POOR PLANNING

 I did not plan well for retirement.

I did not plan on losing more than half of my friends. Still, they are gone and irreplaceable.

I did not plan on outliving my investment funds. And yet. Here I am, a cautionary warning to my peers.

I did not plan on continuing to work. But apparently, I have a genetic inability to stop.

I did not plan on living alone after officially being designated as "elderly." Fortunately, I have a "new-fangled" watch that alerts my family if I've fallen and can't get up.

In my next life, I will plan better. For now, despite my poor planning, I will be happy with the friends and the life I still enjoy. 

GIGI'S VICE

 My family goddess name is GiGi and I am -- a shopaholic. Unlike Sophie Kinsella's heroine, things do not usually end well for my budget. Also, alas, I have not turned my retail addiction into best-selling novels.

While I'm not certain how or when my condition began, I'm certain that online shopping accelerated the problem. During Covid lockdown, my rush to fill the cart was not slowed by the eventual check-out. Like Scarlett told us years ago...payment for past transgressions is something we can think about tomorrow.

My grandgirls are all fashion-forward young women. No pressure on grandma, except from me and the thought of potentially embarrassinging them. And no judgement. Except from me. 

My quest to become the best-dressed geriatric brings up many questions. Among them...Is it wrong to become a fashionista after fifty? Or eighty? Do I sound shallow for caring about my appearance? For wanting to personify senior style? Am I bitter that wardrobe shopping which was once so easy and fun -- when I was tall and so thin they called me Bones -- is now a major problem? The answers might possibly be humiliating.

The bottom line...I have aged-out of fashion.

I understand that clothes do not make the man...or in this case, and more importantly, the woman. But really?

My friend Suzie recently complained that shopping has become a painful experience. Department stores and boutiques offer fashions that either scream out that we're desperately attempting to recapture our youth, or worse, declaring ourselves ancient by lunching in wrinkled rayon prints. Women over sixty, seventy and yes, eighty have a problem. It seems we can either look dowdy or we can look alike.

If I shop at one of the most popular franchises marketing to older women, I risk seeing the same thing I'm wearing walk by me on another body. If I shop the expensive line of clothing designed with flowing elegance, taste and a mature woman's body in mind, my closet will be bare.

Granted, some women possess natural flair like Maye Musk or the women Ari Seth Cohen features in his book and internet blog, Advanced Style. Or my colleague Mame.

Mame dresses with flair. Without spending millions of dollars she always looks like a million dollars. She shows no fear flaunting colors, style and fit. And we, her admiring friends, expect her to show up in daring, sometimes eccentric, ensembles. She is a walking drama, a turn-heads-kind of woman. Good friend, that she is, she has attempted to act as my stylist and dress me. But no good has come of it. I may be too stubborn or faint-hearted -- but then again, I don't wear purple.

Because I'm living on a fixed income like so many of my peers, my daughter has encouraged me to shop at discount stores. I've attempted to do that but the clothes that end up on those racks for the most part have been designed for the younger generation. The come-buy-me-labels lack fabric and therefore reveal body parts that would have me arrested. 

Why are there a plethora of fashions that make a woman of seventy with a mind of a thirty-year-old look like a one-hundred-year-old? Not only are these offerings unflattering and unfair, they're denying a growing population.

In the past I've worn mini-skirts and I've worn bell-bottoms with shaggy yarn vests. I didn't save them. I know. My bad. Those of us who've reached a certain age have seen fashion recycled again and again. 

Where is that stunning new style that transforms, disguises and flatters victims of gravity, and constantly shifting bodies? 

If you find it...let me know. 

  

THE INVISIBLE WOMAN

 Have you ever walked into a room and disappeared? Became invisible?

Stan Lee created one such woman, The Invisible Woman, for Marvel Comics. Sue Storm, a mutate, received her awesome powers from cosmic rays and became able to render herself invisible in order to fight crime. A good thing. Most normal, mortal women, however, do not consider becoming invisible as particularly empowering. It's not a good thing. Even to fight crime.

According to a plethora of recent studies, a phenomenon known as "The Invisible Woman Syndrome" threatens women everywhere. One survey studied two thousand women and discovered by the time they reached 51 years of age, many believed they'd become invisible and irrelevant. Only fifteen percent felt they had high or very high confidence in any area of their lives and forty-six percent thought no one understood or addressed aging and what older women go through. They experienced a growing frustration in or out of the board room. And just like that aging becomes so much more difficult. 

I'd never heard of Invisible Woman Syndrome until a year or so ago when a friend wrestled with the problem. Angrily. Let's call her Lucy. 

Lucy complained about being invisible throughout her later years. She had been a very attractive young woman and accustomed to having heaps of attention until she reached a certain age. Everyone who knew Lucy considered her adorable. And more. She was a mother, a witty, intelligent woman and an accomplished novelist. She attended the best parties and knew the right people. She could "work" a room as well as any experienced politician. But then her looks began to change. Not in a bad way, in a lovely, mature way. Over-sixty Lucy, with the same attributes she'd always had, no longer drew the same attention. The once much-admired woman found the possibility she'd become invisible, extremely annoying. Devastating even. She took to singing aloud in stores while she shopped. Lucy indeed suffered from The Invisible Woman Syndrome.

Unfortunately, it's still true that women's role in society whether they rule as a CEO or not, is typically to be attractive. Even in the corporate world attitudes towards aging and female beauty continue to be primeval.

"If women seem no longer to be attractive, which is considered to be when she reaches that first stage of aging, she becomes less relevant. The same does not apply to men because as they get older men get more respect, and it really doesn't matter what they look like," according to Dr. Louise Mahler, an English Executive coach.

Only women become invisible.

Noted Nobel Prize-winning novelist, Doris Lessing had a different and more positive view of the phenomena. "...when you become middle-aged and anonymous no one notices you. You achieve a wonderful freedom."

Freedom! Something introverts -- like me -- have appreciated all along. We welcome being invisible and always have. Let me work in my isolated office, let me make my statement and leave my legacy in perfect anonymity. Don't look my way. Allow me to cover my unkempt hair with a cap, hide my un-made-up face with a mask and conceal my bulging belly under a caftan.

There is only one problem for me. Anyone who knows us will tell you that the women in my family are self-proclaimed goddesses. (Thus my name GiGi, the goddess grandmother.) The goddess label is purely a state of mind achievable for every woman. And encouraged. We celebrate the strength, intelligence, humor and sense of adventure that we treasure in one another. Occasionally when we get together we wear our tiaras (available at the Party Store) and share adult beverages. We come in a variety of shapes and sizes and we range in age from the low fifties, straight through to the sixties, seventies, and eighties. By all accounts, we should feel irrelevant. We should be invisible - not so easy wearing tiaras. But no. We are loud and opinionated. Except for me, I raise my voice on this blog. 

For women who resent being invisible there is one way to be seen. Refuse to be irrelevant or invisible. Own the room...raise your voice and rant! Or sing aloud in the store while you shop.