You're Not the Boss of Me
There has been a lot of ridiculous sh*t slung at women over the years, but there is perhaps no fistful of dung that is hurled in our general direction more frequently than those "age appropriate dressing" articles you see on those click-baity, photo-rich, prose-light blogvertorials. Often written from the point of view of helping our feeble minds navigate the rocky moonscape of fashion, many of these articles are in essence nothing more than a reinforcement of the status quo circa 1956; that women after a certain age should trade in fun and sexy quirkiness for mature and sedate respectability. This week, both Catherine from Not Dressed as Lamb and Patti from Not Dead Yet Style shared one such "article" (a term I'm using quite loosely here), and for the life of me, I could not stop thinking about it. Read the RantChic.com article here for yourself. I dare you not to laugh. Then when you're done with that one, try this one - it's a real belter. But whatever you do, make sure to wash it all down with this little gem. It takes ageist petty condescension and turns it up to eleven. In fact, it's probably best while you're reading these to not drink anything that might come shooting out of your nose.
Yet the aforementioned diatribes are but a mere sampling of what's out there. Let me tell you my friends, the internet is rife with articles that are more than comfortable calling us cougars while simultaneously urging us to cover up our offensively middle-aged body parts, so the pickings of such material are rich (dung is after all, the most naturally abundant of fertilisers). While these articles are certainly not the only examples of what is becoming a seemingly acceptable level of contempt for middle-aged women, the RantChic articles were indeed some of the worst offenders I came across in my searches. Okay, full disclosure…my search - in the singular.
The age bar against which all of our offences are measured has been set astonishingly low by RantChic at age 30; the symbolic age when we are apparently all expected to curl up into our shells and die our social and sartorial deaths. Hell, my tennis outfit that I'm wearing in the photo above breaks at least twelve of their rules just by being on my decrepit body! But what is perhaps saddest about all of this is that this drivel is published on a site for women, written by a woman, who apparently has quite a bit of contempt for…you guessed it, other women. Or at least those over 30, because as we all know, that's just gross.
But never mind that. Not one to miss an opportunity for snark, I would like to seize upon this moment to heighten public awareness to this most laughable of conspiracies against my gender with what I'm calling (in a bit of a stretch) a photojournalistic essay. And yes, my explicit intent is to mock these articles relentlessly until they run home in floods of tears and throw themselves prostrate onto their Justin Bieber duvet covers. In other words, you can eat it RantChic, you're not the boss of me.
The RantChic Book of Quotes: A Guide to Fashion and Life For Your Disgustingly Withered, Sorry-Ass 30+ Life.
And perhaps my personal favourite…
The management would like to extend an apology to any of you who may be experiencing any lasting undesired effects following the recent photo of a hint of over-30 cleavage.