Way back in 2015, before the pandemic, before the non-stop and terribly upsetting election cycle, I wrote an article about things you shouldn’t wear after 50.

The article got a lot of attention. Mostly, for the wrong reasons, but still. Attention.

When I wrote that article, I was half engaged in writing and half watching Sherlock. I think it was in response to seeing another headline about what women should wear based on age.

So, just this morning, I read an article about the clothing designer Carolina Herrera. She claims long hair and jeans on women of a certain age is “classless”.

Fucking really? Classless? 

And her idea of “a certain age” is 30. Fucking 30. She says women over 30 shouldn’t wear jeans anymore. Women over 40 shouldn’t wear long hair. What the fuck? That’s just crazy talk. Based on what? And what is the exact hair length before one gets their class back? Does your hair get shorter with each decade? Like at 40 you can have a bob just above your shoulder, but by 50, your goddamn earlobes better be showing?

I did not care for these sentiments.

Then, I remembered I’m not in my fifties anymore! I have moved on. People in their 50’s are babies. I can now write an article about what we shouldn’t wear after 60!

Listen, I’m cracking my knuckles. Can you hear it? 

Actually, that hurt a little. I guess one of the things you shouldn’t do after 60 is crack your knuckles. Goddamn arthritis.  

First, I would like to acknowledge something important. I kind of said this in the last article, but region, social status, and income make a world of difference on what people value when it comes to parting with their money for fashion. Which is fine. We are all free to adorn ourselves as we see fit.

At least for now. Please, for all that is fucking holy, vote in November. Because no one wants to wear the red handmaid robes. Unless you are on that show. Then you probably do.

With that being said, maybe keep your opinions on what other people choose to wear to yourself. Because it is extraordinarily stupid to attach arbitrary age rules to denim and hair length. Oh, believe me, I know a lot of people will vehemently disagree with this. But this hill? Yeah, I’d die on it.

I’d at least rest on it. But to be fair, I’m going to rest on most hills. Damn.

What we wear doesn’t matter. Does that mean you should wear Nightmare Before Christmas pajamas to the office when they require business casual attire? Of course not. We all have rules to follow or changes to make if we don’t like those rules. Although, I can’t imagine anyone being that invested in the pajamas, but I’m not going to judge.

Anyway, here we go. What not to wear after 60:

I would like to speak to the manager attitude

This is a big one. Please stop. Especially, if you are in the over 60 crowd. We’re already cast in a negative light.

Let’s prove that we are better than that. Lets prove that we can be the elders who are kind and helpful when we are needed. Let’s recognize when it is time to step aside and be supportive.

But I digress.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t get what we pay for or if something isn’t right, that it shouldn’t be made right. I’m just saying that we can be civil and kind when doing so. If you find you talk to service people in a tight, clipped tone a lot? Maybe, dial it back. Be kind. And if you can’t, for your own good, I would avoid certain haircuts.

Stubborness

I am not saying to not be stubborn. Damn. Be stubborn.

I come from a long line of stubborn. My adult children have perfected stubborness. I’m not gonna lie, it’s not always good, but often our stubborness serves us well.

What I mean is, don’t be stubborn about inevitable changes. Pronouns for instance. I totally get that change is hard. It is not easy to change word choices you’ve made for decades. I also understand you may harbor strong negative feelings about changing pronouns for people at their request. I don’t agree with you, but I understand you feel the way you feel.

Here’s the thing. Life has moved on and this is what life looks like now. You don’t have to understand it. You don’t even have to like it, but you can be kind. You can be respectful. Try. It does not hurt you to do what you can to help other humans feel comfortable. Like I said, change isn’t easy. I fuck up all the time, but when I catch myself, I acknowledge it and I keep on trying.

You do know that none of this is new, right? Gender identification has always been a thing. We just didn’t talk about it or if we did, we ridiculed it. Was that helpful? Did it change anything? Did it make people that you disapprove of go away? No, it did not. We were wrong then. We have a chance to right that wrong.

