I recently turned 70.
It has taken me more than four months simply to be able to write those four words. I’m not age-phobic. I know it’s a blessing that I’ve been around for seven decades. I know I should celebrate longevity and good health, like my mother does, a vibrant woman of 91 who does yoga.
Yet a feeling of shame often arises when I remember I am actually the number 70. And I’m ashamed to admit that I feel shame. I wouldn’t feel this way if I were a doctor still practicing my profession at 70. I certainly wouldn’t feel this way if I were a 70-year-old athlete or author. Instead, I have been a news anchor in the same community for close to 40 years. Along with my reporting, I get paid to look my best. But even though our audience has watched me age, it’s a requirement that I somehow look ageless.
I have not had plastic surgery. After too many elective surgeries for other medical reasons, I am not anxious to go under the knife again. Still, I spend precious hours each day doing every other thing imaginable to maintain the illusion of youth, using the best make-up products and, lately, applying false eyelashes.
My blow-dryer, flat iron and hair spray are as essential as my computer. And my hair has been blond forever! I wear sexy clothes, not because I want to but because it is a job requirement for women, at every age.
So what’s with the shame? Older male anchors get to be admired, despite their paunches and no hair and wrinkles. Women in showbiz are expected to fight it and get depressed by how our accumulation of birthdays changes our bodies. Friends my age talk about becoming invisible. I understand what they mean. Off the air, I, too, can feel like an older woman blending into the woodwork while the attention gravitates toward those who are half my age. On air, I am in a position where I can’t be overlooked. Profit margins depend on me being very visible, appearing eternally youthful.
I am not young. I am 70. I am also very good at my job. When my big birthday was announced on the air … let’s just say not all the responses were “congratulations.” Yes, I get lots of support in my Facebook feed and even in letters from older women who see me as a role model, enduring the pressures of ageism in my profession and in our world.
But there was also this ugly stream of other reactions, on email and social media: “You old hag! Just retire already.”
“Will you just retire already and give some young woman a chance.”