not just about vanity anymore, it’s critical to every woman’s personal and financial survival,” according to the book jacket.

The NYT writer, Natasha Singer goes on to say:

Many people would shun a book if it were titled “How Not to Look Jewish” or “How Not to Look Gay” because to cater to discrimination is to capitulate to it. But the success of “How Not to Look Old” indicates that popular culture is willing to buy into ageism as an acceptable form of prejudice, even against oneself.

“Ageism is one of the last frontiers of discrimination where people think that a way around it is not to be seen to age, but we would never say that women should try to look or act more male in order to avoid sexism,” said Molly Andrews, a psychologist who is a director of the Center for Narrative Research at the University of East London.

I'm of a mixed mind about this. In my line of work, we really don't care about age so much as experience, and whether the individual seems to have kept up with technology and is willing to continue to learn. Some of the most forward-thinking people I deal with daily are well over 50 and don't go to great pains to hide it. Still, if I were to find myself unemployed tomorrow, I'd probably be scrutinizing my appearance and wanting to present myself as energized and contemporary if not necessarily younger. At this point in my life, I'd probably draw the line at anything medical though.

What about you? Does age impact your career? How far would you go to improve your job prospects?

Les Chaussures Sans Douleur

Une femme has come to accept that she will probably never be a Manolo/Choo/Louboutin kind of girl. It's not that they aren't lovely, but aside from the fact that they don't fit my life, the flesh below the knees is no longer willing.

I used to take comfort in the fact that shoes were reliable. Regardless of how tough it might be to find stylish clothes that fit, I could always rock the shoes. Though I've never been one to jump gleefully into a pair of 4" heels, I rarely balked when it came to putting form ahead of function where footwear is concerned. Then something happened: mes pieds rebelled. Once narrow, they widened with pregnancy and never looked back from those broader horizons. I've always had a high arch and instep but now coupled with the new horizontal expansion, finding shoes that I can even get my foot into--let alone stand up and walk in--has become exponentially more challenging.

Search online for "comfort" shoes and you are assaulted with a plethora of beige lace-ups that scream "Senior bus to Laughlin!" Narrow the search by selecting wide sizing, and the prospects become even more dismal. Comfortable-yet-chic shoes have become a sort of Holy Grail pour moi.

Some recent successes:

These shoes from "1803" were my go-to walking shoes when we visited Paris, and though not the pair of stiletto's that all Parisiennes are reputed to wear (yes, another myth), they were perfect with the dark-wash and black jeans I primarily wore that week. They are exceptionally comfortable and supportive; I put several miles on them each day without a moment of discomfort or tired feet. They don't come in wide, but the regular size was fine.

I was delighted to find out that most Ferragamo shoes are available in wider widths. (Don't be fooled by the "Luncheon at the Garden Club" styles available online; they actually have many more au courrant options in the boutiques.) So when I decided it was time to invest in a good pair of classic pumps, I was able to find a pointy-toed, stiletto heeled iconic pump in a C width there, and yes they are actually comfortable to stand and walk in, though probably not so much on gravel or cobblestones, nor for hours on end. Hint: they don't sell the wide sizes online, but you can call one of the boutiques and order.

Stuart Weitzman also offers a multitude of styles in wide widths, though the comfort factor is hit-and-miss. You can't always tell just from looking at the shoe either, you really have to try them and walk around for a while. I've never gone wrong with their boots, though.


Here are some other styles I've been eyeing. While they may not qualify as "Superfantastic!" they do stand out a bit from the usual comfort/walking shoe fare:

Pikolinos

Not your typical stodgy Mephisto's

More Pikolinos

One more...

After having visited the mall yesterday, and having seen three different women over 40 wearing these, I have to add Newsboy caps to the list of d'un certain age don'ts.

Avoiding the Scarlet "M"

The 1964 book, A Guide to Elegance by Genevieve Antoine Dariaux is an amusing exercise in anachronism, delineating rules for appropriate dress which border on stultifying. It does yield up some gems however, a few of which still hold true. In the section "Age," she says "There is a saying in France, 'Elegance is the privilege of age' - and thank heavens it is perfectly true."

In the days before Fashion seemed to worship exclusively at the altar of Youth, a woman could look forward to achieving an age where more elegant and sophisticated clothing was her due. Now it often feels like we're navigating a narrow space between dowdiness and being branded with an "M" on our not-so-supple cheek should we transgress with attire deemed too youthful.

Reading Linda Grant's article in The Guardian on Monday, I was delighted to see my own style philosophy reflected in her conclusion:

Eternally stylish women find their look and modify it as they grow older; I arrived at the conclusion that to dress well in your 50s and 60s you need to dress more simply, saving the attitude for one item and paring down the rest, so my leather jacket would be worn with jeans and a cashmere sweater, or over a little black dress.

