I don’t know what made it come to my mind, but the Pink Ladies Pledge (from the much-maligned ‘Grease 2’) popped in there recently.
The ladies were “to act cool, to look cool and to be cool”. Man… isn’t that something most of us wish – from when we were teenagers? To be considered ‘cool’?
In my day, Molly Ringwald was the very definition of cool (despite the appalling dresses she wore. Seriously, that prom outfit in ‘Pretty in Pink’? Yikes!). I wore my shirt outside my skirt, had short hair – close-cut on the sides and curly on the top – and peered at the world through dark sunglasses. Yeah, I looked rad.
That being said, no matter how I dressed, I didn’t feel as hip as I wanted to. I didn’t have the confidence and popularity I craved. Y’see, drawling “Whassuppppp… ?” will only get you so far in teenage social circles.
After Molly Ringwald, it was Madonna we all wanted to emulate. Dark eyeliner, lace gloves and no end of bangles and chains was all the rage. Our parents recoiled at the sight of every carefully applied beauty mark and short skirt. I did what I could with what I was allowed. I can tell you that a bustier would never have made it past the front door.
You’d think that as we get older, we’d grow out of trying to keep up with fads and be comfortable in our own skin, but nay. If anything, it’s worse now, thanks to constant pressure from the Internet and social media. I remember reading an article a year or so ago that covered the burning topic “Why women over the age of 50 shouldn’t be wearing jeans”. Shouldn’t we? I still do. Is that a guideline or a rule? I’ve yet to have a salesperson in Macy’s refuse to get me a pair of Levi’s in my size, but as the movement to keep pensioner-adjacent women of my age out of denim gains ground, will that day grow ever nigh?
Not only do I basically live in jeans, I also have a penchant for wearing all black – particularly black velvet. Always been a bit of a goth at heart. Now I’m apparently in my twilight years, am I to step aside and allow only Cher to carry the mantle? God knows, she’s the coolest of the cool, but maybe there’s room for some more of us?
It isn’t just about the clothes for me, either. I’ve bought a number of cars over the years that were complete eye candy, but ended up being more trouble than they were worth. When the roof and windows on my first convertible worked, I was all that and a bag of chips as I drove around Cayman. However, when the roof stopped working and the windows got stuck in the ‘up’ position over the summer, coupled with unreliable air-conditioning, I emerged from every journey with hair like The Jackson 5.
Then there was the next convertible – a gorgeous vehicle – but the roof leaked. Whenever it rained, I’d endure a drip-drip-drip on my leg that made every pair of pants look like I had a bladder control issue. Yup, one hot mama.
Just to prove that I never learn a lesson, I bought a Jeep CJ7 with a lift kit a few years ago. What it didn’t come with were running boards, but it didn’t matter at the time, as with my height and then-flexibility, I could hop into it without much trouble. Now, it’s a bit of a different story; I practically have to take a running jump at it, and put all my energy into getting one leg high enough off the ground in order to clear the door frame – the Wacky Races meets Cirque du Soleil.
I’ll admit it – I’ve bought the designer handbags, worn heels that have basically crippled me in one night, and tried to keep the volume of my voice down to a light, conversational timbre, rather than break social protocols with hearty, ear-splitting guffaws, but I just can’t keep up the façade. Perhaps rather than trying to fit myself into a box of what I think others consider to be ‘cool’, I should accept that after 53 years of being me, this is it, baby.
Time to break out the black velvet, wear boots outside of Pirates Week and, yes, slide my legs into a verboten pair of Levi’s jeans. I’m over 50 and fabulous. I think…
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