Listen now | Tonight! 7pm! ET! LIVE!!! I talk to the members of The Good Looking People—an organization for persons who have problems because they are too good looking. Seriously.
Here we are obsessing about our appearances again - measuring, comparing, assessing everything from the sizes and shapes of our breasts, hips, and bellies to the color of our skin, eyes, and hair to determine how close we come to the current (and ever changing) standard of beauty. Enough already!
You’re getting this reaction from me because I damn near died from an eating disorder that I developed as a result of believing I had to look a certain way to be loved. Never mind that my body carried me through some pretty gnarly abuse, endured twice a day workouts so I could try out for the Olympic swim team (no I didn’t make it), and carried me on foot to Mount Everest Base camp. No, none of that was ever enough because I never allowed myself to actually inhabit and enjoy my body. I was too busy doing what we’re trained to do as women - compare myself to others, worry about my weight, and believe that whether or not I would find love depended on how I looked.
Looking back, especially in light of what I am facing now in a body whose skin is wrinkled, hair is thinning, and waist is thickening, I feel a bit sad about all the time I wasted. Also grateful that my body has continued to carry me faithfully through this life despite all that I’ve put it through. So I am not going to answer that question about when I was the most devastating. It’s not a fair question because the way we measure beauty/devastation is so skewed. I prefer instead to think of Patrice who once wrote that she was raised to know and love herself. As a result she seems to enjoy and have fun creating, and may I say rocking, her own unique and devastating form of beauty. I wanna be Patrice when I grow up - lol.
I will say this about aging beauty, however. Until recently it simply never occurred to me that the fact that I have white hair (which I like) could have an impact on my ability to get a job. It wasn’t until I lost my “regular” job at the start of the pandemic, and subsequently applied to over 700 jobs without being hired that I began to wonder if my age had anything to do with the rejections.
Then a particularly opinionated and insistent advice columnist, who shall remain nameless, insisted I get a wig. A wig?! Well I eventually gave in, bought one, and changed all my profile pics to show the new and improved me with light brown hair. I have to admit it’s kind of cute, but I still don’t have a job, so the jury is still out on whether or not wigs can have an impact on one’s job prospects. And frankly being unemployed is getting to be a real drag. Shouldn’t the old saying, “beauty is as beauty does” apply here? I am a beautiful writer. Give me a job doggone it!
Finally, I’ve known several people who are very good looking and know it can be difficult. I will look forward to hearing some of their stories.
It’s way past my bedtime. See you tomorrow Conflab!
As for Patrice, I confess to being a tad bit jealous of her at first. I wanted so much to be able to say I love myself and know how to enjoy life as she does. And not only that, she exudes compassion, strength, and integrity. Whew!
These days I am no longer jealous, just appreciative :-) We each bring our own unique and incomparable gifts to the world. I just have to remind myself of that every once in awhile and be grateful I am me :-)
I am not young. I'm a bit apple shaped. When I had covid I lost most of my hair, including my eyebrows, eyelashes, about a third of my head hair and most of my body hair. Only some of it grew back. I was in a plane crash that caused facial injuries and I'm a little more lopsided than the average person. Well, more than a little.
When I was young, I was fabulous. I was considered a classic beauty and I had the popular physique of the day. No longer. And I'm still fabulous. I feel the same way about myself now as I did back in my heyday.
I've known about this group for people who think they have problems because they're so good-looking. Such egos. I even looked at their line-up of photos and the people were above average, but not knock-your-socks-off gorgeous.
I considered my youthful good looks to be an advantage. When I was in my 50s I was accused of using my Mata Hari skills in order to get good press because everyone knows that 24 year old reporters are lusting after middle-aged women. So having people accuse you of being a temptress when you're just doing your job well is a disadvantage
Now that I'm older and half bald, people don't pay attention to me when I go out and about. It's wonderful. I love being anonymous, not noticed, practically invisible. It's a special kind of freedom, but I've heard many women say they hate it.
I hope I relied on smarts and kindness, exceptional skills and listening to the hearts of others more than I ever relied on my looks. I still feel exactly the same as I did when I was 28. But I wish I still had eyelashes.
Gayle! I am crumbled-up to hear of your Covid losses----HAIR! EYEBROWS! EYELASHES! And yet . . . . You made it through that deadly virus, and here you are with us hanging out and laughing and enjoying life......
So I love your words all the more:
"Now that I'm older and half bald, people don't pay attention to me when I go out and about. It's wonderful. I love being anonymous, not noticed, practically invisible. It's a special kind of freedom, but I've heard many women say they hate it.
I hope I relied on smarts and kindness, exceptional skills and listening to the hearts of others more than I ever relied on my looks. "
Thank you, E. Jean! I seem to remember reading that you also experienced hair loss a few years back and maybe a bout of covid. Am I remembering correctly?
You came back full of fire and laughter. And your hair looks great. You are a true inspiration.
I wrote a syndicated column called “Halfway Over the Hill” about how aging changes how people see you, and I have to agree. It’s a relief not to be noticed.
Your COVID saga sounds pretty scary. I’m so glad you are still with us and am sending a warm hug your way.
Honestly, that is debatable and I’m not being self-deprecating or coy. I seriously feel invisible a great deal of the time. Bigger conversation. And now that I am thinking about it, I may write you a letter asking for some advice about being an “invisible woman” from you and the Conflab.....hmmmm. At the very least it would make for some intriguing discussions.
