I’m speaking, of course, about the asshat-in-chief — you-know-who I mean — who recently stuck his foot in his mouth, yet again, when, with a look of utter surprise on his face (like he couldn’t believe his eyes), he turned to France’s new First Lady and said: “You’re in such good shape.”
As if that wasn’t bad enough, he then turned to her husband, President Emmanuel Macron, and repeated it to him, equally incredulously —
adding, for emphasis, “she is!”
If only he’d get permanent laryngitis.
But what was missing from his statement was this: “For someone of your age.” It was inferred, not spoken.
Oh come on, you know that’s what he was thinking. And even more unsettling, it’s what a lot of people think. Ageism is alive, well and thriving, at least in North America.
But the bigger issue, at least to me is, why do we place so much importance on our looks in the first place? Everywhere you turn there’s an ad promoting younger skin, tighter skin, softer skin, dewier skin, smoother skin, thicker hair, curlier hair, straighter hair, shinier hair, fuller lashes, whiter teeth, bigger boobs, tighter abs, a perkier ass, toned arms, rock-hard thighs, more curves, fewer curves, fewer carbs, more protein, no gluten, zero fat, less sodium, blah, blah and blah.
I’m not knocking practicing a healthier lifestyle, but our obsession with youth and “size” goes far beyond our health. So here’s my question: Were we always this shallow? Was our self-esteem always so low?
Isn’t anyone good enough? Does anyone like themselves as they are?
Do we really believe that our worth — as humans, as citizens, as friends, as employees, as lovers and spouses and siblings and children and parents — is dependent solely on our looks and how many hours a day we sweat at the gym?
That once we hit 40 or 50 and God forbid, 64 like Brigitte Macron, we should slink quietly into the night because we can’t possibly still look good, feel good, contribute to society and live a full and pleasurable and interesting life?
Is it time to stop buying all that shit and just start being our imperfect selves?