People, I am frankly tired of the crap old ladies get. Particularly on the internet.
I'm not talking about how women over the age of 45 become magically invisible. I'm not talking about how some elderly women become "style icons" because they've managed not to devolve into crones. This is particularly noxious, because it looks like praise. Except it's not; it's condescension. You see it in sites like Advanced Style. "Wow, she's eighty and she still cares about clothes!" Really? Why shouldn't she care about clothes? Do you expect her to go out naked?
So yes, I could be complaining about the zeitgeist in general, or sites that make my neck itch, but I'm talking specifically about the comments people post on Makeup Alley, Guru Gossiper, and YouTube, and for all I know Tumblr, Instagram, and Snapchat. Comments to the effect that people like me are too old to be posting there.
First of all, these commenters act like they own the internet, which hello, they're only using because of geezers like Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and
Richard Stallman--baby boomers all.
The other thing that bugs me is the use of "old lady" as a pejorative term.
Mind you, these commenters didn't invent the concept. Charla Krupp has published two or three books, and the first, How Not to Look Old used "OL" as the ne plus ultra of how not to look. Red lipstick? OL. Pantyhose? OL. Matching your jacket to your skirt? OL. And it went on and on.
Frankly, everything I once aspired to when I was a child: sophistication, elegance, well-thought-out outfits that were perfectly coordinated, cruelly expensive French perfumes--has been tarred with the epithet "Old Lady."
When I was a child, I wanted to dress like Barbie. But not this Barbie:
Which was probably inspired by this real-life outfit:
And now, just when I'm old enough and wealthy enough to buy expensive suits, matching shoes and pocketbooks, and add a few drops of Joy to my outfit, all the things I craved when I was young--Countess Isserlyn makeup, "the costliest perfume in the world," my grandmother's Schiaparelli stockings, my mother's tweed suits and "good" jewelry--have all been declared fusty and old-fashioned.
I expected the passing years to rob me of my youth--that's as it should be. But it seems that they have also robbed me of my aspirations, and that's just mean.