“Men are extremely visual creatures we respond visually and we can’t help it. “But I’d go for the firm arse and tits, always, without question.” “You’re not like that, though, are you? Given a choice, you’d pick the older, more interesting woman, the passionate, well-read, intrepid, low-maintenance woman.” “Maybe they think they can have both,” Jack said.
“They say they’re after true love but really what they’re after is the 25-year-olds.” They are looking at women half their age. It’s sobering to walk down the street observing how the 50-year-old men behave, paying attention to what they’re looking at as they stroll along. It’s true that men don’t see me any more. I get these impulses and then I buy another stupid snake-oil anti-ageing cream. It’s making me want to look 50, and talk about 50, and stand firm with a whole movement of women, rejecting the pressure to try to look 35 for ever, throwing away our foundation garments and hair dye. It’s making me a bit rebellious, I admit. I’m sure a case could be made for invisibility as a liberating force in a woman’s life, but I am not the woman to make it, not this week at least, when I’ve been dissed or else flatly ignored by all the men I’ve said hello to. Many women I know in their 50s talk about their invisibility in public places. What does it mean to us, as women, to be told that we’re worth less than we used to be? No man I know has ever been told that his powers, his allure, his charm have faded, and that he has to face up to that redundancy. You’re right, mate, you’d have much preferred me then. Yes, I was gorgeous, ish, for a while, and self-absorbed, and shallow, and inexperienced, and over-sensitive and dull. “I bet you were gorgeous when you were young,” I was told recently, via message, like that was supposed to be a compliment. They are highly focused on the packaging. In general, men don’t seem to grant us the same courtesy, at least not the men I meet online. We read them as indicators of substance, of being substantial. We read these as signs that life has been lived and enjoyed. We quite like a late flowering, in fact: the silvering, the smile lines, the coming of bodily sturdiness. All the women I know are tolerant of middle age showing itself in a chap. There seems to be a gender imbalance, vis-a-vis the packaging thing. “It’s a shame I don’t fancy you,” he said, “because otherwise you tick all the boxes.” Another said I sounded nice, but added: “Though unfortunately I have stringent physical criteria.”
He wrote specifically to tell me he wasn’t. I t’s been a week of gloomy thoughts about what one applicant called “the packaging”.
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