If I want rivers of Botox injected into my face, I will – ‘ageing gracefully’ isn’t a compliment, says Vanessa Feltz

If I want rivers of Botox injected into my face, I will – ‘ageing gracefully’ isn’t a compliment, says Vanessa Feltz

THE Oscar-winning Julianne Moore is sick and tired of being congratulated on “ageing gracefully”.

Instead of revelling in the praise, the actress is livid. She thinks the phrase, which passes for a compliment, is sexist. No one ever gives a bloke points for failing to go bald and hanging on to his own teeth. She’s right.

Nicky Johnston

Vanessa Feltz is sick of older women being told to ‘age gracefully’[/caption]

BBC

The presenter, pictured in 1999, refuses to give in to the ageing process without a fight[/caption]

instagram

Vanessa says anyone commenting on her ten-year age gap with Ben Ofoedu is just jealous[/caption]

The confusing and thoroughly judgmental idea of graceful ageing was invented as a free pass to stigmatise and condemn women thought to be past their prime.

Julianne is not the only one spitting tacks. I am thoroughly ticked off too.

How dare a self-appointed jury pronounce their infuriating verdict on how well, or how badly, a woman is coping with the entirely natural process of getting older?

Who the hell designated them judges of which women are “graceful” and which are graceless?

Let’s face it. The concept is, at best, wildly confusing and at worst insulting to the max.

Is it supposed to be graceful to let our grey hair run rampant, cellulite ripple and wrinkles dig deep divots in our foreheads?

Is it somehow considered more “age-appropriate” to ditch our underwired lace bras and teetering stilettos to pad about the place in tan support tights and sensible slippers?

Is there something commendable in giving in to the ageing process without a fight?

HAVING A BELTING TIME

Who the hell decrees it’s naff to cling to your bottle blondeness, scoop your assets into a scarlet satin corset and wiggle down the street in the tightest leather trousers you can squeeze your buttocks into?

I’m not even sure WHY the Ageing Police consider it more “graceful” to look every inch of your calendar age.

Folk wouldn’t give you points for gracefulness if you let your roof fall in or car rust over.

As usual, double standards are at play here.

Imagine yelling at a man who replaces a lost tooth with an implant or takes up jogging and shifts his beer belly: “Oi, mate! You’re not graceful! Ditch the dentures and let that saggy stomach hang over your trackie bottoms. You’re trying too hard!”

Chaps who retain their youthful looks, George Clooney-style, are dubbed “silver foxes” and employed to flog us everything from insurance to yoghurts.

Women doing their utmost to delay the ravages of time are dismissed as “mutton dressed as lamb” and laughed at behind their backs.

At the age of 59, I make no apology for flaunting my inner lamb, whether or not I’m a bit knackered around the edges.

When people comment on my appearance, I try not to take it too seriously. But that is the same for anyone commenting about me.

If they criticise how I look, I simply ignore them. If they compliment me, I say “Thank you” and move swiftly on.

When it comes to cosmetics, I have had Botox and I have done so ever since my husband Michael Kurer left me in 2000.

I didn’t want his behaviour to leave lines on my forehead. It wasn’t worth it — and I don’t see any problem with that.

It is my personal opinion on how I want to look after myself.

If we fancy going under the knife, tightening, tautening and having rivers of Botox injected into our crinkly bits, let us get on with it.

If we want to diet ferociously, exercise like fiends and flick our waist-length Jane Seymour-esque locks over our bare shoulders suggestively, watch in awe and enjoy the ride.

If, on the other hand, we decide to embrace our spare tyres, love our lived-in looks, stop retouching our roots and cultivate prize marrows, that’s OK too.

If a woman is enjoying life in whichever fashion suits her best, there is no excuse whatsoever for labelling her “graceful” or “ungraceful”.

It is my personal opinion on how I want to look after myself.

She doesn’t need your opinion, thank you very much. She is having a belting time. Leave it at that.

For where is the fun in dressing or behaving like ancient and decrepit mutton? Note the word “behaving”.

Ageing gracefully seemingly means not just an end to saucy dressing but farewell to all naughtiness.

“Tut-tut!” say the disapprovers at the mere glimpse of Madonna, juicy hunk hanging from her arm, sashaying through a nightclub in skin-tight PVC, tattoos akimbo.

“Dear, dear!” is the response to Kate Beckinsale cavorting with a finely muscled lad young enough to be her son.

And anyone commenting on the ten-year age difference between me and partner Ben Ofoedu is clearly jealous, in my opinion.

CHROUS OF DISAPPROVAL

Women “of a certain age” are not permitted to have flamboyant, obviously libidinous capers on or off the chaise longue.

We are supposed to subside into the kitchen, fanning ourselves through our hot flushes while baking pies and knitting our grandbabies chunky jumpers for Christmas.

Anything more flamboyant than blending into the wallpaper and watching Countdown is frowned upon.

I say: “Back off, shut up and let us get on with it!”

By the time we are antique enough to qualify for membership of the Older Women Club, we know ourselves.

I have had it up to here with the chorus of disapproval hurling abuse at older women for having the cheek not to disappear.

According to the naysayers, we are always too fat, too thin, too loud, too desperate, too unappealing to be allowed out in public.

Even the celestial Dame Helen Mirren is roundly trolled just for having the chutzpah to carry on lighting up our screens. I defer to her on this one.

Getty

Julianne Moore is right – no one ever gives a bloke points for hanging on to his own teeth[/caption]

It’s frowned upon when women like Madonna date young hunks or dress in skin-tight PVC

Dame Helen says: “You either age or you die.”

My mum passed away at the age of 57. She died of endometrial cancer. I am two years older than she ever managed to be.

I am growing old GRATEFULLY. End of.

Source: thesun.co.uk

Source