Our Bodies Not Ourselves by Kathryn A. Kirigin Carol A.B. Warren

Our Bodies Not Ourselves by Kathryn A. Kirigin Carol A.B. Warren

Author:Kathryn A. Kirigin, Carol A.B. Warren [Kathryn A. Kirigin, Carol A.B. Warren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Social Science, Gerontology, Sociology, General
ISBN: 9780429891250
Google: OUZnDwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Routledge
Published: 2018-08-06T04:45:29+00:00


Under the face, as Rosie bemoans, are the chin and the neck. A double chin is one feature of excess weight, both in youth and in old age. A scrawny neck is more likely among the thin elderly. Nora Ephron, in her book I Feel Bad About My Neck, says “I hate my neck… if you saw my neck, you might feel bad about it too.” She details the horrors of old women’s necks: chicken, turkey, gobbler, scrawny, fat, loose, crepey, banded, wrinkled, stringy, saggy, flabby and mottled—not to mention double chins (Ephron, 2006). Meredith, 75, picks “turkey” as her own neck descriptor and says, “Like Nora Ephron, I feel bad about my neck!” Then there is “the hangman’s dilemma neck, like, when you have a neck that kind of goes from your chin to your chest” (Brooks, 2017: 53). Ephron pointed out that if an old woman wanted to have her neck surgically lifted, she has to also have her face lifted. Ellen told us (and many others) of her intention to have her face lifted just before she turned 70, mainly because of her flabby neck. Afterward, she spoke of how easy the procedure had been, and—at $10,000—how relatively inexpensive; a resident of Southern California, she had it done in Mexico.

Double chins and hangman’s dilemma necks can be disguised by various forms of coverage; Nora Ephron says that she and her friends all wear turtleneck sweaters when they go out to lunch. Most of the time turtlenecks are not worn in Southern California, but turkey necks and double chins can be swathed in gauzy scarves. Indeed, almost any part of the public body can be concealed by being swathed in something—hats, scarves, gloves—but less so in warmer climes. Faces, chins, necks, hands and other parts of the body, unswathed, speak of age with wrinkles, age spots and other blemishes.

Atop our faces is our hair—the “crowning glory” of women’s heads, thick and lush, framing our faces. Young hair is every shade from platinum to black…. By 70—and for some much earlier—hair has turned white or gray, dull of texture, and thinning. So—the old women, most of us, color our hair—something that both the privileged and the less privileged can afford. A study done in 2008—albeit by one of the dye manufacturers—found that 78% of all women dye their hair. So it is not just the old women whom we know, and ourselves, that use hair color.

Coloring hair is an individual decision, but it is situated within a web of cultural, gender, economic and relational expectations and issues. In our Western culture, non-gray or -white hair is associated with youth; youth is prized over age—and one solution is to dye aging hair, which can be done in a salon or through the purchase of a kit. Look on any hair-color shelf in any drugstore, and you will see many boxes of color options, from light blond to black (and including gray!), most of them for women. The men’s kits are labeled “for men only” and offer a narrower range of hues.



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