This was published 1 year ago
Opinion
Beware the invisible Angry Older Women: You won’t see us coming
Ingrid Banwell
Artist, writerIt happened again the other day. As I passed our local cafe on my morning walk, a human tribal throng – spotting a free table – rushed across my path with the determination of cheetahs pursuing a gazelle.
That unyielding bodily surge pushed me towards the tables, forcing me to sweep away an empty chair to avoid colliding with diners grazing on their gluten-free granolas, mocha lattes and eggs benedict.
Had I been younger or male, louder or angrier, it may well have been a very different outcome. But I doubt that ravenous horde racing across the savannah of our local square even noticed this fuming boomer and that swivelling chair. As I said, this isn’t the first time I haven’t been seen.
“Senior” women can turn their seniority into power.Credit: iStock
Although I have learned to avoid such collisions with the deftness of a blowfly escaping the swat, every now and then a reminder of my increasing invisibility slaps me across my wrinkled cheek, pokes me in my crow-footed eyes, and makes my chin whiskers bristle.
Yes, I have reached that age the government officially deems as “senior”. I am now an AOW (Angry Older Woman). May I add, I wear this label with pride. As I home in on the power of this growing invisibility, I remind myself of Mother Nature. Adapting. Evolving. Nurturing. Co-operating. Until it all becomes too much. Until all hell breaks loose.
Women of my generation spent lifetimes bending ourselves into shapes to suit social and patriarchal expectations. We grew up modestly ignoring the catcalls from passing cars, slapping the faces of men who were inappropriately rude or fresh. We dated. We said no (constantly). Our opinions were ignored (regularly).
Pregnancies, babies, teenagers, divorces. Heartbreaks. Job losses. Ailing parents. Dying parents. The AOWs have been through it all.
Yet, this is not a time for self-pity. What we mourn may be a loss to those who value youth and beauty, but to all those other AOWs out there, remember: we are no longer judged through the lens of the male gaze. Whether we appreciate it or not, this is absolutely fabulous.
We are, after all, the Tree of Life’s fermenting fruits: full, ready to burst, and possibly just a little tipsy. And the fact we’ve got this far without being prematurely plucked from that aforementioned tree is reason enough to celebrate. So now, comes the time to revel in, and channel, our powers.
Cloaked in that robe of apparently harmless invisibility, we can whisper subversions into young, impressionable ears. Unnoticed, we can eavesdrop on conversations, gather material for the books we are writing and stockpile ammunition to commit targeted acts of supreme and eviscerating snark. We can shape-shift. Our Cheshire cat smiles can surprise, disarm and manipulate people into kindness.
Then, once we’ve snared our disconcerted victims, we can bring out our metaphorical broomsticks, sweep away the debris of discrimination and discontent, and then fly off, dispensing potions of goodwill, all while cackling at the follies of humankind. We can heal. Nothing soothes heartbreak like a pair of listening, and perhaps a little mildewed, ears. We can even offer free, uncensored, advice. In the Middle Ages, women were burned for less.
It’s time to no longer care about the frivolities imposed on us by the industries of man. After all, now, every day is a bad-hair day. And no cream – no matter how convincing the marketing fibs – will ever stop that inexorable, wrinkled march of time.
Plus, we have the vote. We are independent. We are consumers. We have power. And it’s time for pushback.
Invisibility does not mean powerless ... just watch.Credit: iStock
The laws of science and nature tell us we are surrounded by concealed forces. We may not see them. But we feel them. Viruses. Electromagnetism. Love. Gravity. Radiation. Such forces – invisible to the naked eye – cripple economies. They power, inspire and destroy civilisations. Cause landslides. I’m still fine-tuning the astonishing power of this invisibility. When it does happen, it will be monumental. Shocking. Chairs will not just be moved, but thrown.
Ingrid Banwell is a Sydney artist and author of Men of Earth, an eco-feminist thriller.
The Opinion newsletter is a weekly wrap of views that will challenge, champion and inform your own. Sign up here.