My fashionista daughter in Paris forwarded me a link to Advanced Style, a blog on chic into one’s golden years, or silver years, or wizened years, or something.
Thanks for thinking of me and HNTAO, sweetie, though I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted by the viewpoint of this blog. On the one hand, gee, it’s nice when someone, anyone, notices that people over 40ish exist, much less applauds them for their superior style. When that applause is public and coming from the Evil Young, it’s truly a breakthrough event.
And yet, do I detect a whiff of patronization here? A hint of: Yeah, those silver-headed wizened people, they’ve got individual style, sometimes even chic, but they’re not truly hot and cool like us.
I was disappointed not to find a single person on the blog who I aspired to dress like, though I’m always on the lookout for old people style role models. The best one I ever found was an ancient Asian man I spotted on a beach in California, wearing a straw hat, a white shirt, black pants, and brown sandals. Now that’s authentic and eternal chic.
Rap music may seem like part of the plot by the evil young to drive us all to mass suicide so they can grab our high-paying jobs and steal our needlepoint pillows, but I’m here to tell you, you needn’t be afraid of rap. After being tortured for countless hours in the car by rap music, I’ve even come to like some of it, though that might just be the Stockholm Syndrome.
True, the only rap music I actually like are the oldies. My number one favorite is the immortal Biggie Smalls singing Back To Cali — he’s heading west for “the wine, the women, and the weed.” I like to quote it when I’m trying to get my 15-year-old son out of bed in the morning: “Yo, Big, get your ass UP.” Though Biggie’s been dead for more than a decade now, listening to him never fails to make me feel youngish. Another song (are they called songs?) I really like is Wu Tang Clan’s C.R.E.A.M, which stands for Cash Rules Everything Around Me, which sounds positively elderly. And then there’s — well, that’s about it.
I was unaware until ten minutes ago that a professional Rappin’ Granny performed at The Emmys last year. She was pretty good, too, except she worked that dowdy housedress a little too hard. Can a mature woman, even a white one, rap without turning herself into a laughingstock? Let’s go to the youtubeotape.
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