As for “Halfway Over the Hill,” I have all the columns. I will think about republishing although my views and writing style have changed dramatically. Maybe “Halfway Over the Second Hill? LOL
I always had exceptional looks, save the mullet phase I went through from 5th grade to 7th. As a gorgeous baby, and a very cute little girl, people would regularly stop my mom to look at me. I would often get picked without asking to get free shoes to do shoe commercials, have my portrait made on stage at the mall, etc... My parents always down played my looks, and never pushed me into that stuff, but it often just came my way. My mom always said, "anyone can buy a pretty face. You have to be more than just pretty." My sister (who is totally gorgeous), is not as conventionally or as "perfectly" attractive as I, and that always caused some tension cuz even though my parents would not engage in it, I knew teachers, peers and others were always saying behind the scenes that I was "the pretty one" and my sister was " the smart one" in our family. To this day, I think that pidgeon holing has affected our relationship, and her own deeply ingrained insecurities and mine... Yes, some gals in Junior high and beyond would be mean to me on purpose, be threatened by me, and exclude me on account of my appearance. But, hey, that was just part of the package deal. I was and I am still more than willing to pay the piper. Cuz It doesn't suck being beautiful. Then the boys started sniffing around, and my dad said I was "way too pretty fer my own good." As a teen, I was allowed to do the "stand straight & look pretty" jobs a lot: Greet the shoppers when they enter the store, be the front person that asks for school donations, the smiling hostess at the restaurant, and a sexy ingenue magicians assistant. On account of my big butt, tiny waist, big naturally wig like wavy hair, bright green eyes, and silky southern accent, many folks would assume I was just a bimbo. But, I used that to my advantage, and, like Dolly Parton, I made self defecating (ha) jokes about myself, and my looks, and won folks over w the bimbo effect, whilst proving myself in other ways, and showing them my loyalty, depth, and substance behind my surface appeal. Being a dumb swan was at times much more disarming, and less threatening to others, than an acute razor sharp beaut. Everyone on the planet has natural talents and gifts, and everyone uses them. Besides, if we do not honor and use our gifts, then we will lose em... or we are doing disservice to honoring ourselves. So I used it to my advantage, then, and I still do now. I bat my eyelashes, and convince men to buy their wives and daughters and girlfriends something fun in my store. I do doe eyes, and I sweet talk landlords into not raising my rent. I sell my jewelry right offa my body, and show folks how to do their hair, using my own hair clips in my own long brown tresses, that are now greying naturally.
Anyone can be young and pretty, but to be old and beautiful is quite remarkable... I
think there must be something inadvertant fer something to be truly beautiful. There must be something spontaneous, and unplanned... A force of nature. A slight imperfection...Or the evidence and the embracing of time and the cycle of life, itself... A new rose bud is nice, but the gorgeous wide open bloom, fading, fleeting, the perilous withering of the petals slowly falling is the poetry....The wilting itself is so much more memorable. To be Young and pretty is common. But Lasting beauty is rare and quite astonishing.
I am flattered! Thank you for considering this low-brow bimbo's higher perspective. I have given it a lotta thought, cuz my consummate mission in life as an artist is to make lasting beauty... things that matter and get better looking to me, w age & time...
Aw!!!! u made my day! One of my dear friends once asked me if I liked being this way. I said yes! Then she said that she would rather be average cuz then as she ages its not like jumping offa cliff... She told me I might have a harder time cuz I have a lot further to fall... offa my pedastle of vainity... But I really do believe that the falling is utterly the most beautiful part... Its the way that particular rose crumbles and dies that differentiates it from all the rest...
Oof. Oooooof. This sort of thinking dredges up those junior high vibes, the deepest, most intense, vividly lush sense of living. I want to sink into its velvety crush. Gorgeous. Those final, lingering petals … smell SO SO SO FEROCIOUS.
part of beauty is it is transient... it is never exactly the same...its not the cookie cutter formula... Perfect hands are pretty... but an artists hands and old hands that have done things and lived are kinda more lovely and more interesting.... Beauty has lasted hardship... that unexpected weathering of hard working hands,... the expression that made it through the storm, or the chipped yellowish tooth can actually make us more gorgeous... because it is more about the rugged individual... and the character, and the time and experience behind the person... rather than the absolute unwavering perfection...
Ugh! It’s so true and I love this about existence, and I am just so doubly angry that these beautiful fragile momentary critical pieces have been obscured from us bc of the fascist ugliness of these last years. Theft. It’s theft. They’ve stolen our … everything.
I admire yer feistiness and fervor, but the pollyanna in me has to disagree... Cuz if I dont look up, then the world is too dismall to swallow... so I think the pandemics silver lining is issues that will help us collectively make progress in our walk towards world wellness, equality, and peace. Better health care, higher minimum wages, and BLM in our justice system... Just like the previous president started a me too movement that helps women collectively stop being abused. There is a light at the end o the tunnel..., there IS a light...and its so bright!!! Hugs!!!
It was definitely worth staying up late ⏰ to hear this and feel pretty damn good. I’m not a girly-girl, so what I like to see in the mirror is the person who lives here and says thank you to their parents for not forcing them to be a stale look at but see me with my look that searches those in appreciation. I’m recovering ❤️🩹 from a great loss yet I am finding a new freedom that feels like it started right here.
Maureen! It is quite a triumph to be confident enough, and bold enough to look into the mirror and see "the person who lives here." You could hold classes. (Many people are terrified at facing themselves in the mirror.)
Agree. Learning to see past the surface is a rare and invaluable skill. It’s one of the things I love about drawing. I’ve learned that some of the most attractive people are not pleasant to be around. What lurks below the pretty exterior surface is not pretty at all.
