When you turn 50, you
get an invitation to join
AARP.
When you turn 40, you
get a note that says, ``Just
shut up now, and do what
Oprah tells you.’’
Unlike the AARP invite,
this note isn’t a literal piece
of mail. It’s more of a pervasive
cultural message
broadcast from every magazine
cover, cosmetics ad
and Hollywood plot. Being
40 puts you in a new category
— namely, the category
of no longer being able to
trust your own instincts,
particularly where fashion
and beauty are concerned.
Your unreliable nature may
extend to other things, as
well. Your impaired judgment
regarding your children’s
clothing, music and
general habits is so obvious
as to hardly bear mentioning.
Your children will mention
it, however. Often.
Your ineptness may extend
even farther, well into
territory you thought was
safe. For instance, what
you thought you knew
about success, priorities,
wealth, health and even
your own inner life is quite
possibly completely wrong.
It’s okay. Oprah understands.
Oprah has never
been there herself, because
she is smarter than you
(and me, and all of us). But
she and the rest of Team
Oprah are more than happy
to pitch in to help set you
straight.
It isn’t just Oprah, of
course; it’s nearly a national
pastime.
We’re pretty attractive
targets, when you stop to
think about it.
By age 40, or thereabouts,
we’ve grown wise
enough to accept that we
still have a lot to learn. We
may not be suggestible, like
we were at 15, but we’re
open to suggestion. And
maybe you start thinking
in a different way about
life’s Big Questions.
Why are we here?
What have I contributed
to the world?
Am I too old to wear leggings?
I call it the Grand Legging
Question. And I will
admit that I spend more
time than I’d like pondering
it.
If I wear leggings, will I
look like I’m trying to hard
to look young? I don’t want
that. I don’t even care about
being young. I welcome age
and every experience that
comes with it. And yet, I
find myself turning over
and over in my mind the
Grand Legging Question
and following it down unforeseen
rabbit holes.
Is there a way to wear
them that will look sophisticated
and artsy? Or sophisticated
and sporty?
How can I make it perfectly
clear that I’m not trying to
look like a teenager?
What if I spend a lot of
money on them, will that
help? In my world, this
week, it happens to be leggings.
But it could be any
number of things.
It would be so easy if
there were a singular, exhaustive
resource to answer
all these questions. My
grandparents had Emily
Post. On my bookshelf,
there is a 1940s edition of
Vogue’s etiquette manual,
which does indeed address
dressing. Wear brown or
tweed when traveling by
train to the countryside, because
trains can be dusty.
What I wouldn’t give to
be able to open a manual to
the section on being both
fashion forward and age
appropriate.
For us, I guess Oprah is
as close as we can get.
Elizabeth Trever Buchinger
wore leggings the first
time they were fashionable,
and that might answer her
question right there. You
can connect with her at
www/moremindfulfamily.
wordpress.com.
