I love the free-wheeling randomness of my sibling conversations. We have our own special blink/think short hand so can just nano-second leapfrog from one thought to another. During one recent conversation I was expressing my horror at the recent increase of sexual assaults on elderly women.

Me: "My God, can you believe that eighty year old women are now rape targets.You would think at a certain age we no longer are the stuff of fantasy and not have to live in fear that some pervert/deviant is lusting after us.

My Sister: "That's the price we pay because eighty is the new forty."  Funny. Outrageous response and yet my sister nailed it. Our stilettos are teetering on a brave new world. There is some truth to my sister's absurd observation. We are not following our mothers' road map for aging. Perhaps the more moderate graceful agers among us are pro-active in adopting healthy life-styles. The more extreme are religiously adhering to trendy beauty rituals. If it can't be resculpted or sucked out, there's a prescription for it. Doctors with questionable ethics are filling precriptions for the addictive Adderal which promises to kill one's appetite and leave many with a twelve year olds body with enhanced breasts. We know women who have researched and availed themselves of every dematologic intervention to ward off the natural ravages of time. When obsessive, this quest can both deplete the pocketbook and become a full time non-paying job. We are so consumed with defying our DOB that we are co-opting behaviors previously reserved for the young. Eating disorders and exercise bulimia may now have AARP matrons as their Poster "Girls" Cougars are sexting and instagramming their photoshopped butts to insure they remain relevant and competitive. No one is going gently into Assisted Living.

Women are refusing to both step out of The Objectification Limelight and don the cloak of invisibility reserved for women of a certain age. Gender studies reveal young girls first step into that judgmental limelight in early adolescence when they discover "their breasts belong to everyone." It is at that juncture that they experience getting oogled, wolf whistled and propositioned. My little middle schooler coeds started wearing push up bras and one confided" she never knew she  had 'so much talent  until boys started commenting on her boobs."[sic] I have to admit that as their teacher I had to repress my question of "when did cleavage become school day-wear?"Protruding breasts were competing with low-slung jeans with peekaboo thongs. Pubescent boys were in visual heaven. Soo we have always undergone the ritual of young girls wanting to appear more  grown up. It is the only time they want to be thought of as older. As soon as they hit twenty-one- they want to be carded and considered forever jailbait. We see mothers competing with daughters and desperate to be mistaken for her sister. I've witnessed grandmothers in short shorts, crop tops,platform shoes,and mermaid hair extensions pushing strollers.

What is driving this ? Why are we so resistant to owning up to our age and allowing nature to sprinkle our faces with laugh lines and wear our earned facial stripes with pride? Other  than coupons and special discounts--what's in it for us? If only Americans had the mindset of France and other countries where women are reverred for experience, wisdom and not devalued as they age. Crepiness and Collagen Depletion does not diminish the ethereal beauty of Catherine Denueve in the adoring eyes of Parisians. These appreciated women do not  feel pressure to undergo plastic surgery. Perhaps women of a certain age should relocate to countries where they are looked at as naturally vibrant, ,vital and eternally beautiful both inside and out  and extend their time being regarded as viable. Risky Dorian Gray procedures can be taken off the  table.

For those of us who remain in hostile environments toward the post-fertile female - we struggle with how to either turn back the clock or slow down the deterioration. Nobody feels the pain of being less desirable than aging actresses. They are paraded out at award shows and the massive audience collectively either oohs and ahhs at what Jane Fonda's plastic surgeon has accomplisheed or slut shames 69 year old Susan Sarandon at The SAG Awards for exposing her breasts in a plunging black bra to introduce the" In Memorium" Tribute.  Of course the tabloids had a field day with variations of the headline 'Susan Sagged." Part of me was "You Go Girl" but my inner voice was a bit more judgy, shrieking. "Is that really appropriate attire to oversee a somber segment honoring artists who perished in the last year?" Regardless of age, would one wear this to a funeral? But then again I always hear my mother's admonishment about the proper attire for  any occasion.

I think when women encounter these refurbished,refreshed rebels a myriad of reactions come into play. Some are supportive andthink: whatever floats your boat: Others  who have opted out of this Rejuvenation Process either feel these women are pathetic, have rigged the game, or are envious. I think it makes others uncomfortable when they cannot determine a person's age.The same response occurs when we can not decipher one's sexual orientation, race or gender. It is unsettling and disorienting. We are caught  off balance because we do not  know how to relate without these signposts and signifiers. 

  I was always conscious as a teacher and as a woman in this society that I did not want to be pigeon-holed by a number. I wanted to be free of expectations or preconceived notions attached to ones age. For me--ones way of being in the world was more about energy and outlook. When I learned that my students considered a 30 year old supermodel middle aged- I made a conscious decision to live in longevity limbo.

Perhaps the greatest Benjamin Buttons elixir is the gift of grandchildren .Being with them taps into the child within me and unleases my irrepressible spirit. On one outing through the Upper East Side, my two year old granddaugther grabbed my hand and commanded 'Run Gay Gay. Run "(her name for me) It didn't matter that I had previously felt burdened with a bulging diaper bag and over stuffed purse..... We literally flew through the city streets  giggling as we propelled ourselves forward.  We are famous for our dance concerts performed in the window of  Pinkberry Yogurt. There is no self-consciousness. No limitations: Only unbridled joy,passion and abandonment. Endorphins are  released and I am primal and fierce and  hyper aware of my body's natural timeless  rhythm. I see and respond to the world with the inocence of a child. And I am forever young in that moment. It no longer matters how others perceive me. I am free of their judgment. And I feel eternally ageless.