Graydar: What do you notice most?
Graydar: The realization that you too are now among the older set.
OK, I'll go first.
1. I've become a lousy judge of age, especially of anyone under twenty-five. Fifteen-year-olds, especially girls, look nineteen to me, nineteen-year-olds look twenty-five.
It works both ways! My doctor, around thirty and just out of medical school, casually referred to me as "an old person".
2. Salespersons use certain tactics less. They do not, for example, tell me they "bought one just like it"; they rightly figure I may not want what a youth wears. I get sticker shock, but am careful not to say so. That's probably related to no longer working, but jeez Louise, $300 for a sweatshirt? $125 for a tee shirt?
Occasionally a sales associate seems utterly paralyzed in dealing with me; when I was shopping for a dress for Etienne's wedding, I had my best service from those over forty or so. Younger staff seemed unsure of what to suggest to a 67-year-old who wanted no truck with bugle beads.
3. A prudish strain has hit out of nowhere. When I see a young woman on the street in shorts that offer a view I find gynecological, I wonder what she is hoping to communicate, and also worry for her safety. I had my own minis, halter tops, and what one date called "your gownless evening strap", so I'm doubly shocked, first by by her display and then by my response.
I'm noticing welcome changes too; these include,
1. Small pleasures deeply satisfy, and now there is time to enjoy them: children playing in the park, two guitarists giving a spontaneous concert on the bus, the waft of blooming linden trees: all experiences I would have rushed past even at fifty. The more I take in these small pleasures, the more I find them.
2. My ego is still there, but moved back many rows. When I meet friends still immersed in work, I am reminded of the demands of a career, of the competitive nature (especially in large corporations), and of how a certain drive carried me both upwards to achievement and down toward exhaustion. I have ceased to miss that intensity.
3. Not long ago, one of my sons ran a burdensome errand on my behalf, unasked. "Ah, 'taking care of Mom' begins", I thought to myself. I was grateful—if a little surprised—that this era has dawned.
Related to that, since I went to grey hair, I get offered a seat on transit during rush hour, nearly every time. Sometimes I accept, to reinforce my neighbour's kindness; other times, especially if disembarking in a few stops, I thank the person warmly, but stay upright.
It's your turn, and you don't need to be my age to contribute. Some readers may notice the changes earlier, like the first time you walk into a restaurant and think the music is too loud or when you dig a pair of stilettos out of your closet and think, Whoa, I wore those?
OK, I'll go first.
1. I've become a lousy judge of age, especially of anyone under twenty-five. Fifteen-year-olds, especially girls, look nineteen to me, nineteen-year-olds look twenty-five.
It works both ways! My doctor, around thirty and just out of medical school, casually referred to me as "an old person".
2. Salespersons use certain tactics less. They do not, for example, tell me they "bought one just like it"; they rightly figure I may not want what a youth wears. I get sticker shock, but am careful not to say so. That's probably related to no longer working, but jeez Louise, $300 for a sweatshirt? $125 for a tee shirt?
 |
| Not my dress! |
Occasionally a sales associate seems utterly paralyzed in dealing with me; when I was shopping for a dress for Etienne's wedding, I had my best service from those over forty or so. Younger staff seemed unsure of what to suggest to a 67-year-old who wanted no truck with bugle beads.
3. A prudish strain has hit out of nowhere. When I see a young woman on the street in shorts that offer a view I find gynecological, I wonder what she is hoping to communicate, and also worry for her safety. I had my own minis, halter tops, and what one date called "your gownless evening strap", so I'm doubly shocked, first by by her display and then by my response.
I'm noticing welcome changes too; these include,
1. Small pleasures deeply satisfy, and now there is time to enjoy them: children playing in the park, two guitarists giving a spontaneous concert on the bus, the waft of blooming linden trees: all experiences I would have rushed past even at fifty. The more I take in these small pleasures, the more I find them.
2. My ego is still there, but moved back many rows. When I meet friends still immersed in work, I am reminded of the demands of a career, of the competitive nature (especially in large corporations), and of how a certain drive carried me both upwards to achievement and down toward exhaustion. I have ceased to miss that intensity.
3. Not long ago, one of my sons ran a burdensome errand on my behalf, unasked. "Ah, 'taking care of Mom' begins", I thought to myself. I was grateful—if a little surprised—that this era has dawned.
Related to that, since I went to grey hair, I get offered a seat on transit during rush hour, nearly every time. Sometimes I accept, to reinforce my neighbour's kindness; other times, especially if disembarking in a few stops, I thank the person warmly, but stay upright.