My parents were never happy about it. They switched their positives to other things like when I did well in school My mother tried a little more perhaps.🤔 Okay it was difficult for her, but I am me and became more so on the outside... Okay they weren’t that great about it, but when I started to be me-for-me and had a few successes in the world they started to follow me around and changed their own lives as best they could. They only had a few happy years together in the end, but they did have them. They died young. I thought I would too, but it wasn’t their genes that twisted them in and out of happiness and love. It was too many years of cigarettes and drinking that caught up with them much sooner than they expected. The memories are making me cry now, so I must return to the world I am in before they suck me back to those days.
Oh, Maureen this is why I detest our obsession with certain kinds of beauty. It is so limiting, unfair, and arbitrary. When I was in Japan, I went to see an Indian masseuse. She was big and round with chubby cheeks and rolls of fat around her middle. Apparently in India having some “meat on your bones” means you are well off enough to eat well. She was appalled by my muscular, well-toned, 135lb body and told me I would have to gain weight if I wanted to find a husband and have healthy children. I wanted neither, and disliked her massage, but she taught me an important lesson about what constitutes beauty. People who are standing in their light - who care and share and enjoy their lives - are beautiful. I am willing to bet that your spirit was and is too big for a girly girl. You shine in every way, Maureen!
Jena, Thank you. I must say though that it wasn’t my physical looks my parents were upset about it was my non-binary identity and the clothes I wore and wouldn’t wear, my boy-cut hair, and the potential I turned down. They so upset me in expecting me to be “girly” that bringing home girls split up the family. I waited until I was of legal age and took a plane to California. They came around eventually and showed up on my doorstep. I wasn’t happy but they didn’t say much about my friends and me. The societal details it then took wore me down. I collapsed into a backward way for me thinking it would be better to be what others wanted and I worked hard at that. Crazy? Yes it was crazy. It was not me. Still I loved the man I’d married and recently lost. I am released, however, to rejoin the self that I am in dignity. It’s unfortunate that now I can’t have the depth of relationship that I might have had. I am now, however, openly me and grateful to have this part of my life to be me. I retired young to work at the things I like best. The time that is gone is gone, but I am here in the present. I am.
I'm sorry I misunderstood the meaning of girly, but a bit astonished by the path your life has taken. Wow, just wow. And now you are embracing who and all you really are. I'm adding you to my list of people I hope to meet one day :-) Hugs!
:-) Jena, I’m sorry that I wasn’t very clear. I just put my thoughts down and then decided I should be more clear which was actually good for me. I’m trying to let go of the bad stuff yet not forget the important lessons I might yet find helpful.
Jena, I really do like what you you said. In fact the topic you talked about was much like my own and not as different as I might have made it look without clarity.
Cheryl! My Gawd, woman, Mazel Tov! YOU were a big hit tonight at our little Substack party. We're all thrilled about TINY BEAUTIFUL THINGS coming out on Hulu!!
Older women frequently complain about being overlooked, BUT they do not pay attention to each other. Instead, they vie for attention from younger people or men. If we pay special attention to each other, we will have an abundance of interaction, friends, and companionship.
At the store, I saw an older woman, perhaps 70, being ignored by a young, male employee, so I butted in an answered her question and started a conversation with her about things in general. We were having such a good time chatting that the young guy kept looking over, wanting to be where the fun was happening. Neither of us paid him any mind, we just chatted as we shopped.
When my prep school classmates and I had an informal gathering in our local tavern, I saw another middle-aged woman by the bar by herself. I meandered over and invited her to snack with us, asking if she was waiting for someone or just hanging out. It turned out that she was nervously awaiting a blind date, so I dragged her over to our table, telling her she could keep an eye on the meeting place. Her date, who arrived rather late, saw her in the midst of a laughing group of our friends and was immediately drawn to her. I'm still curious how that date went.
Women have grown up to seek the attention of men and the young popular people that we once were or aspired to be. We have to pay attention to each other! If some young person doesn't like Gayle's partial lack of hair or Angela's lack of dye, then sc&$ them! But let us not fall prey to the same judgements!!
I have always thought of myself as someone who is smart, tries really hard at everything, enthusiastic, and has style. But I never thought of myself as good-looking in the traditional sense — which objectively isn’t true. (Yup—I won a small genetic lottery and I refused to cash the cheque. Gawd, writing this makes me feel like such a jerk!) I clung to this idea of myself as a Betty in a world of Veronicas my whole life, out of insecurity and distrust. I guess I was trying to hedge against having my good luck smite me.
Did my looks give me advantages? Not that I ever believed, but maybe that was me self-handicapping. I just worked harder and tried harder — and never got over feeling like an outsider.
A boyfriend when I was 20 told me I’d be a knockout at 40, which devastated me at the time, of course. But he was right—that’s when I grew into my face. Did I start to believe it though? Only when I saw my features reflected in my daughters, who are everything lovely, inside and out.
I hit my real beauty stride at 40, because I finally felt in possession of myself. I’ve lost it during covid, but I’m working to reclaim it. As our Jena reminds us in her comment today, beauty is as beauty fucking does. (I’ve ad-libbed a word in there. That’s beauty for ya.)
Grins…one of the advantages of meeting most of you here in words and tiny, unflattering avatar pics, is that I encounter you striped of outer trappings and get to experience your special “Youness.” All I can say is that I am blown away and blinded by the light of the Conflab.
And Deborah? You are a force to be reckoned with and an absolute delight. Also a bit of a wise ass, but that sass makes you fun. Hugs!
Ha! I wonder how many single women around my age have "closed shop". I schtooped my way through the '70s, '80s and '90s. Think think I'm all f'd out. But good to know!
