Or should I simply call you “bitch”? Whatever. As one mature woman to another, there’s something I’ve been meaning to raise with you for some time. It concerns the a-word – no, not your arse (or ass). Ageing. You know that thing that happens to us all, sooner or later. That condition not even you can defy forever.
We know you’re not about to go quietly into the twilight world of the unseen – those women who creep about enveloped in a veil of invisibility. No one would expect that of Madonna, ever.
Let’s go all the way back to your youth for a moment. That’s when you started out as you meant to go on. Desperately seeking sexy. Compiling the lookbook for your brand of racy cool: the gloves, the black, the fishnets, the flesh. A hint of badass in the boots, plus maybe something metal. Sunglasses for mystique and sass.
But here’s the thing. You ain’t 20 no more. Desperation is fine in the young. It comes across as edgy. Voracious can be raunchy. But when you’re nearing 60, sadly it becomes more fraught than foxy.
A few months ago we saw you in a state of carefully staged déshabillé, with the added frisson of some suggestive props. It shows staying power at the very least, so I decided to pay a little hommage. Here’s my fan art version of your topless image.
There is one major difference, if you don’t mind my pointing it out. My breasts were a bargain compared with yours. Just $1.80, to be exact, supplier on request. And you can barely (geddit?) tell the difference, if I say so myself.
Then, just the other day, there you were again, flashing your butt in all its glory. Did you think we needed a gentle reminder that it was still there? Were you afraid we’d forgotten all about it? Even if we had, does it really matter that much to you?
I couldn’t lay my hands on a derrière to do yours justice, so I’m passing on that particular tribute. However, I do want to applaud the way you nimbly recovered after your potentially disastrous tumble. If only all older women were that agile, the figures for debilitating falls would be much lower. Now you’ve shown us all the value of keeping fit as the years go by.
So here I am, taking the fall on your behalf, and it’s not a pretty sight. Note the subtle touches of memento mori on the stockings, a not untimely reminder of our time of life.
A couple of weeks ago you became too sexy even for your Instagram. I’m all for freedom of expression, but maybe Instagram had a point?
You’ve raised awareness that older women deserve a chance at sexy, for which we thank you kindly. The question is, can they be sexy in the same way as in their youth? Is it a good idea to even try?
I’m going to stick my (sagging) neck out here and suggest that sexiness, like everything else in life, changes over time. Whether we like it or not. I don’t think it’s ageist to suggest that sexiness should evolve along with the rest of us. Don’t you want to move on just a little? Step out of your longtime groove?
Just saying. From one mature bitch to another.