Speaking of Blather

An age and vanity post is hardly overdue, but I did have an amusing moment at the new job day before yesterday.

At almost four days in the new office, I'm hardly a novelty anymore, but there is still a lot of getting-to-know-you stuff lying before us. One of the women in the group reminds me a good deal of a friend I had at my job in the mid-nineties; the requisite funny and brash woman in the office I have occasionally been myself. The one I knew before was right around my age, and filled my head with stock phrases such as "What is the DEAL, Pickle???" and "naked aborigine" (referring, actually only the one time - so not so much a stock phrase, as such - to her husband), and essentially being, you know - brash. And funny. She was D. So for ease of nonidentification, we can call the new girl D2.

D2 and I were talking briefly, when she said something about how young I was. I blinked for a moment and asked her how old she thinks I am, because she was clearly off; her response was somewhere in the twenties. I explained the truth of the matter, and she blew out a "no WAY" and commentary on how certainly *that* was not fair of me. "I never would have guessed!"

D2's buddy walked around the corner, and she paused long enough to get "How old do you think Diane is!?" This answer came in at a believable thirty-five. When corrected, she looked up at me sardonically and laughingly uttered the word for a feminine hound (not offensively).


I realize I've long played this game; since even my actual late twenties, people have found me younger-looking than I am. Because this began somewhat early, I have to say - cultural conditioning to the contrary, and years of unexamined amusement about it aside - I don't, as such, find the supposition of my youth in itself a point of flattery. I know it's meant as such; and the effect has become pronounced enough that I absolutely use it to my advantage (the game above? not my first time at the rodeo, by a long shot). I'm fairly certain that there is at least some cognitive dissonance between the resume I present and the face I have to go with it, at times. I'm also aware of the advantages certain aspects of my appearance confer, and I ruthlessly exploit that. My obsession with costuming and personal-appearance deployment doesn't fall short in the professional department. In periods of unemployment, it goes into overdrive.

In its own terms, though, and in myself, the fact of my pleasure in my own age, and the extent of effort it took me to gain its experience, render "you look young" a compliment only by virtue of the fact that it's meant as such rather than by its actual content. "You are beautiful" is something I take, from E or perhaps from my ex, with the full force and power intended. But not looking forty-two is more an accident than an end. I use it, but I didn't particularly make this happen. Yeah, I haven't been in the sun since 1986, as I joke - but that hasn't been the matter of "oh, I must preserve my youth!" so much as the function of a girl who doesn't like to go outside. Yeah, I'm conceited as can be - and I use the accident of my appearance - but I take little real credit for the causes, nor anything beyond clothing, makeup and hairstyling. Apart from covering my white hair until there comes to be enough of it I'll flaunt it fully, I don't style myself for "youth" so much as what I like - and feel is flattering. Extreme youth isn't a look I strive for, and in fact I stay away from things that might "really" signify me as part of a generation I'm not in. I don't adopt current fads and trends; in fact, I stay well away from anything which might appear as if I were trying to look young.

For that matter, I wasn't all that much into trends when I *was* young(er) - and that is probably some part of the supposed magic. The state of my skin is only one piece of the equation; anothe is the state of my style. Because I never got addicted to clue-catcher bangs and spiral perms, I don't bear some of the badges of my own generation, and THAT is a major factor in not looking my age, too. I'm not branded by the fashions of the eighties, and that is one signifier of age-appearance.

No small aspect of the "compliment" that a woman doesn't look her age (it's always women - isn't it?) lies in a woman's lack of shoulder pads, Swatch watches, pleated jeans, add-a-bead necklaces, and L. A. Gear sneakers with multiple neon shoe laces.

And so we have the secret: because I was un-hip back in the day, I'm not locked in that day. Nerdliness is next to youthfulness, or something of the kind.

Not caring about my apparent youth of course goes hand in hand with the conceit that I am fabulous no matter the number of years I've been so. And I do know I need to not play the silly game; it's insufferable, even to me. But it still does *interest* me - both the importance people ascribe to the disparity, and the virtue even I subscribe to in participating so in these compliments.