I was an awkward child. Weird hair, funky teeth, pale skin, and skinny as a rail. The perpetual new kid and a smarty pants teacher's favorite. Too loud, too weird, too precocious. I was bullied a lot and it was painful. I found solace in books and nature, making one or two good friends among the other awkward children. I didn't feel unattractive, until other people told me that I was. I didn't let them take away my joy. When I was in my late teens, the ugly ducking morphed into a swan of a sort. I got braces, figured out how to manage my hair, embraced my pale skin, and found my tribe once I joined the theater kids and started performing. People started to tell me I was beautiful. Was I ugly or beautiful? I look back at photos of younger me and wish I could tell myself how fabulous I was. That's the thing about the rearview mirror...
I discovered as I got older that many of the prettiest people were either riddled with insecurity or suffering from overblown egos. Sometimes pretty people became pretty ugly once you looked past the surface sheen. Though I have known many people who were beautiful inside and out, and many people who became unfathomably beautiful to me because of who they were, not how they looked. We're all consciousness residing in meat suits, E. Jean. Being pretty isn't a talent or a skill, and what the collective we decides is 'beautiful' is constantly changing.
At 58, pretty isn't really interesting to me anymore. I love make-up and dress-up and changing my hair, but that's for me. What other people think about my appearance is irrelevant. Like it or leave it, that's up to them.
I owe my success to tenacity, hard work, and a bit of talent that I've worked hard to cultivate. I've failed as much as I've succeeded, but none of this is real and none of us gets out of here alive. I like me, the good, the bad, the ugly, it's just a meat suit.
Here goes, when I was a little girl, I was told by my mother to stay out of grandmom's attic. But up there was glamour. Up there was another world exploding with WWII treasures. Up there, under a sheet, was a seductive vanity with drawers jammed full of 1940 Coty lipsticks, Dorothy Gray powder puffs, and Lanvin My Sin perfume bottles. Heavens, eleven children were raised in this house, and more than half were girls!
Plop down I would, pop off the lipstick tops, sniff them one-by-one. Around and around my bow shaped lips went the vibrant reds. Instantly I became the beautiful actress Loretta Young swishing down a curbed banister bedecked in taffeta or satin and marabou and a drop-dead-movie-star-smile.
Also, down the street lived an old, widowed woman with – looking back – an exciting history from what her trash contained. On the curb she would put out stashes of old glass beaded jewelry, scalloped leather gloves, and pink and champagne-colored chemise dresses. Guess which little girl got to the curb first and dragged those clothes home in a little red wagon! Ah, so avant-garde. Then, all the little girls would come to MJ’s to play dress-up, plan a talent show and make ten cents a head!
My entire life I just loved being a female and all the perks that went with it. Every time my older cousin put me in her big sister’s stilettos and told me to practice walking, I further realized that being a girl, being a woman had something magical about it. I didn't see my looks as separate from my identity any more than I saw other little girls’ looks split off from theirs. Our looks are part of who we are. As we embrace them we feel loved and deeply so.
The world is more accepting now of all kinds of beauty and all kinds of women. I think it’s wonderful because I think we women are wonderful. I love being a woman. I love my cherry-lipped smile.
I'm so excited that I was able to figure out how to get in to listen to the podcast. It was fantastic, E. Jean. That group must still be talking about you!
OMG, I have an android and don't see how I can get in. I've been trying and I'll be back because no one in her right or write mind can ever stay away from E. Jean!
Here we are obsessing about our appearances again - measuring, comparing, assessing everything from the sizes and shapes of our breasts, hips, and bellies to the color of our skin, eyes, and hair to determine how close we come to the current (and ever changing) standard of beauty. Enough already!
You’re getting this reaction from me because I damn near died from an eating disorder that I developed as a result of believing I had to look a certain way to be loved. Never mind that my body carried me through some pretty gnarly abuse, endured twice a day workouts so I could try out for the Olympic swim team (no I didn’t make it), and carried me on foot to Mount Everest Base camp. No, none of that was ever enough because I never allowed myself to actually inhabit and enjoy my body. I was too busy doing what we’re trained to do as women - compare myself to others, worry about my weight, and believe that whether or not I would find love depended on how I looked.
Looking back, especially in light of what I am facing now in a body whose skin is wrinkled, hair is thinning, and waist is thickening, I feel a bit sad about all the time I wasted. Also grateful that my body has continued to carry me faithfully through this life despite all that I’ve put it through. So I am not going to answer that question about when I was the most devastating. It’s not a fair question because the way we measure beauty/devastation is so skewed. I prefer instead to think of Patrice who once wrote that she was raised to know and love herself. As a result she seems to enjoy and have fun creating, and may I say rocking, her own unique and devastating form of beauty. I wanna be Patrice when I grow up - lol.
I will say this about aging beauty, however. Until recently it simply never occurred to me that the fact that I have white hair (which I like) could have an impact on my ability to get a job. It wasn’t until I lost my “regular” job at the start of the pandemic, and subsequently applied to over 700 jobs without being hired that I began to wonder if my age had anything to do with the rejections.
Then a particularly opinionated and insistent advice columnist, who shall remain nameless, insisted I get a wig. A wig?! Well I eventually gave in, bought one, and changed all my profile pics to show the new and improved me with light brown hair. I have to admit it’s kind of cute, but I still don’t have a job, so the jury is still out on whether or not wigs can have an impact on one’s job prospects. And frankly being unemployed is getting to be a real drag. Shouldn’t the old saying, “beauty is as beauty does” apply here? I am a beautiful writer. Give me a job doggone it!
