Last night, I was watching Billions with my husband, and was moved to exclaim, “I had no idea I was capable of so much hate!” He laughed, because he has never doubted my capacity. It’s like I’m listening to the character called “Wags” and expending all my hatred on him when suddenly there is that guy who plays whatshisname’s father, and my well of hatred instantly fills up again, ready for action.

It is easily the worst show on cable TV, and we watch it in order to squirm with perverse pleasure at the horrible pseudo-hip dialogue and rabid overacting. But Billions is not my subject right now. Instead, I’d like to address the growing problem (ie., my hatred) of Old Lady Fashion Influencers.

The most formidable of these appears to be Accidental Icon, who insists that she is “freaking cool”despite all evidence to the contrary. I’ll bet she is hopping mad about the newbie imitators wearing big black sunglasses and aggressive white bobs. A friend alerted me to Grece Ghanem, who has “worked her way up from influencer to style icon,” according to Who What Wear. She is 54 but looks ten years older. Revealing her style plan for 2019, she says this:

Goodbye to miniskirts and flat ballerinas. You will also see me sport [fewer] ruffles and all-sheer looks. I am highlighting a more modern silhouette in 2019. I am ready to hang my oversize, padded jackets with the strong shoulders and adopt a softer figure for the New Year.

Jesus Christ, I should hope it’s goodbye to miniskirts!

Checking her out on Instagram, I was rewarded by a montage of annoying fashion looks dominated by Gucci, Celine, and the usual suspects. Grece is a personal trainer so she likes to show off her arms. She also likes to wear those huge white sneakers, which makes me feel sad for her. But then, I saw her wearing a leather biker jacket and my whole world fell apart. I will never be able to feel good wearing a leather biker jacket, thanks to this old bag.

I complained about this to my sister, who said, “If you stop wearing leather jackets, you are giving her too much power. DON’T LET HER WIN!” My sister has become a wise village elder in my life, and not a moment too soon! I will wear my jackets, because I am a proud anti-terrorist, but it won’t be without a frisson of shame.

At least Grece doesn’t seem too self-important like the Accidental Icon, who complains about being marginalized as a senior blogger. Boo-hoo! That’s what you get for letting your hair go white! She is one obnoxious old lady. The last time I looked at her, she seemed obsessed with Rick Owens. But now she’s in a scary ad for Go Daddy!

Oh my god, why is this happening??

Can’t we just be old ladies for fucksake!

Do you think I should start marketing myself as Deliberate Icon? Or maybe Fuck You, I’m Almost Dead?

My style is so nothing, and yet it is so distinctively Me! Jeans and t shirts and sweaters, with enormous size 10 shoes. I ignore fashion rules, except for the ones about not looking stupid, and Mutton Dressed as Lamb. I like to feel comfortable. I like stuff to fit normally. I am not freaking cool, but I’m Hot AF. How do I capitalize on this??

Want to see more old bags? Here.

Just look at these gorgeous nails. They are my dream nails, the perfect shape: Almost pointy but not so pointy that the tips keep breaking off.

They belong to George, a great guy who works at Nordstrom, and he was pleased by how much I loved them. They’re his real nails, obviously, and he gets them done at a place on Melrose called Pamper or Pamper Something.

We discussed my own nails, which are kind of oval. As everyone knows, I do my own nails, because I find it relaxing. I admit that it’s hard to make them all the same shape. I like to blame the nail-files but I guess it’s due to handedness and a less than optimal angle.

Here, look, from last winter:

Anyway, I’ve been irrationally proud to say that I’ve NEVER HAD A MANICURE, ever. I will be 65 in a couple of weeks, so that’s more than fifty years of doing my nails. It’s a long streak, and one I didn’t plan to end. I could have it on my gravestone or in my obituary. “She did her own nails.”

BUT! Why not just go get someone to make my nails look more like George’s???

This is my dilemma. If I give in and do it, can I see it as a refutation of stupid, reflexive stubbornness and personal “policies” that have outlived their usefulness? Can I turn it into a triumph somehow? I want to have my cake and eat it too, an expression I hate because it doesn’t even make sense to me.

Or, I can stick to my guns, because I don’t like the idea of paying an immigrant a pittance to service me while working in a toxic atmosphere. It seems so colonialist and fucked up.

Okay, so let’s not vote on how dumb I am, it’s a given. I want you to vote yes or no on getting a manicure.

