Invisible Women
Lynne Segal
I heard that the octogenarian Joan Didion was to be the ‘new face’ of the Parisian luxury brand Céline when I was in the middle of commenting on a new monograph by Margaret Gullette called How Not to Shoot Old People. It documents countless grim instances of neglect and contempt for the elderly across a vast ageist spectrum. We oldies live in schizoid times.
Old fashionistas are suddenly all the rage (if hardly plentiful) at Vogue and Dolce & Gabbana. Living longer, old people can be encouraged to consume more, especially by cosmetic and fashion industries promising to keep us looking streamlined and elegant. We may, undesirably, be no longer young, but we can at least dutifully defer to the dictates of fashion. Didion even has the skinny look of a fashion model: hardly an inch of flesh, mere bones on which to hang clothes and accessories.
Meanwhile, social media trolls pour forth hate speech against the elderly. Only occasionally is it directed at those with the resources to resist, such as Mary Beard. Older women in need of care regularly report being treated with impatience or disdain, but only the most scandalous cases of neglect attract public notice. There were mild complaints five years ago when Martin Amis, in the Sunday Times, called for euthanasia booths to deal with the threatening ‘silver tsunami’ of old people who would soon be ‘stinking out’ the streets of London. He said he could ‘imagine a sort of civil war between the old and the young in 10 or 15 years’ time’. His words resonate with the constant hum of alarm – almost panic – about the increasing numbers of elderly people, with our distinctive needs.
The most terrifying images of old age – the witch, hag, harridan – have always had a female face, whether in myth, folktale or horror movie. This can have stark material consequences. Women are twice as likely as men to end up living alone in old age, with no companion to care for them. Their pensions are generally smaller, too, as they are confined to fewer areas of the labour market, paid less, and more likely to have taken time out from their jobs to look after other people. In September 2013, the Labour Party’s Commission on Older Women provided stark evidence of the continuing invisibility of older women in public life. Eighty-two per cent of BBC presenters over the age of 50 are men. More generally, unemployment among women aged between 50 and 64 had increased by 41 per cent cent in the previous two and a half years, compared with 1 per cent overall.
In this dismal landscape, it is pleasing that ‘Fabulous Fashionistas’, older women with a flair for bright, distinctive dressing, were sought out and celebrated on TV last year. They were presented as role models for invisible women everywhere. The programme’s producer, Sue Bourne, confessed it had taken her two years to find the half dozen confidently colourful and stylish older women in the UK, but she’s hoping they are setting a trend. Perhaps Didion will boost that trend: her chic self-presentation mirrors her precise, elegant prose. Didion will never frighten the children, unlike the ‘old woman of skin and bones’ in the playground song, who goes ‘to the closet to get her broom’, and may fatten them up for supper. Didion represents instead the cheery resilience that the government and media look for in those older women who are allowed a certain visibility to tell us all how to grow old gracefully. We must all keep looking healthy and feisty; making few demands on others, and least of all on the public purse.
Didion offers the ironic detachment of a woman able to see through the duplicities and deceptions that any celebration of ageing cloaks, knowing that our culture continues to worship youth, and youth alone. Let’s rejoice that she can ride these contradictions, at least for now. As one young fashion model said, ‘It’s so cool, it hurts.’ Quite.
Comments
Thomas Keneally, surely beyond reproach, regrets that he always liked older women but is now old himself. Joan was always a looker. Maybe she is preserved, like so many old women, by smoking.
No-one deserves to be nice-looking and the whole subject is wretched, in fact it is hardly a serious subject at all outside the wonderful cartoon world of “Vogue”.
Identity politics is creeping up on us like dry rot, but Joan Didion, Joni Mitchell and Vivienne Westwood can do no wrong, in my view, whatever they do.
My experience of feeling invisible began with menopause. We no longer draw the male gaze. I don't actually mind -- as Gloria Steinem said when she turned sixty, we can stop playing female impersonators. She is now 80 too. I wonder if she'll be asked to model for an upscale clothier.
I too grew up as a child reading my mother's Vogue, with the mink coat campaign whose signature question was, "What becomes a legend most?" Not only Lillian Hellman but many older women posed glamorously--and perhaps received that (then) prestigious garment for doing so? That peculiar campaign in fact convinced me --not that I would be a legend--but that you had to be old to get the bourgeois goodies, the jewels, the furs, the houses, the sporty cars.
That funny illusion was a tiny part of the progress narrative that I concocted for myself, with a lot of help from the matriarchs and patriarchs in my family. But the progress narrative strengthened me, indubitably, to begin the hard work of critiquing decline culture.
Lynne Segal is right to point out the nastiness of some parts of the youthful cybersphere, but I would point out that most of the tropes and practices of the social media world are already passe and undergoing a re-evaluation about just how useful or significant they are (not very, on either account). It's a case of much ado about nothing. I don't know if Martin Amis's remarks were meant in earnest or jest, but he's hardly the place to go for people seeking wisdom or even common sense. The lad's novels are OK (but not much more than that), but when he's written non-fiction, he's tended to go off the deep end. His book about Stalin was nothing more than a hysterical plea for serious consideration from his old pal, Hitchens, and, as such ridiculous and, as serious social and/or intellectual history, totally redundant. In contrast, his Pop's writing about the old and the aging, no matter how nasty, was both insightful and humorous, regardless of his many stupid (well, make that unfounded or reflexive) beliefs.