Actually, this has been my style M.O. for several years now, originally born out of frugality and work-appropriateness (in those horrible, oppressive days before it became OK to wear velour track suits to the office /sarcasm o_O ). I learned in my 30's to invest in simple, classic clothing and let accessories (and sometimes jackets) be my "showoff" pieces. This is where I tend to hit my style Sweet Spot and I've rarely gone wrong with this formula.

But I agree with Linda that it's especially true as we move into our 50's and beyond that our favorite leather jacket, or a short skirt, or a Balenciaga motorcycle bag can still work for us, as long as we keep the rest of the ensemble simple. And incorporating current or edgy elements can keep a simple ensemble from looking too stodgy and boring.

But here are some items I assiduously avoid, and think that when worn on most women over 40 tend to look out of sync with our age:

• White eyelet
• Babydoll anything
• An abundance of lace or ruffles
• Jumpers* or rompers
• Any combination of tops and bottoms that allows skin to show in between
• Playboy bunny or mudflap woman jewelry (in fact, these are questionable on women of any age)
• Hello Kitty, Paul Frank or similarly themed clothing
• Pants with verbiage across the ass
  

YMMV, as the kids say.

*"Jumper" in the U.S. is a sleeveless dress designed to be worn over a blouse or sweater. I've recently learned that in British terminology, a jumper is a pullover sweater, with which I have no beef and in fact, own several.

Picture from: www.fashion-era.com/

Tackling the Mutton-Shamers

Linda Grant of The Thoughtful Dresser has a great article up today over at the Guardian. Go read the whole thing. I'll post some more thoughts about this in the next day or two.

Following Our Instincts

"Look at me, they said. And I did."

This quote from Linda Grant's blog, The Thoughtful Dresser (which has become one of my daily reads), really gets down to the bones of what this style thing is all about.

To stand out or to blend in? It's the sartorial equivalent of the Fight or Flight response. That might sound a bit extreme, but being on display has rarely felt safe to me, and fear has informed much of my style. I stood out in ways I never intended, first as a chubby child whose appearance was constantly critiqued by family and then as a young woman without sufficient means to wear anything other than what I could find in my size in our smallish town's thrift stores. The Greek chorus in my head most frequently when browsing through the racks was chanting "you can't wear that" and (sometimes simultaneously) "you can't afford that." So my overarching desire, if not to hide, was to blend in, to wear what the other thinner, wealthier girls were wearing.

There were my defiant times, when I wore neon lime green hi-top sneakers and gold lamé cat-eye sunglasses, and being different was a big fuckyou to those who were never going to accept me anyway. It felt good, but it was still about rebellion, about reacting against the dominant style paradigm, rather than expressing something truly my own.

My "sweet spot" outfit from a couple days ago had an element of hiding about it. It was generic, neutral, nothing about it in particular inviting anyone to look. (But the ankle boots...there is something about boots that feels very cool and powerful that I like, and have always liked about wearing boots.) Dressing this way is following my instincts, but instincts tend to be about preservation, not about expression or fulfillment. I'm not satisfied with just preservation anymore.

To be able to go out into the world saying, "look at me," and not from a standpoint of seeking approval or fearing judgment, that's a mighty powerful stance. I'm not there yet, but I'm working on it.

The Mutton Roundup

If this is mutton, sign me up.

Photo: http://www.exposay.com/

Seems this is a hot topic these past few days.

Linda Grant at The Thoughtful Dresser says Fie! on the "Mutton Monitors" (and dons a lovely leather rocker jacket), and today argues in favor of dressing with attitude. Linda says,

"The point about these three was that they understood that the parade has most certainly not gone by. None of them looked ridiculous, they had elegance and distinction and above all, a strong sense of personal style. You understood at once that their clothes mattered to them, because they understood why clothes matter.

Look at me, they said. And I did."

Materfamilias asks "Who wants to be a lamb anyway?" and makes a case for developing an individual style that incorporates both classical and whimsical elements.

Meg at Faking Good Breeding takes Patricia Fields to task for putting SJP in getups that look like "she fell into the dumpster behind Forever 21" and makes the point that just because one can wear something, doesn't mean one should.

I've been reading "It's So You: 35 Women Write about Personal Expression Through Fashion & Style", edited by Michelle Tea, and Laura Fraser makes a great point about developing an individual style that is never "out" because it was never "in" in the first place. It seems to me that women who continue to look stylish as they age and don't fade into the woodwork are the ones who have figured this out.