‘Wisdom is worth more than a million wolf whistles’
As she reaches middle age with two daughters in puberty, author Erin Kelly reflects on her perspective on ageing, and how much it has changed since she was a teen herself…
Ihere’s a goddess in my wardrobe. She looks like a Disney princess, albeit one with a mullet and a safety pin through one ear. She’s looking for an old Topshop Boutique blouse of mine that she wants to borrow and thinks I’ve hidden from her (because I have), in case she trashes it (because she will).
I am 47, with two daughters. Marnie is 15 and Sadie is 11. My house is like the hormone hotel with me in perimenopause and them in puberty. They are at the mercy of their moods: I have brain fog and a body that changes shape and size several times a day.
When my elder daughter turns men’s heads, I honestly pity her. I never enjoyed that kind of attention from strangers. It doesn’t bother me that women my age get ignored in nightclubs because a) I’ve done my time raving the night away in a bra top and army trousers; it’s their turn next and b) I would rather eat my own hair than go to one now. What I am losing in youth, I’m gaining in a different kind of status. Much of my social life revolves around my job as a writer. After 15 years and 10 novels, I have presence and wisdom and conversation worth more than a million wolf whistles.
I spent my teenage years thinking all my problems would vanish if only I were more conventionally beautiful, which for my generation meant heroin-chic thin, and for me personally meant smooth hair (Frizz Ease was not invented until I was 14). Marnie is slender, willowy, with glossy hair and eyelashes for days. And none of it changes the internal reality of being 15. The shifting friendships, the exam pressure, the quest to understand the male of the species are as bewildering to her as the rest of us. Her looks are no guard against that. It’s a lesson it took me two lifetimes – mine and hers – to learn, and it’s incredibly liberating.
Of course, she won’t learn this for some time yet. My girls don’t appreciate their youth because nobody does. If they do think about their own age at all it’s in terms of what it means for their independence. They know exactly when they’ll be free to get a Saturday job, learn to drive, get tattoos. They have plenty of opinions on my ageing, though, seeing it as some kind of character flaw. Do I know, they ask me, that my hair is, like, literally grey? They covet my ‘retro’ Buffalo trainers but sneer at my beloved vintage Laura Ashley dresses and delight in my nascent bingo wings (even though I can beat both of them in an arm wrestle at the same time, thank you Pilates).
They make me laugh every day and I’m inspired by their adventures in fashion. I’m aware that after 40,
if you’re not careful, your style can freeze. I don’t want the wind to change and leave me stuck in a Fatface midi and white trainers for ever. My girls’ icons are eccentric young women such as Billie Eilish. They scour charity shops and markets to come up with outfits that shouldn’t work, but do. Today, Sadie is wearing psychedelic kick flares, a sailor T-shirt and her wrists are covered with charm bracelets she made herself. Marnie’s in over-the-knee socks with skeletons on them, a mini kilt covered in chains, her school shirt and an Oodie. They dress for colour and creativity, not sexiness or with the aim of looking thin. The body positivity generation, my girls and their friends think nothing of wearing hot pants with unshaven legs, or a crop top that shows off the food baby from last night’s Domino’s. They wouldn’t dream of judging someone for wearing the ‘wrong’ leggings for their shape, or showing off saggy boobs. I wish I could shake off the conditioning of my own youth to get where they are.
Do I love the physical side of ageing?
Of course not. Anyone who says she does is lying. Huge swathes of my hair are now pure white under the dye and I have what appears to be an eyelash determined to regrow from my upper lip no matter how hard I go at it with the Tweezerman. But I lost three school friends in my early 20s and another in my 40s, so genuinely see ageing as a privilege. And if I’m halfway through my life, then I don’t have time to pine for the clothes I can no longer wear. I have books to write, friends to see, girls to launch into the big wide world. And also a Topshop Boutique blouse to retrieve from a crumpled heap in the bottom of my teenager’s wardrobe.
‘I SPENT MY TEENAGE YEARS THINKING ALL MY PROBLEMS WOULD VANISH IF ONLY I WERE BEAUTIFUL’