Hurry up though, I could get a stroke or break my neck trying to tie my shoes (which you can just see in the left-hand corner of George’s beautiful nails.)

The New 63 is the same as the old 63, but with more resentment and defensiveness.

I hesitated to write this post about my birthday, since my age would be off-putting to young people. Who cares what an old bag thinks about anything?

Well, the hesitation is the essence of the New 63.

Aging has become a real detriment (if not an outright crime) in some circles. The Daily Mail likes to show pictures of actresses on the beach with titles like “Still hot at 45!”  It stops me in my tracks every time, like, what do they expect, a fucking mummy at 45 years old?

45 was great. I was probably a babe but I can’t remember because I just turned 63.

I’m way beyond relevant as a blogger. Luckily, my identity isn’t invested in being an Influencer. I write because I need to. I work out my shit online, with your help.

But our culture values youth above all else.  In L.A., where I live, women dress like their daughters and wear fake nails. I feel sorry for them, even though I’m still wearing the same stuff I liked to wear as a teenager.

That’s because I forget that I’m not the same me I feel like.

Inside, I’m just as stupid and insecure, lazy, confused, rebellious, sarcastic and lost as the me I’ve been all my life.

When I was 18, my best friend and I planned to be spinsters together in old age. We would dress like Victorian widows and scream at little kids from our window. Somewhere along the line, we let that dream go.

My mother-in-law will be 100 in January, and she says I’m just a kid. She doesn’t complain about being old; it’s what her generation expected.

Can you imagine?! I could never put up with thirty-five more years of this!

Meanwhile, I have very little wisdom to impart except WEAR SUNBLOCK and try to marry someone who will love you even as you are shrieking “I look like a Sumo wrestler!” while grabbing a handful of your own flab.

That is love and love is the answer.

But getting old is still pretty horrifying.

Fine, I am ageist.

Diane Keaton and Goldie Hawn are both 68.

Jamie Leigh Curtis is 55.

These three actresses have all the advantages that come with their privileged positions, but to my mind they are old bags whose faces scare me. I don’t know what I want them to look like. Just not like this.

And yet as upsetting as they are, I’m sure they are full of had-earned wisdom. I know some shit, too. So if you’re not an old bag yet, here is some good advice that you will thank me for:

Don’t overpluck your eyebrows. Your mom is right.
Stay out of the sun.
Stop trying to control people, because you can’t.
Consider red a neutral.
Chanel handbags are crap, don’t waste your money.
Learn how to fake a good smile but only use it for photographs.
Remember that people are idiots.
Hand-wash any clothes you love, no matter what.
Learn to say I’m Sorry and keep saying it, even if you’re not.
Hats look pretentious unless it’s raining.
Everyone’s family is crazy, not just yours.
Never be ashamed of stuff that’s not your fault.
9 or 10 karat gold is no good unless it’s Victorian.
Hair is everything.

Okay, I’m pretty sure that’s all I’ve learned but if I think of anything else I’ll let you know.  Here are some old bags who make it look tolerable: Tempest Storm,  Gloria Pall and Dixie Evans.

And here is ‘Beso’ long wear lip color by Stila.  You need soap to get it off!

I wore this silk chiffon prom dress on Friday night and felt like a fairy princess. I was smugly thinking “Ha, not bad for 68!” but then I remembered that I’m 58.

At the end of the evening, I had eaten three kinds of french fries and felt like a giant red whale.  Nonetheless,  I think I rocked this pop of color very nicely.

Anthropologie dress, Chanel bag, a letter I still haven’t mailed, Re-mix shoes, ba&sh leather jacket, enormous push-up bra by DKNY, and a leopard printed panty-girdle.

I have a feeling that before too long, we will all be sick of this 82 year old model but for now I am pretty damn impressed. The clothes by Joanna Sykes are genuinely age defying, aren’t they? Silver leather jeans and a nude silk shirt seems like an obvious combination now that Sykes has put them together but I never would have thought of it.

This outfit looks even more beautiful on a more conventional model. What is not to love here?!? If Patti Smith could see this shit, she might even give up her customary black on black.   Patti, we are ready for a change, just this once!

I’m often annoyed at myself for getting married in gold leather pants but now I’m thinking it was a good idea after all.   This was either 8 or 9 years ago, I can never remember the exact date. If I can hang on until I’m 82, I guess I could wear them with a nude silk shirt, preferably by Joanna Sykes, who is a fucking genius.