Wait, what now?

As anybody with ocular ability has noticed, the current issue of Newsweek is running a huge cover story about Oprah. The article begins by detailing Suzanne Sommer’s visit on the show. And while I have neither an opinion of Oprah nor the presentation of the author’s views, I was struck by one thing: Suzanne Sommers ingests a lot of vitamin supplements.

Like 60 a day. No joke.

She takes these supplements in the hopes of staving off the natural aging process, and has become a rather vocal supporter of various remedies that she feels are successful.

Her desire/need to stave off the aging process doesn’t end with the 60-or-so supplements. The thing that really got me thinking was the casual mention that Sommers injects herself with estrogen, daily, RIGHT IN HER VAGINA.

Women, I ask: How did the eventual turn of the wheel from maiden to mother to crone come to be so horrendous, so frightening, so utterly egregious that it is somehow *reasonable* to take dozens upon dozens of vitamin supplements, culminating with stabbing oneself in the female sex organ with a sharp implement in order to stave off that process?

I was stunned. I was more than stunned: I was horrified. I know that looking young and sexy and attractive is paramount in our culture. We women go to ridiculous lengths—applying chemicals to our faces, hair and bodies to tighten or color our skin and hair—but to what end?

I am not being a hypocrite here. At least I don’t think I am—I used to bleach and color my hair and I have no problem finding solutions to temporarily eliminate my wrinkles. I’ve done the fake-tan thing, the hair-removal thing, the destroy my fingernails-with-acrylics thing. Enhanced faces, enhanced bustlines, sucking out the fat, injecting lipids in—the list of beauty enhancements in our society is seemingly endless and frankly, I have no issue with any of it. If you really want to go through all of that clip, snip, tuck, pain, whatever—it’s your body.

So why did I take such issue with the taking of vitamin supplements? And vaginal injection?

I pause.

My mind is sad and confused, and a little bit quiet. I look at all I’ve done in the past and all I still do now, and I wonder: why does it matter so much? To her? To me? To anyone? And where does it end?

And finally, the biggest question of all: What is wrong with getting old?

I’ve been a little bit down lately, since reading that article. I always thought that all of that gussying up was a mode of female expression. But I’m facing 40 now. Can’t it stop? Can’t I just feel good about who I am, how I am, at my beginning to gray and wrinkle, getting saggy-baggy-age, without feeling like I am supposed to keep up with the Sommerses?

There is an expectation in your 20s that you look cute and mature-ish and sexy, while at the same time, appear intelligent and independent. Of course inside you are dying to have what everyone else has, which is whatever everyone else has at any given moment. Stability. Relationships. Success. The goal: To look like everyone else, but better, but different, but be smart, but not tooo smart. While wearing heels.

When your 30s arrive you give up that pretending-not-to-be-too-smart thing. You realize it’s moronic and far too much work hiding your intelligence under a bushel so forget it, you declare, LET IT SHINE. Instead, you’re out to prove you really are smarter than people give you credit for. In fact, given the opportunity, maybe you’ll prove smarter than EVERYONE ELSE. Too bad you’re still close enough to your 20s to continue to be lured by the stupidity of advertising that is casually aimed at you. So you’re still lured by foolish things, like trying to look or maintain your youthful, good looks because you’re still young-ish, right? And what is the time limit on saying you just graduated from college, again? Seven, ten years? And you still look good in heels.

Now here comes 40.

I look around, and the landscape is different.

Television ads aren’t aimed at me so much anymore. Those women who I stretched to believe were in my peer set? Clearly closer to my daughters’ peer sets. And who are these celebrities caught in scandals on the cover of Star and People? And slowly it dawns on me: I am no longer at the center of the advertising universe.

And I feel… peace. Almost elated. I feel as though I’ve graduated from an era of excessiveness and moved toward what can be termed, “classic styles.” Simple styles. (A toga is a style, right?) Accepting myself as I am… for the most part.

No. Suzanne, you keep your vaginal injection. And your 60 supplements a day. Yes, you look great at 62, but that’s a lot of work and frankly, with my luck, I’d end up mutton dressed as lamb anyway.

Rather, I think I’m going to attempt, in some manner or fashion, to slide gracefully into old age. Or in my case, stumble poetically. But in flat shoes.