Jennifer Lopez is all over my news feed today, and I’m guessing it’s because she made quite the impression last night at the MTV Video Music Awards.
I’d like to note something:
- Who over the age of 35 is still watching the VMA’s? And among that group, is Madonna really still relevant? I question this as she’d popped up on my feed, as well, wearing this:
I’m not dissing anyone who enjoys a good award show, even one as campy as the VMAs.
But here is what I will diss, because I just don’t get it, and I continue to be baffled by it daily:
Why does the world celebrate when a woman doesn’t “age?”
No, seriously. Think about it. Why does it make the news if J-lo looks hot in a dress or if Madonna can pull off a skin tight, diamond-studded brassier and panty set?
Why are we proud of them, as evidenced by the news coverage?
Do the women who write these articles realize the message it sends out to the rest of the world?
I’ll never forget when J-lo and Shakira danced in the Super Bowl.
I personally had no problem with it. I was not among those calling it tasteless and trashy.
I thought it was fun.
But what I did find tasteless were the comparisons made to Blanche on Golden Girls, such as this one:
Why are women no longer allowed to age?
And furthermore, if we’re going to celebrate the fact that these ladies still look young-ish, can we also celebrate the men and women–and social media apps–who make them appear that way?
- Can we celebrate the plastic surgeon who’s pumping them full of botox and fillers? Who’s nipping and tucking away at parts of their body?
- Can we celebrate the makeup artist who knows how to make this wrinkle disappear in that light?
- Can we celebrate the clothing designers who design hundreds of thousands of dollars worth the clothing specifically for their body shape?
- Can we celebrate the Instagram and tiktok filters that change the very faces and bodies of these celebrities?
One thing I hope we won’t celebrate is how stupid we are to keep celebrating this.
Did women really come this far to continue to be held down by such ridiculous standards as looking younger than you really are?
Is this really the mountain we plan to die on?
If so, let me go ahead and trek down the side of that thing. Because I refuse.
Let me grow old gracefully, world.
Let me wash my face, and wear my makeup, and get up every day and get dressed in a decent manner.
Let me eat good food and walk my dog and maybe lift the occasional dumbbell.
But if I’m going to fret about whether or not I look more like J-lo or Blanche Devereaux, then you know I have given up on life.
Because there is one direction we’re all going, and that is to Oldsville. And whether J-lo gets there now or later, she’s still getting there the same way I am.
And I’m not going to waste my time in denial about the simple truth that one day we will all die.
We’re living in a day where we have convinced ourselves that the world can be perfect and we can live forever.
Sorry, friends, that’s just not the case.
So fret about it if you want, I’m going to eat my breakfast, walk my dog, hop in the shower and put on my drugstore makeup…
while I watch a little Golden Girls before work.