Finally, I’ve known several people who are very good looking and know it can be difficult. I will look forward to hearing some of their stories.
It’s way past my bedtime. See you tomorrow Conflab!
Jena! This is one of your most scathing and captivating essays!
I would like to read some of it tonight on the podcast! And P.S. I agree that Patrice carries our banner! (And you blow the trumpet!)
You have my permission, of course.
As for Patrice, I confess to being a tad bit jealous of her at first. I wanted so much to be able to say I love myself and know how to enjoy life as she does. And not only that, she exudes compassion, strength, and integrity. Whew!
These days I am no longer jealous, just appreciative :-) We each bring our own unique and incomparable gifts to the world. I just have to remind myself of that every once in awhile and be grateful I am me :-)
Thank you Jenna. Perfectly stated!
I am not young. I'm a bit apple shaped. When I had covid I lost most of my hair, including my eyebrows, eyelashes, about a third of my head hair and most of my body hair. Only some of it grew back. I was in a plane crash that caused facial injuries and I'm a little more lopsided than the average person. Well, more than a little.
When I was young, I was fabulous. I was considered a classic beauty and I had the popular physique of the day. No longer. And I'm still fabulous. I feel the same way about myself now as I did back in my heyday.
I've known about this group for people who think they have problems because they're so good-looking. Such egos. I even looked at their line-up of photos and the people were above average, but not knock-your-socks-off gorgeous.
I considered my youthful good looks to be an advantage. When I was in my 50s I was accused of using my Mata Hari skills in order to get good press because everyone knows that 24 year old reporters are lusting after middle-aged women. So having people accuse you of being a temptress when you're just doing your job well is a disadvantage
Now that I'm older and half bald, people don't pay attention to me when I go out and about. It's wonderful. I love being anonymous, not noticed, practically invisible. It's a special kind of freedom, but I've heard many women say they hate it.
I hope I relied on smarts and kindness, exceptional skills and listening to the hearts of others more than I ever relied on my looks. I still feel exactly the same as I did when I was 28. But I wish I still had eyelashes.
Gayle! I am crumbled-up to hear of your Covid losses----HAIR! EYEBROWS! EYELASHES! And yet . . . . You made it through that deadly virus, and here you are with us hanging out and laughing and enjoying life......
So I love your words all the more:
"Now that I'm older and half bald, people don't pay attention to me when I go out and about. It's wonderful. I love being anonymous, not noticed, practically invisible. It's a special kind of freedom, but I've heard many women say they hate it.
I hope I relied on smarts and kindness, exceptional skills and listening to the hearts of others more than I ever relied on my looks. "
Thank you, E. Jean! I seem to remember reading that you also experienced hair loss a few years back and maybe a bout of covid. Am I remembering correctly?
You came back full of fire and laughter. And your hair looks great. You are a true inspiration.
Hair today, Gone tomorrow, Gayle!
And mine grew back like a field of barley!!!
Hahaha ...
I just adore all of this and you.
I wrote a syndicated column called “Halfway Over the Hill” about how aging changes how people see you, and I have to agree. It’s a relief not to be noticed.
Your COVID saga sounds pretty scary. I’m so glad you are still with us and am sending a warm hug your way.
Jena!
But you ARE being noticed, woman. You are just choosing how and when and by whom! Well done.
P.S. Halfway Over the Hill" BRILLIANT! Can you find any of the old columns? You should think about running some of them on your Substack.
Honestly, that is debatable and I’m not being self-deprecating or coy. I seriously feel invisible a great deal of the time. Bigger conversation. And now that I am thinking about it, I may write you a letter asking for some advice about being an “invisible woman” from you and the Conflab.....hmmmm. At the very least it would make for some intriguing discussions.
As for “Halfway Over the Hill,” I have all the columns. I will think about republishing although my views and writing style have changed dramatically. Maybe “Halfway Over the Second Hill? LOL
Yes! halfway over the second hill! Good.
Gayle, I bet you are still pretty good looking. Even with the hair loss. I bet you, like me, made on smarts. Kindness, that one belongs to you.
All of this, Gayle. All. Of. This.
Gayle, I’m sorry about all of those losses and yet you are here with us, and I’m very happy for that.♥️
Am I too good looking? No.
Fortunately, I'm *exactly* good looking enough.
You are precisely two inches too good-looking, Kal!!
Love, Kal.
quoting you tonight on the podcast, Kal!
I always had exceptional looks, save the mullet phase I went through from 5th grade to 7th. As a gorgeous baby, and a very cute little girl, people would regularly stop my mom to look at me. I would often get picked without asking to get free shoes to do shoe commercials, have my portrait made on stage at the mall, etc... My parents always down played my looks, and never pushed me into that stuff, but it often just came my way. My mom always said, "anyone can buy a pretty face. You have to be more than just pretty." My sister (who is totally gorgeous), is not as conventionally or as "perfectly" attractive as I, and that always caused some tension cuz even though my parents would not engage in it, I knew teachers, peers and others were always saying behind the scenes that I was "the pretty one" and my sister was " the smart one" in our family. To this day, I think that pidgeon holing has affected our relationship, and her own deeply ingrained insecurities and mine... Yes, some gals in Junior high and beyond would be mean to me on purpose, be threatened by me, and exclude me on account of my appearance. But, hey, that was just part of the package deal. I was and I am still more than willing to pay the piper. Cuz It doesn't suck being beautiful. Then the boys started sniffing around, and my dad said I was "way too pretty fer my own good." As a teen, I was allowed to do the "stand straight & look pretty" jobs a lot: Greet the shoppers when they enter the store, be the front person that asks for school donations, the smiling hostess at the restaurant, and a sexy ingenue magicians assistant. On account of my big butt, tiny waist, big naturally wig like wavy hair, bright green eyes, and silky southern accent, many folks would assume I was just a bimbo. But, I used that to my advantage, and, like Dolly Parton, I made self defecating (ha) jokes about myself, and my looks, and won folks over w the bimbo effect, whilst proving myself in other ways, and showing them my loyalty, depth, and substance behind my surface appeal. Being a dumb swan was at times much more disarming, and less threatening to others, than an acute razor sharp beaut. Everyone on the planet has natural talents and gifts, and everyone uses them. Besides, if we do not honor and use our gifts, then we will lose em... or we are doing disservice to honoring ourselves. So I used it to my advantage, then, and I still do now. I bat my eyelashes, and convince men to buy their wives and daughters and girlfriends something fun in my store. I do doe eyes, and I sweet talk landlords into not raising my rent. I sell my jewelry right offa my body, and show folks how to do their hair, using my own hair clips in my own long brown tresses, that are now greying naturally.
