You Look So Good. For Your Age.
We lower our standards for the over 50 bunch
Well, it’s finally happened.
I’ve hit the “you look so good for your age” stage of life. It’s a gradual, insidious process that sneaks right up on ya. You think you’re adequately prepared for your inevitable physical downslide, but you never really are. You think it won’t phase you, but it will. It really will. Because you’re a human. And mortal.
In the not-too-distant past, once you were past your 20s it was time to become a matron. Here are your regulation sensible shoes, cardigan, and reading glasses chain. My mother nagged the shit out of me to cut my hair because women my age looked ridiculous with long locks. I was thirty years old, people! In no uncertain terms, I told her she was nuts. I’ll skip the perm, pin curls, and blue hair, but thanks anyway, Ma.
Looking good “for your age” is a caveat that’s generally unheard of until you hit fifty-ish or so. The inference seems to be that once you’re fifty looking good is fucking miraculous, or at least definitely worthy of comment.
“Omg, you’re fifty?? And you’re still presentable? Holy shit.”
