Yesterday I read an article regarding women aging so called gracefully.  According to the article women who age gracefully are proud of their weathered faces, layered necks and smile proudly from their wrinkled eyes.  They apparently exude an attitude of what you see is what you get.  The article gave a feeling of approval on the choices of these women to forego any surgical modifications while chiming in with a tone of patriarchal appeasement.  After reading the article I came away wondering why it would be any business of anyone’s how a woman chooses to age?  The smug tone of the author’s who happened to be male was akin to a pat on the head to the aging woman.

We may not like it but we live in a time where ageism exists and it is not kind to women.  An aging man is defined as wise, mature, coming into his fullness and often the other mated half to a woman who could pass as daughter material.  However when we discuss an aging woman we use the word “crone” and relegate her to the outer edges of life.   Women of all ages have long been the subject of discussion and everybody else’s opinions.  We are told we are too short, too thin, too tall, too skinny, too fat, too black, too opinionated, too bossy.  We are told we are just too…. and I hate the word crone.

I have no bone to pick with women who choose to live in their natural beauty embracing their wrinkles and every grey strand of hair.  I also have no bone to pick with women enhancing their beauty by choosing the surgical route to stave off the ravages of time.  I myself fall into the latter camp and will not be one of the ones aging gracefully accepting a jowl that may one day  dangle beneath my chin but that is me.  I can have my moments of so called vanity and that in no way is labeled a bad thing.

Unless you live under a rock, women are familiar with every anti-aging cream and gimmick known to the modern world.  We pluck, slather, exfoliate, drown ourselves in every concoction to minimize those crows feet that are becoming large enough to require a pair of shoes.  Who do we think we are fooling?  As I look in the mirror and reach for one of my many potions I happen to look at my hubby’s side of the sink and all I see is a bar of soap and a box of Q tips.  There are no potions.