Like Jane Seymour, I don’t look my age – but there are downsides
As the actress bemoans not being ‘gnarly’ enough for Hollywood, Elaine Kingett, 70, reveals the truth about appearing youthful
Actress Jane Seymour, 68 and looking healthy and happy in Hello! magazine, is bemoaning the fact that she can’t get “old lady” roles in Hollywood because she doesn’t look “old and gnarly”. Jane, I feel your pain, but what does an “old lady” look like these days?
“You don’t look your age” is a comment I get constantly because I, too, do not look “old and gnarly” and neither do my friends. Do not adjust your sets, it’s the stereotypes that need tweaking.
I have just turned 70 and have three children. I’ve had no “work” done, although God knows I wouldn’t turn it down when I catch sight of my mother in the mirror on a grey October morning. I don’t do Pilates and hate yoga, I love chips and gin and no food is naughty in my book, but I do stand up straight, walk fast and hold my stomach muscles in (when I remember) and I do have a close relationship with leafy, green veg because I’m not stupid. I drink too much, used to smoke like a trooper and I can’t even join the blessed Silver Haired Brigade because my hair is still naturally brown. Thanks, Dad. It’s long because most of the time I ignore it and I believe one of the most ageing things any woman can do is have a terrifying “pixie” cut.
The look on people’s faces when I tell them my eldest child is 39 is an absolute delight – I can see them doing the maths and trying to rearrange their expressions appropriately once they’ve done it.
I have a disabled rail pass because of my hearing aids – noise damage in both ears because of clubbing and gigs – but I never sit in the priority seats because of the stares of disapproval I get at my obvious unsuitability. As for being offered a train seat? Never. But, then, I am probably fitter than a load of them. The card does get me and my “carer” cheaply into exhibitions, though. Should I put that on my Bumble profile? I’m a widow and would like a partner and, periodically, I return to dating apps. “Lie about your age,” some of my friends advised. I did, we met, we walked around the park and then I told him, “I’m sorry, I have to tell you – I’m actually 69, not 60.” He, who was 63, looked like he’d just found a bit of silver paper in his toffee, “Do you want a physical relationship then, at your age?” he replied. On Tinder I was told to put up “more recent pics”. Recently, at a party, I was reciprocally flirting with a single man who was bemoaning the fact he was 50. When I told him I was 70, he turned tail and fled. I remarked to one chap I was going out with, who was 20 years younger than me, as we sat upstairs on the 149: “Bet you’ve never been out with a woman with a Freedom Pass and hearing aids before?” That one ended fast.
Maybe my dress sense keeps me youthful. I worked in fashion for 30 years and I loved it. Clothes-wise, I’m an avid follower of trends because fashion’s creativity excites me, but I hate shopping, so my wardrobe is very much of the “adapt and adopt”, charity shop or “dig it out of storage” approach. Practicality, comfort and not wanting to look like a Rupaul’s Drag Race contestant are my general rules. But I’m talking Suicoke sandals or Converse, rather than a fleece and supermarket trackies.
When I hear older people start a sentence, ‘Well, at my age…’, I want to scream
And, strangely, no one turned up on the morning of my 70th birthday to replace my well-loved clothes with something more suitable for a deaf, OAP widow.
Although turning 70 shocked me like no other chronological milestone – my parents died in their seventies and I was convinced it would happen to me, too – but now, a month later, I realise I feel exactly the same; like a 13-year-old waiting for Christmas.
I am excited about my life, I adore my work as a writer and running writers’ retreats, and devour the review columns for new stuff to read, watch, eat or do. When I hear older people start a sentence, usually to explain why they can’t do something or go somewhere, with a, “Well, at my age…”, I want to scream.
Of course, as we age we develop aches, pains and more physical limitations, but research has shown that we can continue to increase our number of brain cells and improve our muscle strength. It has also been proved that an orgasm, with or without a friend, is a better boost to longevity than doing a crossword or Sudoku. Not advisable on the bus, though.
I have watched my husband die, and I have had a heart attack, and skin and breast cancer – many’s the time medical staff have done a double take when they look at me, expecting a different patient entirely to walk into the room. But I still feel tremendously lucky. And that’s what I think makes me appear younger – my optimism, enthusiasm and delight in the world, despite all the political and ecological chaos that I am only too well aware of.
We only become invisible when we don’t participate and, whatever age we are, there are so many ways we can do this, whether by working, travelling, volunteering or phoning friends and organising a get-together.
Looking younger is not about how much “refreshing” of your face you can afford, it’s not about how much slap you can layer on or diets you can stick to, it’s about passion – and there is nothing old about that.