The Silver Fox v the Fountain of Youth

Han Solo was sexy when lusting after the spirited Leia. John Book was searingly hot when slow dancing with Amish Rachel. Harrison Ford in his prime. Now he resembles a squished paper bag.

As does Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger and Robert Plant. Keith Richards gets away with it, Cliff Richards doesn’t. Johnny Depp channels Dorian Gray while Micky Rourke rocks the late Joan Rivers. See where I’m going here? We either age well or…

But what brought this on I hear you say? You may recall this post from early last year:

My gay boy buddies had asked my age. Again. It’s a yearly ritual only this time their flattering “Oh my god darling I swear you must have had ‘work’ done’ to look this good” platitudes were replaced with a marked silence, followed closely by “Well did you meet anyone while in Europe? We thought you’d be bringing home an Italian Silver Fox”. You see, i’d just been  swanning around France and Italy the previous six months. Choking back my Champers I’d paused to reflect – had my youthful bloom morphed into drooping gloom, effectively eliminating all hope of attracting a male?

In the boy’s eyes it seems I had just two simple tasks to perform:

1) Drink at the fountain of youth
2) Fall in love with a sexy ‘Silver Fox’

Fighting off two overly amorous ‘foxes’ and finding the ‘elixir’ of youth in a bottle or two of particularly good French Champagne clearly didn’t count. Nor did indulging in a culturally enriching exploration of two beautiful countries while writing enough words to fill two book launches. Nope!

Which brings me to my point. Should we feel the pressure to get ‘work’ done? And when exactly is the right time to do so? Before the furrows turn to tractor tracks? Before the boobs become belly bashers? A milestone birthday? Before we spend the potential funding on that next exotic holiday?

Vain at the best of times, I found myself critiquing every square inch of my slipping body, my graying hair, my lined face. And then I examined my head space…what the hell was I thinking? Reassurance came in the form of two simple messages in a recent fashion magazine:

“It’s just a number. What’s important is how you feel. I feel pretty good most days”
(Christy Turlington Burns, Model, in response to a question on how she felt about aging)

“I think it’s important to find the humour in aging and embrace the journey. How we look is such a reflection of how happy and peaceful we are”
(Amanda Haberecht, Naturopath in response to a question on how we defy age)

Smiling, I toasted these women with a glass of lemon infused water instead of Champers (clean eating darlings!) and sang “Amen sisters!” This year I read the delightful little tome ‘How to Be a Parisian – where ever you are’  (see post ‘On Fixes and Fuckability‘ – I’m already embracing those Aphorisms!) Yep, nothing’s changed, now don’t disturb me. I’m planning that next exotic holiday.

But what’s your opinion? Is there a right time? Would you? If yes, what would you address first?

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