Jane Fonda. I’m preoccupied with her at the moment. For many of us, she clearly exemplifies our conflicts about aesthetic choices as we age. Among the women I know, Fonda—unlike other cultural figures such as Kris Jenner—is fiercely defended for her decision to have multiple surgeries. Why? Likely because she represents a bright, vulnerable, emotionally intelligent, politically active, sexy, forthright, professionally gifted woman. She’s all that with the beloved Lily Tomlin in this clip. What’s Fonda’s beauty secret? “Good genes and a lot of money,” she says.
Still, I sense a problem—and I confess I’m a little reluctant to get into it, because when I wade through these particular waters, sometimes they’re clear and sometimes they get so murky I can’t see where I’m stepping. I hope I’m not the only one who feels this way. Diving in:
We see so many images of movie stars like Fonda—and other often-photographed women—in their 50s, 60s, 70s, and 80s looking at least twenty years younger than they are. (Or just a whole lot better than we think we look.) In real life, for the most part, they don’t look like their photos. Photoshop, social media filters, makeup, and props all contribute to an idealized public presentation. We know that at 83, Fonda is a miracle of talent and grit and great genes—but if you believe she actually looks anything like this, you’re mistaken. That’s a character she (and the photographer, makeup artist, hair stylist, and other stylists) created. It’s fun! It’s interesting! You might even think of it as performance art. But when people say she looks great, that she’s a role model for looking good as we age, I find that disturbing.
Gazing at an image of someone who’s my age (or more than a decade older) who appears to look 20 years younger makes me feel very competitive. I mean, I don’t want to be the only 70-year-old who doesn’t look like she’s 50, do you? The thing is, in real life, we’re not. It’s been said before but bears repeating (and repeating): The internet and media, in general, support a false narrative about how women look, which is often not much of anything like how we really look. In other words, the bar has been set so high that it’s out of reach for almost all of us. Is it possible to see these images without feeling challenged to aspire to them? Do you feel challenged to aspire to them?
That’s not to say we should be limited in our choices about how much we invest in our appearance—nor that we don’t want to look healthy, attractive, and yeah, even ensorcelling.
One of the questions I want to ask is this: Is it Fonda’s face that makes her beautiful? Watch her vulnerability (in the excellent and revealing documentary Jane Fonda in Five Acts) when she’s talking about giving up agency while married to Ted Turner, or when she’s being snarky and hilarious in another conversation with the snarky and hilarious (and 81-year-old) Lily Tomlin, or when she’s speaking out for the rights of restaurant service workers (she gets going about 31 minutes in).
Gorgeous. But not because you can’t see her jowls. Gorgeous because she’s open, engaged, forthright, present, unafraid to speak her mind and take up space. I’ll defend to the death Fonda’s right to her choices, but I don’t approve of the culture that nurtured her need for them by serving up unhealthy portions of unrealistic and infeasible objectives. A steady diet of that is toxic.
What can we do about it?
A wise old Buddhist nun and a few younger ones came upon a huge boulder. “Do you think that rock is heavy?” asked the old nun. The younger ones replied, “Of course!” The old nun laughed. “Not if you don’t pick it up,” she said.
For an exuberant romp with a few more wise old...birds, check out Tea with the Dames.
Next up: that collagen in your face cream.
See you soon!
Here's a man's perspective, off the cuff, without overthinking it. First of all, I will always have a crush on Jane Fonda. Always. I fell for her in Hal Ashby's brilliant anti-war film, Coming home. Surely she's never looked more radiant, or sexy. So, yeah, looks play into it, but also undeniable intelligence and depth of feeling. The beauty myth is VERY tricky, for women and for men. My opinion has changed over the years, as I'VE aged, bless patriarchal little heart. I'm a dyed in the wool feminist, but I'm also a man. I used to think NO FAKE ANYTHING. No fake boobs, no collagen injections for those bee stung looking lips. Give me a natural woman, please. Even now, today, I don't know if there's anything sexier than a healthy woman who allows herself to actually look her age. Grey hair, scant makeup, no work done. But where IS that woman. There aren't many out there, IF they have the money to do all they can to look the best they can.
Then I thought about it some more, deeper, harder. As impossible as it is, I TRIED to walk a mile in a woman's moccasin's. And the hard truth is, if I WAS a women, I would probably do everything in my power and within my means to look as good as I could. If that meant a tuck or a lift or whatever, I'd probably fall victim to the game. It would be hard not to. Because I'm human, and yeah, I compare myself to others humans. And I too live in this fucked up society that judges people largely on the merits of how they look. But what if you HAD your life partner secured? What if you loved yourself and were confident that you were loved, AS YOU ARE? These are all questions of a thousand dreams. One thing I know for sure. I'm not about to judge anyone on this issue. DO WHAT YOU WANNA DO, RIGHT? It is after all, your body, your face. But all of this is maybe surface blather when it comes right down to it. The greatest thing I've ever read on this subject was written by one Robert Hass, in a prose poem called A Story About the Body. Since the day I first read it, in 1992, I've never forgotten it. Here it is -The young composer, working that summer at an artist’s colony, had watched her for a week. She was Japanese, a painter, almost sixty, and he thought he was in love with her. He loved her work, and her work was like the way she moved her body, used her hands, looked at him directly when she mused and considered answers to his questions. One night, walking back from a concert, they came to her door and she turned to him and said, “I think you would like to have me. I would like that too, but I must tell you that I have had a double mastectomy,” and when he didn’t understand, “I’ve lost both my breasts.” The radiance that he had carried around in his belly and chest cavity–like music–withered quickly, and he made himself look at her when he said, “I’m sorry I don’t think I could.” He walked back to his own cabin through the pines, and in the morning he found a small blue bowl on the porch outside his door. It looked to be full of rose petals, but he found when he picked it up that the rose petals were on top; the rest of the bowl–she must have swept the corners of her studio–was full of dead bees.
First, thank you for your use of the word “ensorcelling.” I aim to use it three times in conversation today. Second, thank you having the courage to explore this topic, and for asking the real question: Why must a goddess like Fonda feel the need to spend this much time and money on her face when she is so gorgeous in every way without spending this much time and money. My guess: the Patriarchy, which makes me mad. Even though I feel the pressure on an almost daily basis to succumb to our effed up society’s emphasis on “perfection” in women by injecting something into my face to stay employable and acceptable, I try to think about the fact that it’s men in power who apply that pressure and I will rage against the machine as long as I have the courage. I do not judge the women who do it. I understand them and empathize fully and wish them serenity. But, in my opinion, we have to be the change we want to see in the world. I want my kid to grow up not having to feel that there is something wrong with her when there isn’t. And there is so much beauty in the face of aging women. Of course, I’m part of an industry that literally IS the problem, so what am I talking about...but I have tried to do my part in changing things for the better. It makes me so mad! And my anger keeps me from altering myself beyond hair color and Invisalign. Thanks, Val. Love your thought-provoking writing always.