.A few nights ago, I was having dinner with three other women. As things sometimes do, we got to talking about men. The good, the bad, the sexy!
I mentioned someone we knew who’d been hitting on me. One women put down her fork, looked up in surprise and said, “wait, how old is he, anyway?”
I said, “I asked him. He’s thirty-five.”
“Oh for god’s sake,” she said, picking up her fork again. As if that was the end of that. A thirty-five-year-old man could certainly not be interested in someone in her, ahem, sixties!!!!
As a matter of fact, he could, they could, it’s an attraction.
Sexy has no age stamp.
My last BF was twelve years younger. When I met him, I was mid-fifties, he was somewhere in his delicious early forties and looked way younger. Like a not-so-innocent, hayseed Brad Pitt in Thelma in Louise, with the breathy, midwestern accent to match.
There he stood, outside my rental car in the mall parking lot, asking for my number.
“I don’t live here!” I said.
“I don’t care,” he said.
“Um, I’m a little older than you!” I said.
“I don’t care,” he said.
He truly didn’t. After awhile, I didn’t either.
We’ve been told we have an expiration date. After a certain age, we just won’t be able to bring it. We’ll become invisible.
No. Don’t buy it.
I follow the most vibrant, gorgeous Italian woman on Insta named @rosellajardini. https://www.instagram.com/rossellajardini/?hl=en
A luscious bella dama, probably in her seventies. I stare at her images, in awe of her self-possession, her assuredness. Her winking playfulness as she smiles into the camera, wrinkles not detracting at all from her lush sensuality and rich confidence.
That’s the power we gain as we age. That grounded certainty, the deep soulful siren of it all.
If we choose to keep ourselves alive and vibrant. Powerful and richly textured. Which we absolutely should!
Sure, I wish I still had a touch of youthful innocence. When I look at my photos now, I see that part of me left the building about four years ago. So be it.
Sexy has no age. No expiration date. It’s not about trying. You can bring it any damned time you want to. Or, don’t. It’s all up to you. Being empowered in all your full, ripe agency is sexy.
To tell you the truth, this photo was taken last year, on my sixty-first birthday. I’d never worn that body-con dress and I almost didn’t that night. My stylist had added it to my wardrobe the year before. I just couldn’t ever get up the nerve to wear it. I thought it was too tight for someone ‘my age.’
Well, that night I put it on and represented. For me, for women everywhere. Yep. It was tight. No, it didn’t feel great after I ate a bowlful of chips and guac. But dammit, I wore it! Happy Birthday to me. And to you. And, many more!