‘ I enjoyed the wolf whistles. No it’s not right, but I’m afraid life is easier when you’re pretty ’
ing my envy. it was a somewhat bitter realisation that if i hadn’t been so photogenic in my youth, i might have gone to university and found a career that would have become all the more absorbing as the years rolled by.
My friends from outside the modelling world seemed far more level-headed, and less obsessed with looking their best, than us ‘golden oldies’ who still needed to pile on the make-up.
i remember one outstandingly beautiful model who, as the years went on, had men troubles and took to drink. she never seemed to have found that sense of fulfilment that makes life so worthwhile.
it was only when, aged 60, i finally had the confidence to realise my secret ambition to write novels that i regained the long-lost sense of excitement and thrill.
And, like Greta scacchi, i found new avenues opening up, often where least expected, as my looks no longer occupied centre stage. i’m probably taken a bit more seriously now that i write books. Writing novels opens doors: you meet people, learn so much from research, get asked for your opinion. My life is busier now than i’d ever have imagined it could be, back in those long-ago modelling days.
i share views, both literary and political, that i was far too shy to voice back then, when i feared everyone would assume that — as a model — i was an airhead.
While i still like to imagine that people might be thinking ‘she doesn’t look so bad for her age’ when we meet, i’m under no illusions. Long gone are the days when my hackles would bristle if some kind person offered me their seat on the train or Tube. Now i’m glad to accept the seat gratefully.
i love it, too, when glamorous young men whip the luggage out of my wrinkly old hands and carry it up or down the stairs. yet when they do, i still smile and turn on as much charm as i can muster.
The other day i slipped near the bottom of an escalator (so embarrassing), and a big, burly fellow gathered me up and carried me to safety. i still instinctively fluttered my eyelashes as i thanked him. Old habits die hard!
i refuse to think and act old, too. My husband, Michael, and i recently went on a road trip, driving from seattle to LA, living out of one bag, and i loved every minute. We’re dreaming of exploring Chile and Easter island next.
All the same, it’s impossible to avoid those daily reminders — stiffness, creaky joints, background noise (the excuse for deafness) — of just how old i really am.
But how you experience ageing does all depend on your mindset.
My elder son is in his 50s. he was in his 30s when he suddenly decided to lose a bit of weight, start training and compete in senior athletics. Now he’s delighted every time another birthday with a big 0 comes round as he goes from being the oldest in one group to the youngest in the next.
Perhaps if we all viewed getting older with such wonderful positivity, we’d stay younger in spirit.
i know that whatever future age i manage to reach, i shall still cling to that old chestnut that you’re only as old as you feel.