There’s something about Paris that can have a magical effect upon a woman. One can become reborn in this city just as I did a few years back…From the first moment I spied the Eiffel Tower in the distance, I knew I would be a changed woman. I tingled with excitement and anticipation as the sights and sounds of Paris grew closer. Was it just the magnificent beauty of the City and admiration for the culture and people that had created it that caused this feeling? Or had it also something to do with the fact that the French had always valued femininity and the belief that a woman grew more interesting as she aged, that she had a story to tell that her younger counterparts perhaps did not?

Having come to the realization that I was a woman of “a certain age” in the States, I began to wonder exactly what that meant? All the emphasis in our society is on youth, looking younger than we are, acting younger (not necessarily a good thing); and yet women were chastised if they tried to look, act, or dress too young. Which one was it? I wasn’t exactly enamored of the clothing I was supposed to wear at “my age”-it felt too dowdy, I wasn’t ready to transition into the drab conventional garb designed for my age group. On the other hand, I didn’t want to don the dress of a girl. I wanted to be the woman I was, looking as good as I possibly could-for a woman of a certain age. I wasn’t ready to undergo plastic surgery to maintain a youthful appearance…I thought I was fine the way I was.

Not that I put much stock in what the media and Hollywood have to say, but if you notice, much has changed in the past few years regarding the way a leading lady should look. The prerequisites for today’s sought after actresses should be that they are under 25, have large breasts, perfect teeth, a semi-muscular body-if these qualifications are not met then they can play lesser roles and assume the role of the older woman but not the sexy leading lady. Would the stars of yesteryear make it onto the silver screen of today?

How refreshing it was to see “real” women walking the streets of Paris. “Imperfection” could be beautiful. I saw women with real breasts and teeth and hair as I strolled the avenues of the city. Each one was unique. If she chose to, she could wear her hair long and free at sixty-or short and cropped at forty. Large and beautifully ornate jewelry adorned the older woman as well as the younger…but those I noticed seemed confident and comfortable being who they were. There was no artifice. Perhaps it is something about the French style, the French look…Those who seemed most comfortable in their own skin were confident, it was revealed in their walk, the way they carried themselves down the streets of Paris. Perhaps that was the secret-they were confident. It didn’t matter what their chronological age was, their hair, make-up, and clothing choices were dictated by their personal preferences and how they reflected who they were.

Of course I’m painting both places with a broad brush stroke and making generalizations…I believe we all need to do what makes us feel better about ourselves. However, how we feel about ourselves as women has to come from the inside and not from outside sources.

I came away with a new sense of style and self…and the realization that I didn’t have to follow any preconceived notions of who I should be when I reached “a certain age.” I would be who I was. All that mattered was whether I liked the person I’d become. If not, I could recreate myself every so often. It’s good for the soul…