Elizabeth Hurley is a bit of an obsession of mine. She is stunning to look at, and as such was recently the subject of a magazine article on “How to look this good at fifty six.” She looked seriously amazing in Daisy Dukes and the tiniest bikini top. Her face looks like she stopped time at some point around 1995. She defies gravity. I grabbed that magazine and read hungrily, desperate to know what she’s done to look so bloody fabulous. Has she sold her soul to the devil? Drunk the blood of sacrificed virgins? Given her first born child to a witch? I needed to know! “Elizabeth applies a rosy blusher in a clockwise motion just above the cheekbones.” Oh please. Our Liz has clearly had some fantastic surgery… I want to know where to get surgery that makes you look like you haven’t had surgery. The woman is hotter at fifty–six than most of us were at twenty–six. I have no issue with that. I adore her. I just don’t want her people to patronise me and tell me a bit of rouge is all I need to pull off that centrespread sass.
Why is it that men become “silver foxes” or “eligible bachelors?” Who made the rules? How come men can reproduce until their dying breath, and we’re kicked to the kerb as soon as the first tiny wrinkle appears? It’s so unfair! I’m constantly bombarded with ads for incontinence and lubrication. Do advertisers think that all women my age —especially those who have had children—spend our days swimming around in oceans of our own piss and sparking from the friction between our legs? This is not a criticism of the women who do suffer in that way, not at all. Once you’ve pushed a human out of your body then frankly I reckon you’ve earned the right to wee at will wherever, whenever you want. But it’s the assumption that one size fits all that I find so grating. Bladder like a vice, thank you very much! I’d say it’s one of my best features. At fifty–one I remain perfectly continent and pleasantly squishy.
Leonardo DiCaprio’s shenanigans with his twenty–something year old girlfriends are still titillating the tabloids. Is there already a female version of Leo? If not, I’m ready to step up. I’m never sure if they are criticising him, the women he’s going out with, the women he isn’t going out with (anyone over 25) or presenting him as a “whattaguy!” Whichever it may be, people do love to be super judgy with their perfect principles and profound moral integrity about his life and loves, which smacks of pure jealousy. “She was born TWO YEARS AFTER Titanic came out!” people comment, apparently horrified. “She’s younger than the age difference between them!” (People can be apoplectic about that one.) And finally, the sniffy, “What could they possibly find to talk about?” Oh for goodness sake. As if they’re talking about anything. One or the other of them must always have their mouth full.