The Invisible Woman
A new movie screening now, “The Invisible Man,” is garnering considerable attention for its impressive special effects. The title character moves through the picture unseen while impacting every scene. The production reportedly cost millions less than budgets for similar films — “The Mummy” for example — but they could have saved even more with one simple change: replacing the male star with a woman of a certain age. No tech wizardry required.
With apologies to Ralph Ellison, it’s clear the most invisible people are women over 50. In spite of their sizable contributions, such as birthing every human on the planet, they’re as undervalued as Ginger Rogers dancing backwards in high heels.
What to make of this phenomenon? Girls aren’t invisible their entire lives, rather they’re noticed in waves. Often overlooked as children — while society trains young males to take over the world — they’re conspicuous again when needed to birth those boys and mold them for the future. Then they slide into obscurity again when that stage has run its course.
Physician and author Deepak Chopra wrote about an experiment in perception conducted a couple of decades ago by Harvard Medical School. It involved two groups of kittens, one raised in an environment of only vertical stripes and the other with horizontal stripes. As grown cats the first group could see only vertical lines and the second only horizontal. Proving that we perceive only what we’re conditioned to see.
Perception is nine-tenths of the saw. Elizabeth Warren as president? Can’t see it. Three old white guys? A liar, a bungler and a rogue Howdy Doody? Sure, okay.
In the workaday world the vertical stripes could symbolize the trajectory of men, while the horizontal lives of women are disregarded and devalued. I’ve experienced this multiple times myself. One blatant example occurred in my mid-fifties when, starting over after being downsized, I took an interim job as a bookseller in a well-known chain. About a year into my tenure, the assistant manager position became open. I printed my resume, detailing years of managerial experience, and sealed it in a manila envelope along with effusive letters of recommendation from several previous bosses. When I handed it to the 30ish manager she recoiled with surprise, tossed it unopened onto her desk and exited the office without a word. An interview never happened.
In an early episode of “Grace and Frankie,” Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin stop in a market to buy the cigarettes they’ve been craving. They’re still raw from the shock of their impending divorces. What’s more invisible than an older woman? Two older women. Fonda repeatedly calls “Hello? Hello?” to the clerk who’s fawning over a pretty girl, until, incensed at being ignored, she has a screaming meltdown. “What kind of animal treats people like this?” she yells. “Do you not see me?” Tomlin pulls her out of the store.
While cooling off in the car, Fonda apologizes as Tomlin opens a stolen pack of cigarettes and lights one up. “It’s okay, I learned something,” she exhales. “We’ve got a Super Power. You can’t see me, you can’t stop me.”
I hate to admit it (sort of) but I stole something recently. I was shopping in a natural foods store, pushing a small two-tiered cart, and headed to the check-out. The young cashier was animately talking to the man in front of me. At my turn I said hello, how are you, my usual pleasantries. He didn’t say hello. He didn’t answer that he was fine (though he seemed so five minutes before). He didn’t ask if I found everything okay, which I think they’re supposed to do, or announce the total out loud, another rule. I don’t want to name names or disparage any business but he didn’t even ask for my Prime number. He didn’t utter a word during the entire transaction or make eye contact. He threw the receipt in the bag.
As I wheeled the cart out the door, I noticed the bag of dog bones I’d stowed in the bottom basket to separate it from my produce. I had argued with myself about the exorbitant price of butcher scraps as I added them to my cart. And now, I’d neglected to pay the price. For half a second I considered making it right. But at the prospect of facing that cashier again I continued on to the car. The richest man in the world could just eat my bones.
Invisible Woman, meet Wonder Woman.
