Three Honest Questions for Women Over 35

Come on now, let’s get it together.

Jill Francis

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Woman wearing a dress on the bow of a yacht holding a large bouquet of balloons.
Photo by Jonathan Borba on Unsplash

Welcome to the inevitable. Let’s just say we all made it to a particular kind of club where the membership criteria are nice and loose. All you have to do is age. Pretty cool, right? Except, it doesn’t seem that we are excited about this new phase. In fact, I see a lot of bitching.

We have to talk about how we are going to approach this part of life because as far as I can tell, there are two ways to do this–either gracefully, with the wind in our (albeit graying) hair, or thrashing around like we fell backward into a pool with the cover still on. I see you out there, worrying about what the children are saying about your fashion choices on the socials and researching which cream can remove 40+ years of “I think it’s too cloudy for sunscreen”.

It’s not cute.

I know you’re all tripped up about aging because the following is my most clapped comment ever.

I am not blaming us for identifying with the comment. I don’t even blame us for feeling a tinge less-than as we round the corner, especially if we are thinking we’re supposed to do this aging thing “Jennifer Style”. Look, I love the Aniston/Lopez method and I’d love to sail into my 50s on a yacht powered by injectables and collagen powder, but that’s just not the reality for most of us.

I am, however, blaming us for taking it all so damn seriously. We are approaching aging like it’s a shitty rental car we got stuck with and not like the only possible option anyone ever has, period, over and out, may the force be with you.

So I have some questions for us to contemplate. Here we go.

Are you going to let Gen Z decide if you’re doing life right?

I am officially bored with the whole discussion of TikTock bébés declaring what’s what on denim, hair parts, and whatever else infringes on their delicate sense of relevancy. If you are reading this, you have likely lived through body wave perms, low-rise jeans, pleated chinos, scrunchy socks with double strap Reebok high-tops, acid wash, black rubber bracelets, flannel shirts, fanny packs, Timberlands, scrunchies, and for the truly seasoned among us, bell-bottoms and…

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Jill Francis

American immigrant in Italy with too many degrees in Psychology. I write about everything I’m afraid of. jillfranciswrites@gmail.com