truly? Who are you meant to be?
It’s Never Too Late
I grew up in an era where there were no women of color on the covers of our fashion magazines. It was as if the whole world was white and African American or Latina women just didn’t exist. I will never forget the day in 1974 when I picked up a copy of Vogue magazine. Right there, on the cover, was Beverly Johnson! A black woman! This was a first. I was in college by this time. It was an era filled with so many changes. There was the civil rights movement, and protests against the Vietnam War, the sexual revolution, and the women’s movement—but to be honest, the day Beverly Johnson appeared on the cover of Vogue felt so important to me. I looked into her eyes and felt as if she was speaking directly to me, proclaiming the magical mutuality of what we think of as beauty. Her face announced to the world that it was time to shed our assumptions. And on a personal level, even though I was just a white girl from the suburbs, I felt as if she was saying to me, “And oh yeah, you’re beautiful, too.”
And now, we have Naomi Campbell and Tyra Banks and many, many other gorgeous and inspirational women. We do not question whether they are beautiful or not. We simply know.
This is how change happens. It takes someone to be brave, a little muscle, definitely a sense of imagination and then . . . poof! The world has changed and it feels as if it happened overnight. This one shift creates a magical ripple effect. And soon we forget the past and we can hardly remember the past, when things were not always so fair. We forget how narrow-minded we were. And we all say—well, yes, of course. Women—in all their many incarnations—are beautiful.
So, do something brave today. Go out in your town and be that beautiful older woman. Yes, be the message. And who knows, perhaps one day we will see une femme d’un certain âge on the cover of American Vogue!
French Lessons
RECONSIDER WHAT you wanted to do when you were in your twenties. Is there something you “put on the shelf” due to the demands of work and family? Could you possibly now revive and realize some of those old dreams in whole or in part?
Go through your belongings and give things away to younger friends. Share the wealth and leave room in your life for something new.
Once you’ve cleared out the clutter in your life, look around at what is left, what you could not possibly live without. Within this, you’ll find your trademark, your signature. Perhaps it’s a brooch that once belonged to your grandmother. Take it out of the jewelry box and wear it daily. Is it your collection of elegant beaded evening bags? Don’t wait for that very special occasion, but rather bring them out into the daylight. Do you adore bright red lipstick? Even though red lipstick may be out of vogue and you’ve been told to retire it past a certain age, go ahead and indulge. In all this effort to be French and elegant, don’t forget something the fabulous fashion doyenne Diana Vreeland once said: “Never fear vulgar, just boring. We all need a splash of bad taste; no taste is what I am against.”
Your signature is literal and figurative. Take good care of both. I recommend that you take care of your handwriting. Frenchwomen always have beautiful handwriting. Take a lesson from the French and take your time when writing a check or a note. You’ll find that this little adjustment will have a ripple effect through your entire life. By controlling your penmanship, you’ll find it’s easier to control any other sort of sloppiness that may have muscled its way into your life. The same goes for your speaking voice, your e-mails, your manners. A little self-awareness can go a long way.
Tend to the gifts nature has given you—your lustrous hair or your good figure. Indulge in spa days more often. Find moments to be still and reflect. After paring down what is no longer necessary in your life, update your look so that you are making the most of your best assets. If you’ve got great gams, then buy a pair of textured stockings and wear those with boots. If you wear eyeglasses, consider buying more artful frames. Be proud of your age and how your life experience makes you interesting to others. And sexy!
Challenge yourself and break out of the familiar. Travel. Learn a new language. Consider taking a class or teaching a class at your local community college.
Get intergenerational and avoid just mingling with people your own age. Become a role model to younger women. Be a mentor. Inspire someone every day by just being your own true self.
Appreciate the mystery that is here now. The wonderful thing about being une femme d’un certain âge is that people look up to you and want to hear what you have to say, because of your age, not despite it. Enjoy having come this far and knowing a thing or two.
CHAPTER THREE
Le Jardin Secret: The Secret Garden
Pour vivre heureux, vivons cachés.
(To live happily, live hidden.)
—FRENCH PROVERB
FRANCE IS A MYSTERIOUS COUNTRY. Oftentimes, at first glance she is closed to you. This is especially true in the countryside where there are fewer tourists and most especially true if you happen to arrive in the middle of the day. It’s easy to imagine that she is not welcoming you and that indeed, you would have to stay for a long, long time and work very hard before she would open herself up to you.
If you are patient, and make a little effort, you will find that these stone walls will open to reveal beautiful courtyards, gardens, olive trees, flowers bursting into bloom—and the Frenchwoman herself, greeting you, well-rested and happy to receive you.
France is a woman. Here in America, we have Uncle Sam. But France is known as a woman—La Belle France. It’s true we have the Statue of Liberty, holding up her torch to welcome the world, but then, she was a gift to us from the French.
My Lessons Begin
Last September, I took the overnight flight from Boston to Charles de Gaulle Airport. My French friend Tania had given me detailed instructions on how to get to her office on rue Cambon (the same street where Coco Chanel once lived). From there, I was to pick up the keys to her apartment, where I would drop off my luggage. In my dazed state, I could not find the bus and so I got on the RER train and took that to Gare du Nord.
This was not in the original directions. So, once I got off the train, I was completely confused, bleary-eyed and exhausted from the overnight trip. I had no idea what Métro I should take to get to L’Opéra and so I ended up in a taxi line and took a taxi, grateful to put down my luggage. I arrived at her office around ten in the morning, sweating a bit, feeling less than fresh, and completely out of sorts. I sat on one of the sleek white leather chairs in the elegant lobby and waited for Tania, as slender and stylish Frenchwomen came and went. And then finally, Tania came down the stairs to greet me. Her hair was pulled back in a neat little chignon and she was wearing a navy blue pencil skirt, a simple white shirt, and a colorful scarf tied around her neck. The quintessential Frenchwoman! She sat next to me, and I suddenly felt like a tortoise—very large, very slow, and very ancient. It’s true, I’m probably old enough to be her mother, but at that moment, I felt more like her grandmother. I immediately confessed that I had taken a taxi and she looked at me a little disapprovingly (or perhaps that was my imagination) and proceeded to give me directions to her apartment in the Fourteenth Arrondissement, which involved more walking, more Métros and another bus, and absolutely no taxis.
The Secret Behind the Door
This time, I made myself follow her directions to the