If your stubborness issues exist because of religious belief? Well, I mean this as gentle as possible, but no one on the planet has to follow the rules of your religion. You do you. Leave others to be who they are. Without hatred or recrimination or judgement. Let’s just try to be good to each other. Isn’t that what Jesus taught?

Clothespins on your nose

Obviously, if we take this literally, there is no explanation needed. I feel like it works for people in all generations. Wearing a clothespin on your nose would be painful and you would stand out. It’s cool if that’s the look you are going for, but you’ll end up breathing through your mouth and that will just cause health and dental issues. So please, everyone should always not wear clothespins on their noses.

Except, now I want someone to do that. Go to work with a clothespin on their nose and just walk around like it is just another day in the cube farm. I mean, I’m not going to, but if one of you wants to, then just make sure you get back with me, and let me know how it goes. 

Of course, I meant figurative clothespins. You know that look. That look we get when we see something we don’t like. The look like something smells bad and we wish we had a clothespin for our nose.

How many tattoos does she have? Are those leggings appropriate? Maybe, it’s just me, but I don’t think a gerbil cage makes an attractive hat. 

Is it really a big deal if someone looks different than what you find comfortable for yourself? Do you have to have the same look on your face that you get when you’re checking your shoes for dog shit?

We should be different. Embrace the differences. Maybe you’ll see beauty where you didn’t see it before.

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Okay, I know I have said a lot here. I’m not only speaking to you, I am speaking to myself. I am constantly growing and learning. I do have to confront myself when long-held beliefs speak up and whisper ashes from a past that needed to move on.

We’re all capable of change. We’re all capable of growth and acceptance.

Except for this one thing. This one thing is driving me fucking batshit.

I’m watching training videos at work and the person speaking in the video doesn’t make the “tuh” sound when they say “button”. They say “Buh en”. There are two fucking “Ts” in that word. Two. They make a “tuh” sound. You can’t just stop making the “tuh” sound. How is that okay?

See? We all have work to do. Maybe, when I reach 70 and revisit this, I will be over the whole “tuh” thing.

Soooo…hey! Hi.

It’s been a minute.

You know how you mean to do something and then you don’t and then so much time passes that you think you shouldn’t because at this point it is just ridiculous and absurd. But then you start to feel sad because you really wanted to do the thing and you miss it. But then other things come up and a whole bunch more time passes. Right? You know how that goes.

We are all good. Mostly. Alfie the kitty isn’t well. He got sick around Thanksgiving. He started tilting to one side and walking in circles. He got pretty bad, pretty fast. His vet thought it was an ear infection and treated him with antibiotics and steroids. He got a lot better. For weeks. But as soon as he went off the steroids, all the symptoms returned and he started having seizures. Randy, Joey and I made the decision to let him go. I left that morning to go to work in tears. Randy and Joey were both home with their own tears.

You know how the universe plays super funny jokes sometimes?

I got in my car that morning in December and heard half a song on the eighties station I had it tuned to when the disc jockey came on. Wait, are they disc jockeys still? There aren’t any discs. 

Anyway, the guy is on the radio and starts telling a story about his daughter’s cat named Harry Potter. And I’m there with my cheeks still wet thinking, fucking really? A cat story? He proceeds to say that sadly, Harry Potter got sick and died.

OMFG are you kidding? 

Then he says that when they were burying Harry Potter, he had music playing. He said “I am not kidding you. This song started playing while we were  burying my daughter’s cat.”

Then he played Pet Cemetary by The Ramones.

We named our kid after Joey Ramone. The whole thing was so on the nose. I did laugh a bit, because that was well played.

Anyway, Randy gave Alfie a steroid that morning. And around lunch he called and said Alfie was almost back to normal.

When I called the vet, my only conversation was going to be to make arrangements for Alfie, but when I told her how the steroids seems to cause a rebound, she suggested upping his dose and seeing what happened. She said that cats tolerate steroids very well and he could be on them for a very long time without worry.

Well, that did the trick. It’s been months and while he isn’t exactly the same, he was almost his normal asshole self.