Anyone can be young and pretty, but to be old and beautiful is quite remarkable... I
think there must be something inadvertant fer something to be truly beautiful. There must be something spontaneous, and unplanned... A force of nature. A slight imperfection...Or the evidence and the embracing of time and the cycle of life, itself... A new rose bud is nice, but the gorgeous wide open bloom, fading, fleeting, the perilous withering of the petals slowly falling is the poetry....The wilting itself is so much more memorable. To be Young and pretty is common. But Lasting beauty is rare and quite astonishing.
Salute! Miss Ellie!
"Anyone can be young and pretty, but to be old and beautiful is quite remarkable."
I would like to read this---and a tad more---from your essay tonight on the podcast!
And I agree (as usual) with Deborah====your entire last paragraph brought me to my knees.
Being perfectly dressed and put together is always nice...kinda like packaging and tissue paper... .. but it is not nessecarily beautiful....
I am flattered! Thank you for considering this low-brow bimbo's higher perspective. I have given it a lotta thought, cuz my consummate mission in life as an artist is to make lasting beauty... things that matter and get better looking to me, w age & time...
Oh Miss Ellie, this final paragraph. Ain’t it somethin fine. Thank you. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
Aw!!!! u made my day! One of my dear friends once asked me if I liked being this way. I said yes! Then she said that she would rather be average cuz then as she ages its not like jumping offa cliff... She told me I might have a harder time cuz I have a lot further to fall... offa my pedastle of vainity... But I really do believe that the falling is utterly the most beautiful part... Its the way that particular rose crumbles and dies that differentiates it from all the rest...
Miss Ellie, I don't have the language to tell you how much I love this.
It is so difficult to talk about beauty, and yet you have found the words.
Oof. Oooooof. This sort of thinking dredges up those junior high vibes, the deepest, most intense, vividly lush sense of living. I want to sink into its velvety crush. Gorgeous. Those final, lingering petals … smell SO SO SO FEROCIOUS.
Deborah! The poetry is rushing out of you today!
part of beauty is it is transient... it is never exactly the same...its not the cookie cutter formula... Perfect hands are pretty... but an artists hands and old hands that have done things and lived are kinda more lovely and more interesting.... Beauty has lasted hardship... that unexpected weathering of hard working hands,... the expression that made it through the storm, or the chipped yellowish tooth can actually make us more gorgeous... because it is more about the rugged individual... and the character, and the time and experience behind the person... rather than the absolute unwavering perfection...
Miss Ellie, I bow to you.
I love u sooooo much! Cue the 70 hit… “ Ypu are so beautiful to me! Joe Cocker. Sing in that gravelly scratchy imperfectly gorgeous raspy voice.
Ugh! It’s so true and I love this about existence, and I am just so doubly angry that these beautiful fragile momentary critical pieces have been obscured from us bc of the fascist ugliness of these last years. Theft. It’s theft. They’ve stolen our … everything.
I admire yer feistiness and fervor, but the pollyanna in me has to disagree... Cuz if I dont look up, then the world is too dismall to swallow... so I think the pandemics silver lining is issues that will help us collectively make progress in our walk towards world wellness, equality, and peace. Better health care, higher minimum wages, and BLM in our justice system... Just like the previous president started a me too movement that helps women collectively stop being abused. There is a light at the end o the tunnel..., there IS a light...and its so bright!!! Hugs!!!
I look good even though I am physically disabled. I don't care that I am 45.
E Jean, you look good for your age. 😀
Caroline! 45! You are in your FABULOUS decade!!!
I would remove the 'for your age' and just say, E Jean, you look fabulous! I'd love to look like you, but then I wouldn't be me, would I?
You're Angela to the hilt! You're The Always Amazing Angela!
Thanks, E Jean! 😀
It was definitely worth staying up late ⏰ to hear this and feel pretty damn good. I’m not a girly-girl, so what I like to see in the mirror is the person who lives here and says thank you to their parents for not forcing them to be a stale look at but see me with my look that searches those in appreciation. I’m recovering ❤️🩹 from a great loss yet I am finding a new freedom that feels like it started right here.
Maureen! It is quite a triumph to be confident enough, and bold enough to look into the mirror and see "the person who lives here." You could hold classes. (Many people are terrified at facing themselves in the mirror.)
Air hug to you, E. Jean.
Agree. Learning to see past the surface is a rare and invaluable skill. It’s one of the things I love about drawing. I’ve learned that some of the most attractive people are not pleasant to be around. What lurks below the pretty exterior surface is not pretty at all.
