Spare me this bland fate
The vision retirement villages sell is one of a world I don’t live in or dream about, writes John Bluck.
Ienjoy getting older – well, most of the time. I’m a bit slower but smarter than I was 50 years ago. Trouble is, the culture around me, and especially the ads, treats me as just slightly stupid.
They’re right about that when it comes to working cellphones and computers, but there’s always a 7-year-old around to help. The stupid I’m talking about is more to do with the lifestyle I’m supposed to be wanting. It appears to be all about looking clean and tidy, and sitting on patios with other oldies, drinking white wine.
I know this because I watch the ads for retirement villages, where oldies do that. All 47,000 of them, with that number set to double in the next 15 years.
So what’s the attraction? What they’re selling is certainly not a smart investment. You’ll lose up to 30% of your purchase price and have to live under some strict rules about visitors, pets, noise and bad behaviour that you left behind at boarding school.
What you are buying is a lifestyle, a culture, defined for you, safe, friendly and hassle-free. It’s one you literally buy into. You can’t change it, so you’d better be sure you will like it.
To be fair, most of my contemporaries, some of my best friends, do like the lifestyle and especially the companionship. I’m happy for them, but just what is this culture on offer? It used to be defined by a variety of providers that included church and charitable bodies offering modest facilities and diverse cultures. But now big corporates control the market and the cultures are remarkably homogenous.
It’s that sameness that bothers me; the assumption that older people want to be surrounded by other older people dressing alike, always clean and tidy and doing the same things, playing cards and bowls.
And just who are these people? They are much more likely to be Pākehā than Māori or Pasifika, Asian or Indian, heterosexual couples mostly. They look surprisingly young and fit. Walking sticks and wheelchairs don’t feature much in the ads. The overweight rarely appear; nor do the disabled, the very wrinkled, the not very photogenic. And they do short walks, between pristine flower beds and immaculate lawns. That’s not a world I live in, or dream about.
Ghettoes is an unkind word to use, but retirement villages unavoidably isolate old people from the rest of the world around them, where life is younger, messier, less well managed. However, it looks safe, secure and happy. Who wouldn’t want that?
These ads are full of people always smiling and laughing. They’re constantly having fun, but it seems to be happening in a determined, earnest way that unnerves me. Rarely does an ad show residents still enjoying arguing, teasing, flirting with, encouraging others around them; or just sitting peacefully, pensively, which is what old age is often about.
I hope these things do happen but in the meantime, I’ll continue to look out for signs of indifference towards older people, not just inside retirement villages. For example, TVNZ+’S failure to provide subtitles; or the AA’S driving licence examiners who conduct the tests for older and often nervous drivers, working in pairs and chatting loudly to each other as the test proceeds.
It’s not that our media are ignorant of the dignity old age deserves. Consider the coverage of the late Queen. All our elders deserve the same treatment. Māori know that: it’s evident in the way kuia and kaumātua are presented in Whakaata Māori programming.
The new documentary Lancaster features the very few surviving air crew from the war. These are men now in their late 90s, each respectfully presented as they speak with eloquence and grace about their nightmare years. You leave the theatre in awe of their courage and dignity.
I hope the makers of retirement village ads get to see the movie.