Oh, women and the dreaded word ‘age’ FOR those who might remember, I once argued that it is not for men to comment on a woman’s weight. And for good measure, we shall consider their other scare – age.
The other day, I read something a friend sent about a woman just past her 30-year-old mark, who was so troubled by that fact, she wrote to an agony column expressing her concern that the fresh breed (29 and below) would beat the 30-and-overs at work, in love and generally in looking good. You might not see my concern about such women’s fretting over age and weight, two traits which many a time approach a woman holding hands and walking in step, but that is because you have not met the women I have met.
I have seen women in their 40s and beyond, who have made their 25-year-old counterparts turn army-green with envy for the older women’s bodies, intellect, looks and grace. I have seen women who are really ample in size, with an equally ample degree of good cheer, self-image and a higher number of male admirers.
So what is this about well educated, active, progressive women with grand connections fretting about anorexic little nymphs, fearing that they (the thread-thin chicks just out of their egg-shells) will outshine, outcompete and outlive them? Ladies, just compose yourself and look inside of you for confidence. For all you know, nobody might even be bothered besides yourself.
Age is beautiful, if you don’t look at it with a competitive spirit. You are wiser (or ought to be) and able to tell value from vanity. You are fully formed, so we know that what you are is fairly representative of what we truly get. You are meant to be more mature, too.
As for the weight, save for this craze people develop when they think that all Western standards are the best, the African wanted and appreciated women in their bigger version. I doubt that this standard has changed significantly.
I taught an S.3 class in an upper scale school where the girls, whenever I insinuated that their future still lay spread ahead of them, would scream back in chorus: “Master, we’re old enough”.
And I would ask: “Old enough to do what?” To which they would answer with cheeky giggles. Now I see some of them, old enough, and they would rather insist: “Bob (no longer Master), we are still too young.” Oh!
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