It's your turn, and you don't need to be my age to contribute. Some readers may notice the changes earlier, like the first time you walk into a restaurant and think the music is too loud or when you dig a pair of stilettos out of your closet and think, Whoa, I wore those?
Comments
People in their 20s, 30s and sometimes even 40s will call me "honey" or "dear" in casual or business interactions. I don't know what motivates this: that I am older and harmless and will appreciate the kindness? It's a mystery.
I also have noticed my children occasionally seeming to worry about me the way that I used to worry about them.
I still work, full time, and there seems to be an assumption that I wouldn't be working. I picked up a to go lunch at a local coffee shop. The clerk asked me if I was going to take the lunch back home (surmising that I couldn't possibly have a job.)
I suppose the upside is that younger people may feel freer to strike up a conversation.
Janice Riggs: I have noticed it goes both ways; some persons mellow, some become more easily thrown. Your camp has more fun!
mary: Let's just do it for ourselves and the enjoyment of those who know us!
On balance, the positives far outweighs the pinpricks, these are wonderful times and I'm enjoying life.
I agree there are far more pressing issues that someone using a familiar form of address. But I also think it's off-putting to us because it connotes condescension or diminishment. Behind the "dear" are some serious issues (the rate of poverty among elderly single women; needed changes to end-of-life care options; revamping of social security and health benefits; ageism in the workplace, sometimes leading to job loss.) Does the form of address imply a tendency to discount elders, or is it a mindless habit?
Here in Montréal, I am addressed daily as "Madame", which I like. It's used for women of any age (usually above 30 or so) and carries no sense of presumed familiarity.
And who can forget Helen Mirren as Detective Chief Inspector Tennison, saying, "Listen, I like to be called governor or the boss. I don't like ma'am; I'm not the bloody Queen. So take your pick."
I believe it was the New York Times that said that part of the appeal of Bernie Sanders to young people is that they view someone they perceive as old and cranky as cute. .
I do prefer "Madame" to "sweetie" but so what!
Clerks in the grocery store offer to help carry my bags to the car and they eye me up and say we best distribute the groceries well so the bags are not too heavy for when you get them home. The young men call me Ma"am...the first time I heard this I turned around...were they meaning me?
I feel no pressure to dress or act a certain way...being rather "invisible" offers a freedom that I quite enjoy.
Most of my friends are grey or going that way and we still feel "young" in so many ways. We listen to Adele, go to plays and concerts and dance in the aisles while still wearing jeans.
Like you I worry about some of the younger women and their rather skimpy outfits...but not that long ago I wore halter tops and wore them without a bra! My Mother was mortified...times change as does our attitude...
I am really enjoying life from the gray side.
So fascinated to find how much now, though, I'm seeing my mother's perspective, understanding her better each day, wishing she were still here so that I could tell her so.
hostess: Don't know about you, but ma'am seems more respectful to me than "honey" or "dear". Here, "madame" is the only term of address tendered except the very occasional "ma chère", which is only said to me by women over 40.
The other day I addressed a very young man (18?)stocking groceries as "sir" and he cracked up.
As for the whole age thing, I don't like being invisible, but I've decided the only recourse is to be as charming as I can be to those I spend time with. Charm can go a long way.
I swear this was an actual conversation recently:
Nurse: Are you sexually active?
Me: Yes.
Nurse: With how many partners?
Me: One; I have been married for thirty years. (I realize there are married persons with more than one partner, but I was answering for me.)
Nurse (incredulous); Thirty years with ONE GUY??????
In English-speaking Canada and the NE US, as time passed, I noticed that any honorific was dropped, or I was addressed with the awful "Miss" (even when over 50). Did someone tell salespersons that "Miss" is flattering to older women? But I still feel a warm, nostalgic glow when addressed as "Lady", as when a NYC cop said, "Lady, you can sit there all day but it's still a No Parking zone." I feel like I'm in a Damon Runyon story.
I am not your mother, or necessarily anyone's mother. I am not senile. I'm not a "dear" or "dearie". Eff off to those who treat older people thus.
I love your sons; they are fine young men, but you could simply remind them that we have to help each other.
Otherwise I am far more comfortable in my skin than I was as a young woman, and with that ease comes a bit more patience with others. I am also far less rushed and stressed; but I don't know if that is age or retirement or just being on my own again.
Mardel: Why in the world are elders called cute? Unless some persons are cute from infancy right through? But I don't think it's that.
Also, I watch the young women lawyers in the trial and realize I'm not at all young anymore. It's a revelation.
