I'll tell you what I know about sagging - and have known since I was fifteen. Sagging happens, and it is more a badge of having lived and lived well than any sort of ugliness. I would see a woman thirty, or fifty, or seventy, and something would engage in my brain and extrapolate to the youthful baseline. Unconsciously. And I would look at this somewhat saggy wrinkly grandma and think "y'know, she's damn good lookin". Not in a sexual way, *of course*.
But for me the bottom line is that sags&wrinkles don't matter. Sags&wrinkles are merit badges for living. It's the women who fight the sags&wrinkles who come off as vain, cowardly and easily cowed by the imagemeisters. Aging is right there in the fine print. Spouse and I are hetting heavy, saggy and slow - and we talk about growing old together.
Sure there is a reptilian circuit in my brain that wants to Jello-wrestle the honeys from "Wild Things" - but that's an unworthy impulse, like taking a fowling-piece to a Frisbee game. So personally I assess those fifty-sixty year old guys who score a Barbie as pretty shallow. I'd rather hold house with (help me here. Name me a really cool, smart mature woman - like Oprah, but maybe white&a tad older) than, say, Demi Moore. |
