A favorite activity of celeb mags, when they aren’t detailing Taylor Swift’s boyfriend du jour or the imminent break up and/or marriage of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, is to haul out photos of older actresses and to shriek “More beautiful than ever!” “Never ages!” “What is her Secret?” “These Older Actresses Get Hotter Every Year!”
A favorite subject is Goldie Hawn. In photo after photo, throughout the years, she flashes before our eyes. An adorable and hot twenty-something. An adorable and hot thirty-something. An adorable and hot forty-something. An adorable and hot fifty-something. An adorable and hot sixty-something (67, to be exact).
So it may come as a shock to some of us to have seen the latest photo of La Goldie in all her natural 67-year-old glory. Sans personal make up artist. Sans personal hair stylist. And most of all, in the moment, as opposed to fixing her facial expression to be camera-ready. (If any of you have ever been out in the world and pass by a mirror unexpectedly, you may know what I mean).
Let’s get real here. Goldie Hawn is a great looking woman. But she isn’t a great looking 30-year-old. She is a great looking 67-year-old. She has “good bones.” She works hard to maintain her body and she has, at her disposal any number of cosmetic procedures to help keep her face in line and her lips out of line. But age is age. And cellular structure, whether it resides in the bodies of the most humble or the most famous, obeys natural law. It is oblivious to how famous, how rich, how entitled, how desperate we may be.
By elevating Goldie Hawn (and Demi Moore and Sophia Loren and Helen Mirren) to a category that defies natural law is to demean the age that they are. Can we just acknowledge that Goldie Hawn is a great looking woman, period, without comparing her to a chronological age she left in the dust decades ago?
And while we are at it, let’s bring this down to Real World level. Let’s compliment/support each other, not by saying inane things like, “You look ten years younger than your age!” but instead to “You are a fabulous looking women.” If I hear one more woman tell me that everyone she knows thinks she looks ten years younger than her age, I might spit.
Now back to the photo that started all the fuss. It’s Goldie, looking like she is headed to or away from the gym. She is wearing a form-fitting tank top (I stopped wearing those in 1992). Her hair is long and healthy (Damn her). She is looking down (never the best view of anyone’s face, over age 12). Her facial sags and wrinkles are on full view. Give the woman a break.
Now Husband is enamored of taking photos of me, in the moment, that would put Goldie’s photo to shame. He thinks it’s funny. I think his camera is on borrowed time. I have no issue with morning hair (which does defy natural law) or seeing my face without make up (it’s how it looks most of the time, anyway.) I do have an issue with seeing myself without a smile on my face. I’ve noticed that the older I get, the bigger my smile is in photos. This means that either I’m happier with life as the years go by, or that I’ve realized that smiling is a natural face lift. Or maybe both.
Here’s to you, Goldie. You rock. If I hit the gym regularly for two years and spend hours pumping iron, will I be able to wear a tank top like yours at age 67? Alas, I’ll never find out. I’m too lazy. But I will keep reminding myself to walk around with a perpetual smile on my face.
Say “cheese.” Just don’t eat it.