This morning I read an article over at HuffPo called “I Can’t Wait Not to Be Sexy Anymore” by Anastasia Basil. I kind of knew what I was getting into when I read the title, but I guess I just wanted to be annoyed this morning. It starts out like this:
“I’m EXHAUSTED. I’ve been tweezing, shaving, moisturizing, defrizzing, flat-ironing, bikini-waxing, hair-dyeing, gym-joining (notice I said gym-joining, not gym-going?) exfoliating and manicuring since 8th grade, all while sleeping on a silk pillowcase to reduce wrinkles. I’m ready to grow a beard and just RELAX.”
I absolutely hate this kind of thinking. All of these things are optional, right? So do them or not, but shut up about it. And I’m sorry, but none of those things are exactly exhausting. First world problems. She goes on:
“There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to stop competing with sorority girls, simply because there aren’t enough hours in a day to wax all the hair from a perimenopausal body AND hit up three different Dollar Stores in search of matching birthday party favors.”
For reals? First off, the author gets the entire concept of being a woman wrong. If you are competing with other women, you are just adding to the problem. I am myself, and myself is pretty awesome. I don’t need to compete with other women, and I certainly don’t compete with college co-eds. They are like little lost deer in skimpy outfits. In fact, I met a sorority girl just the other night at karaoke. She thought I was “so cool” and had “amazing hair”. She was correct on both counts, and I thanked her for it. She wanted my number so we could hang out. But she was wasted and I don’t have a phone. The point is that I’m a smart, capable woman and she saw that. Younger women are not the enemy. They are just younger. It isn’t personal.
If a grown ass woman and mother feels threatened by the supposed sexiness of a sorority girl, then she has bigger problems than her time management. The problem isn’t the sexiness of other women, the problem is YOU deciding to compete in the first place. Women shouldn’t compete with other women. We should support each other. I’m not saying you have to get along with every woman you meet, but you don’t have to look at them as a threat either. What a waste of time.
“When I’m getting dressed in the morning, I think: My boobs had their day in the sun. They turned heads, they nursed babies and there was a time when they did not require a harness that would fit a dairy cow… Helloooo strappy, push-up bra with moisture-wicking foam support pads and matching cheekini tummy-tucker.”
I absolutely cannot stand the whole self-effacing Mom thing. Stop making excuses for giving up. And stop complaining about being out of shape and not doing anything about it. If someone else had compared this woman to a cow, I bet she’d be pretty pissed. But she does it and it’s supposed to be funny? It isn’t. It’s sad and super unfunny. If you feel the need to wear Lycra and spandex every time you go out of the house, don’t blame me. Or your kids. Or your husband. Or all of the other women in the world who are younger than you. You don’t have to be uncomfortable. There is no law stating that you must have perky boobs and a flat tummy in order to go on a date. And for god sake, please stop telling the world about it. No one even noticed the way you looked until you pointed it out and gave them a map of your (supposed) flaws.
“Old age, I give you my face to wrinkle and my body to sag. If that’s the currency required to watch my kids grow and to continue shopping for holiday-themed shirts, then I’m truly happy to part with the time-sucking struggle for ever-lasting youth.”
Everlasting youth? Currency required? Let me fill you in on a couple of things, lady. First, you could have parted with the “time-sucking struggle” at any moment in your forty years on the planet. There was no one holding a gun to your head, forcing you to pluck your eyebrows and shave your legs. There was no villain behind the scenes pressuring you to get a gym membership then restraining you so that you could never go. It was all your own doing. All your choice.
And for me that what it all comes down to – a choice. You can choose to play the game or not. It’s up to you. There are always going to be younger women than you, no matter how old or young you are. Be their friend, not their competition. Be their mentor, not their mother. Be the example, not the side show.