Until about a week ago. We’re seeing his head tilt. Just a little. So, whatever this is, the steroids are starting to become less effective. He’s still fine right now. His tail is up, he’s eating and grooming and doesn’t seem to be in distress at all. But we are seeing the head tilt. Not every day. But it’s happening more often. It could be a brain tumor. It’s definitely neurological.

We’re just glad we’re getting the days we’re getting. But I suspect that fucking shitty decision will have to be made again sooner rather than later.

The rest of us are fine. Normal life bullshit, but good.

I guess I just wanted to stop in and say hi. See how you all are.

I have a problem, y’all.

I can’t stop buying bras from the internet. I can’t. I think I may have even written about this before, but I don’t remember for sure and I am way too lazy to check.

They all suck. Out of the 17 trillion bras I bought from the internet, I like one of them. I’m wearing it now. It’s actually awesome. There is no tag. I don’t remember where I got it. The details of 17 trillion online bra orders tend to get a little fuzzy so it isn’t like I’m ever going to find it again. I had to go through so many to get this one. But you know the old saying “You have to buy a lot of shitty bras before you kiss a toad and it turns into the perfect bra.” or something like that.

It’s not like I don’t understand about reviews. I do! I actually have a solid grasp on the concept that before you purchase anything on the internet, you can avail yourself of customer reviews. But when I’m faced with an ad for best bra ever, I cease to have an understanding of how one operates in 2023. I become focused. I have blinders. I can only see that one thing.

I just want the Holy Grail of bras. That’s all.

I don’t know if you all have seen the ads on social media for the bra created by a 70 year old grandmother or not, but let me help you out.

Don’t buy the fucking bra. Granny didn’t know what the fuck she was doing. It is a terrible bra. Abysmal. And sadly, I have bought at least two other versions of this same fucking bra, just under different names.

Because I have a problem.

The bra material is wispy and almost not there. In other versions of the granny bra, there were no closures or anything, you just pulled it over your head. In the grandma version, there are three “buttons” in the front. The cups have a pad, like a round maxi pad, shoved in a little pocket thingy. The pads aren’t lined up or anything. So your boobs end up looking in different directions. There is no support. Nothing. It’s like having an ineffective ace bandage around your chest with feminine hygiene products over the nipples. With straps.

The granny version, with the front “buttons”? Yeah, they are not buttons. They are snaps. They have the strength of something held together with Elmer’s glue. Maybe. I might have just denigrated Elmer’s glue.

I wouldn’t give these away. I guess I could use them as gag gifts or something? Oh, and I did say “them”. Because when I bought the granny bra, as I was checking out, I was offered a second one! At half price! So of course I got the second one. I couldn’t afford not to.

Because I have a problem.

I believed this time, too. I did. A 70 year old grandmother? Invented this? A 70 year old grandmother would never lie to me.

I mean, I’m a 60 year old grandmother and sometimes I lie. But I’m not 70 yet, so who knows? Maybe that will change. Who wants to live in world where 70 year old grandmothers walk around lying all the time? Especially about something as important as inventing the unicorn of bras.

That wouldn’t work though, would it? You can’t be a grandmother and not lie. You are always going to say, “Yes, sweetheart, I do want to hear you sing the latest Disney song for the 12th time.”

If you don’t lie, then you’d be saying things like “For all that is holy, no. I do not. I do not want to hear you screech sing about undersea life or ice or circles of life.”

To anyone reading who is the parent of our grandchildren. Of course I am not talking about your kids. This is just a joke.

I guess there was that one time when Let It Go was sung many times, but it wasn’t close to 12 times. And there wasn’t any shrieking. Also, to be fair, I encouraged it. 

But no, granny lied.

I am Charlie Brown and internet bra scammers are Lucy Van Pelt. I have missed that football so many times.

But this is it. I mean it this time. I will never buy another internet bra. Even if Dolly Parton hand sews it herself. I have no idea why Dolly Parton would be hand sewing bras. She seems to have a very successful career doing other things. I’m just saying, if she did, I would not buy it.

You know, I am beginning to suspect there was no 70 year old grandmother at all.

Also, who am I kidding? I would totally buy a bra hand sewn by Dolly Parton.