Three words that are used together, "little old woman", could describe me. I'm definitely little and a woman and can now be defined as "old" since I've retired. This probably earns me more of these cute salutations. If the situations warrants, they'll sometimes find that "sweet" doesn't go along with that three word phrase.
The one thing I've discovered as I age is that I refuse to feel or think of myself as old, just as someone who has seen more of life and can't be bothered to be upset about some things.
But even if a woman of 80 or more chooses to wear tops with little appliquéd kittens, she should still be addressed as what she is, an adult.I read a piece somewhere about a 90ish woman artist who always dressed in one combination: a white man's shirt (with a black cardi if it was cold) and black yoga pants- thought I might do well to copy her approach one day.
Julie: That three-word phrase is so loaded. You get to be "petite" or maybe "short" for many decades, then suddenly "little" as soon as "old" is appended. I refer to myself as "old" to the horror of a few of my friends, who immediately retort, "YOU are not 'old'". Well, I tell them, the government sends me a cheque every month, with the words Old Age Security on it, so someone thinks so.
Until we own "old" with self-respect, we cannot fully advocate for the kind of world we would like, not just for ourselves, but for everyone, young or old.
As for "old", isn't it also because it used for worn-out or useless things? Not that people should be called antique, aged or vintage (like furniture, cheeses and wines) but "old" tends to have negative connotations.
But people are not things. And as I figure it, at 57, although I may not look "old", I am in fact in the final third of my anticipated life in terms of the expected average lifespan for my cohort. The average lifespan of a woman my age in the US is 84. By that accounting, I am already in the final third, or old age. Of couse no one knows how long they will live, but I still find the categories convenient, and far from restrictive. I know I am not "aged" and yet I am also increasingly leaving the concerns of middle-age behind. That does not mean the end of vibrancy, of creativity, of usefulness. Of course this system would upset many, as it is likely that 29-year old would dislike being thought of as middle-aged, just as much as most 58-year olds dislike being called old. But numbers are just numbers and only symbolic of what we wish them to mean. There are other markers we can use instead. Perhaps we need new categories, new ways of describing and respecting the aging process, maybe even a 4-stage plan, modeled on the hindu, but perhaps not as restrictive in our more indulgent age. I do know however, that I don't want to be considered "young" anymore, and that such an assessment seems to negate the wisdom and acceptance that seems to come with working one's way through those middle stages, and arriving safely somewhere else, where there is, by the way, plenty of life remaining.
I'll bet nobody notices Queen Elizabeth II's rack ... so, that's something to look forward to.
Poppy Buxom: Because of your username,is it accurate to infer that attribute is something you wish to acknowledge ;) Um, perhaps Prince Philip notices?
Mardel: Your remarks made me think of what humorist Loretta Laroche once said, "When I'm old I don't want people at my funeral to say, 'Wow, she looks great.' I want them to say, 'What a wreck! She really lived'." And the old joke, "Middle age is 5 years older than I am."
There are classifications used by some health care providers and social scientists that call 65-74 "the young old", 75-84 "the middle old", and above 85 "the oldest old."
As for dear/honey/sweetie: I actually use it quite a bit, with strangers of all age, both sexes. It's a gentle way to acknowledge someone before issuing a request or correction. Beats "hey, you" or even "exCUSE me." NYC is too crowded to get overly worked up about the attitudes and behavior of people around you, most of the time. (perhaps I get away with it because of my age)
People do sometimes offer me seats on public transportation, but at 66 I probably don't yet look old enough to be mentally labeled "little old lady." At least I hope not.
There are plenty of energetic seniors in the city who are out and about, taking advantage of the city, but I suspect that will change as the price of real estate continues to rise. Ten years from now older people will be less in evidence here, resulting in different behaviors toward those who remain.
I had to give feedback about local preferences for terms of address to a British male who reported to me; he called all women at work and our clients "love" or "luvvy". He received everything from raised eyebrows to direct "Excuse me?"s. But there are indeed cultural habits, I agree.
In ten years I'll be pushing eighty if I'm lucky, and the number of persons who can call me a term of endearment because they are genuinely close to me will have dwindled- it has begun already. Perhaps I'll just be grateful to have anyone to talk to. However, many elders to whom I have spoken really dislike the presumed familiarity of those "honeys" and "sweeties".
In her elder years, my mother (a native Midwesterner) lived in FL, and this was an actual exchange:
Saleswoman: "Honey, do you want me to find another size for you?"
Mom: "Please, would you call me 'Mrs. C..'?"
Saleswoman: "Mrs. C., honey..."