Race car or old, brown Hudson?

Once in a great while I run up on a picture that speaks to me….and this one is a pip.

I have this theory that we may have limited our enjoyment of life because of the shallow, mind numbing advertising that pounds us every waking moment of the day.  You cannot watch fifteen minutes of TV, listen to ten minutes of radio or even close a toilet stall door without experiencing an advertising “impression”.   People and products leer at us from the back of bus stop seats, stare out over the landscape from billboards and slogans and special offers are dragged along behind airplanes.  This expensive graffitti invades every waking moment of our days. 

It’s not bad enough that we simply must drive home the message of every sale, every new product and improvement on an old one…..but we also “advertise” who and what we are supposed to be.   This is especially true for women.    Evidently we are to be unlined, overdressed ectomorphs our entire lives.   To be less than we see in this picture is to be invisible….or at the very least un-chic!   And that, my friend, is the great advertising lie.

 Sporting the predictable bored super-model expression and flowing hair, this young woman embodies the “marvelously messy” look that fashion magazines would have us strive for.   In truth, she couldn’t possibly stumble around on those cobble stones in those stiletto heels….and that tiny purse has no room for tissues, candy, and the current McDonald’s fun meal toy waiting to be opened.  The bicycles in the background represent health; I can’t wait to see her try to ride one in those pegged pants and six inch heels.   Her round shoulders and concave chest would lead me to believe this young lady has lived on lettuce wraps for a long, long time….and her precarious stance makes me wonder if she isn’t waiting for someone to literally pick her up and take her away from all this. 

Most real women wear “mom jeans” and carry a purse big enough to accommodate enough things to keep her kids clean, fed and quiet when the need arises.  The foot miles we put in on any given day require comfortable shoes and clothes that can be thrown into the washer.  

I have long ago turned off and tuned out everything that tells me my life would be better if I only wore the right (sparkly) eye shadow…if I would only buy the handbag that Angelina Jolie carries…or lose enough weight.   I refuse to apologise for being who I am…and I do not envy the emaciated women in stiletto heels who are held up as “role models” to the women of this era.

In short I am not in the market for a “new and improved” anything….and I sure don’t look at pictures like this and feel I’m not being all that I can be.  Like Popeye the Sailor I yam whut I yam.  I wish every one of us would look for ways to translate that to our daughters and granddaughters; turn off the soul sucking hype and enjoy your life! 

I think my son must have been about ten when he summed it up this way: “Mom, there are two kinds of women.  Race cars and old brown Hudsons.”   I haven’t a clue where he came up with that, but I’ve always remembered it and never, for one second, have I regretted being an “old, brown Hudson”. 

                                  Life is Good