You are so damn lucky. I lack the girly girl feminine female gene and my parents were crushed.
Beth, makes you twice as interesting!
My parents were never happy about it. They switched their positives to other things like when I did well in school My mother tried a little more perhaps.🤔 Okay it was difficult for her, but I am me and became more so on the outside... Okay they weren’t that great about it, but when I started to be me-for-me and had a few successes in the world they started to follow me around and changed their own lives as best they could. They only had a few happy years together in the end, but they did have them. They died young. I thought I would too, but it wasn’t their genes that twisted them in and out of happiness and love. It was too many years of cigarettes and drinking that caught up with them much sooner than they expected. The memories are making me cry now, so I must return to the world I am in before they suck me back to those days.
Your very excellence, Maureen---your beautiful example gave your parents their happy years! Well done!
Thank you, E. Jean.
I am so sorry you had to face all of that.
Oh, Maureen this is why I detest our obsession with certain kinds of beauty. It is so limiting, unfair, and arbitrary. When I was in Japan, I went to see an Indian masseuse. She was big and round with chubby cheeks and rolls of fat around her middle. Apparently in India having some “meat on your bones” means you are well off enough to eat well. She was appalled by my muscular, well-toned, 135lb body and told me I would have to gain weight if I wanted to find a husband and have healthy children. I wanted neither, and disliked her massage, but she taught me an important lesson about what constitutes beauty. People who are standing in their light - who care and share and enjoy their lives - are beautiful. I am willing to bet that your spirit was and is too big for a girly girl. You shine in every way, Maureen!
Jena, Thank you. I must say though that it wasn’t my physical looks my parents were upset about it was my non-binary identity and the clothes I wore and wouldn’t wear, my boy-cut hair, and the potential I turned down. They so upset me in expecting me to be “girly” that bringing home girls split up the family. I waited until I was of legal age and took a plane to California. They came around eventually and showed up on my doorstep. I wasn’t happy but they didn’t say much about my friends and me. The societal details it then took wore me down. I collapsed into a backward way for me thinking it would be better to be what others wanted and I worked hard at that. Crazy? Yes it was crazy. It was not me. Still I loved the man I’d married and recently lost. I am released, however, to rejoin the self that I am in dignity. It’s unfortunate that now I can’t have the depth of relationship that I might have had. I am now, however, openly me and grateful to have this part of my life to be me. I retired young to work at the things I like best. The time that is gone is gone, but I am here in the present. I am.
I must say hardly anyone I know is present as YOU are present, Maureen! You are very good at being "here in the present." Very, VERY good at it.
<3
I'm sorry I misunderstood the meaning of girly, but a bit astonished by the path your life has taken. Wow, just wow. And now you are embracing who and all you really are. I'm adding you to my list of people I hope to meet one day :-) Hugs!
:-) Jena, I’m sorry that I wasn’t very clear. I just put my thoughts down and then decided I should be more clear which was actually good for me. I’m trying to let go of the bad stuff yet not forget the important lessons I might yet find helpful.
Jena, I would like to meet you too one day. Hugs.
Jena, I really do like what you you said. In fact the topic you talked about was much like my own and not as different as I might have made it look without clarity.
E. Jean, you always make me smile!
Cheryl! My Gawd, woman, Mazel Tov! YOU were a big hit tonight at our little Substack party. We're all thrilled about TINY BEAUTIFUL THINGS coming out on Hulu!!
Thank you!
You are amazing, E. Jean! That’s why I’m here!
That's strange, Maureen, because you are one of the very good reasons I am here!
You’re making me cry, E. Jean, ... the good kind, luv.
Older women frequently complain about being overlooked, BUT they do not pay attention to each other. Instead, they vie for attention from younger people or men. If we pay special attention to each other, we will have an abundance of interaction, friends, and companionship.
At the store, I saw an older woman, perhaps 70, being ignored by a young, male employee, so I butted in an answered her question and started a conversation with her about things in general. We were having such a good time chatting that the young guy kept looking over, wanting to be where the fun was happening. Neither of us paid him any mind, we just chatted as we shopped.
When my prep school classmates and I had an informal gathering in our local tavern, I saw another middle-aged woman by the bar by herself. I meandered over and invited her to snack with us, asking if she was waiting for someone or just hanging out. It turned out that she was nervously awaiting a blind date, so I dragged her over to our table, telling her she could keep an eye on the meeting place. Her date, who arrived rather late, saw her in the midst of a laughing group of our friends and was immediately drawn to her. I'm still curious how that date went.
Women have grown up to seek the attention of men and the young popular people that we once were or aspired to be. We have to pay attention to each other! If some young person doesn't like Gayle's partial lack of hair or Angela's lack of dye, then sc&$ them! But let us not fall prey to the same judgements!!
Mercy----now you just know that I love every word of this!!
THE POWER OF THE AGELESS WOMAN!
I'm delighted that you liked my post!!! We just LOVE your substack.
What great insight and advice, Mercy.
I have always thought of myself as someone who is smart, tries really hard at everything, enthusiastic, and has style. But I never thought of myself as good-looking in the traditional sense — which objectively isn’t true. (Yup—I won a small genetic lottery and I refused to cash the cheque. Gawd, writing this makes me feel like such a jerk!) I clung to this idea of myself as a Betty in a world of Veronicas my whole life, out of insecurity and distrust. I guess I was trying to hedge against having my good luck smite me.
Did my looks give me advantages? Not that I ever believed, but maybe that was me self-handicapping. I just worked harder and tried harder — and never got over feeling like an outsider.
A boyfriend when I was 20 told me I’d be a knockout at 40, which devastated me at the time, of course. But he was right—that’s when I grew into my face. Did I start to believe it though? Only when I saw my features reflected in my daughters, who are everything lovely, inside and out.
SY! To see yourself reflected in the beauty of your daughter's features is the greatest mirror of all!
(The Queen in Snow White, poor monarch, TOTALLY MISSED THE BOAT!)
Best looking? 28
Ahhhh, the incredible VERVE of 28!!
Wish I could post a pix
I can imagine it cause I'm STILL 28, Linda!
And so are you.
In our heads.
I hit my real beauty stride at 40, because I finally felt in possession of myself. I’ve lost it during covid, but I’m working to reclaim it. As our Jena reminds us in her comment today, beauty is as beauty fucking does. (I’ve ad-libbed a word in there. That’s beauty for ya.)
Deborah!
WELL,
Well,
well,
There's the closing line of the podcast: "Beauty is as beauty fucking does!"
Woo!!!!
Grins…one of the advantages of meeting most of you here in words and tiny, unflattering avatar pics, is that I encounter you striped of outer trappings and get to experience your special “Youness.” All I can say is that I am blown away and blinded by the light of the Conflab.
And Deborah? You are a force to be reckoned with and an absolute delight. Also a bit of a wise ass, but that sass makes you fun. Hugs!
ilu Ms JB 💜
I spent my youth pissed off that men always looked at me. Now that I am "invisible" because I'm 67, it pisses me off that they don't.
Har! Ade!
Do not worry. They start looking at you again when you're 77!!
Ha! I wonder how many single women around my age have "closed shop". I schtooped my way through the '70s, '80s and '90s. Think think I'm all f'd out. But good to know!
Hah! Oh the irony, eh?
I was an awkward child. Weird hair, funky teeth, pale skin, and skinny as a rail. The perpetual new kid and a smarty pants teacher's favorite. Too loud, too weird, too precocious. I was bullied a lot and it was painful. I found solace in books and nature, making one or two good friends among the other awkward children. I didn't feel unattractive, until other people told me that I was. I didn't let them take away my joy. When I was in my late teens, the ugly ducking morphed into a swan of a sort. I got braces, figured out how to manage my hair, embraced my pale skin, and found my tribe once I joined the theater kids and started performing. People started to tell me I was beautiful. Was I ugly or beautiful? I look back at photos of younger me and wish I could tell myself how fabulous I was. That's the thing about the rearview mirror...
I discovered as I got older that many of the prettiest people were either riddled with insecurity or suffering from overblown egos. Sometimes pretty people became pretty ugly once you looked past the surface sheen. Though I have known many people who were beautiful inside and out, and many people who became unfathomably beautiful to me because of who they were, not how they looked. We're all consciousness residing in meat suits, E. Jean. Being pretty isn't a talent or a skill, and what the collective we decides is 'beautiful' is constantly changing.
At 58, pretty isn't really interesting to me anymore. I love make-up and dress-up and changing my hair, but that's for me. What other people think about my appearance is irrelevant. Like it or leave it, that's up to them.
I owe my success to tenacity, hard work, and a bit of talent that I've worked hard to cultivate. I've failed as much as I've succeeded, but none of this is real and none of us gets out of here alive. I like me, the good, the bad, the ugly, it's just a meat suit.
Cheers,
Madge
Margot, quoting you tonight in the podcast, woman!
I love that and you! xoxo! I'll be tuned in to the show!
Not something that mattered to me.
You are extremely unusual!
Gosh these stories are wonderful.
Here goes, when I was a little girl, I was told by my mother to stay out of grandmom's attic. But up there was glamour. Up there was another world exploding with WWII treasures. Up there, under a sheet, was a seductive vanity with drawers jammed full of 1940 Coty lipsticks, Dorothy Gray powder puffs, and Lanvin My Sin perfume bottles. Heavens, eleven children were raised in this house, and more than half were girls!
Plop down I would, pop off the lipstick tops, sniff them one-by-one. Around and around my bow shaped lips went the vibrant reds. Instantly I became the beautiful actress Loretta Young swishing down a curbed banister bedecked in taffeta or satin and marabou and a drop-dead-movie-star-smile.
Also, down the street lived an old, widowed woman with – looking back – an exciting history from what her trash contained. On the curb she would put out stashes of old glass beaded jewelry, scalloped leather gloves, and pink and champagne-colored chemise dresses. Guess which little girl got to the curb first and dragged those clothes home in a little red wagon! Ah, so avant-garde. Then, all the little girls would come to MJ’s to play dress-up, plan a talent show and make ten cents a head!
My entire life I just loved being a female and all the perks that went with it. Every time my older cousin put me in her big sister’s stilettos and told me to practice walking, I further realized that being a girl, being a woman had something magical about it. I didn't see my looks as separate from my identity any more than I saw other little girls’ looks split off from theirs. Our looks are part of who we are. As we embrace them we feel loved and deeply so.
The world is more accepting now of all kinds of beauty and all kinds of women. I think it’s wonderful because I think we women are wonderful. I love being a woman. I love my cherry-lipped smile.
Mary Jane! I will be quoting from your brilliant comment tonight!!
I'm so excited that I was able to figure out how to get in to listen to the podcast. It was fantastic, E. Jean. That group must still be talking about you!
Ahhhh! Thank you, Mary Jane!
OMG, I have an android and don't see how I can get in. I've been trying and I'll be back because no one in her right or write mind can ever stay away from E. Jean!