Posted by: deadmousediaries | March 31, 2014

The Invisible Woman – a rant from Mitchell Kyd

What a load of crap! A whole group of angst-filled women flew into the personal space of my Jeep as I was driving home last night simply to tell me that a $49 jar of face cream had rescued them from being  invisible. They weren’t the XX  chromosome complements to Wells’  Invisible Man, mind you, and it wasn’t grease paint they had purchased. They were doing a radio spot for the latest lifesaver to be tossed by the beauty industry to middle-aged women everywhere.

Their tortured vignettes all recounted how men had stopped looking at them admiringly, that strangers now looked right past them, and that the physical signs of aging in their appearance had rendered them invisible. How sad! Invisible? Really? What image do we hold of ourselves that allows us to believe that simply because our faces reflect the stories of our lives, we are invisible? Lucky for them, they had been assured they could mask their authentic selves and appear on a stranger’s radar for a paltry $49  (plus shipping and handling, of course).

I was raised by a mom who always said that she loved her gray hair. “I earned every one them,” she still jokes.  I agree. And I view all my little creases and laugh lines the same way; the face I see in the mirror is like the well-worn pages of a well-loved book, a best-seller of which I am the  author.

Women shine from the inside out and our light only grows more glorious with age. Sure, it’s wonderful to have great packaging but that doesn’t diminish all the great stuff that’ s inside. Why is it such a struggle to appreciate that?

“We think in our youth that are bodies are identified with ourselves and have the same interests,” said British writer Rebecca West, “and later realize they are heartless companions who have been accidentally  yoked to us.”

Pablo Picasso proclaimed there are only two kinds of women, goddesses and doormats. I’m guessing if you need face cream to ward off  invisibility, you can’t see yourself as a goddess.

I can’t track down who coined this distillation of how women view themselves but I love the quote:  “Women will never rule the world until they can walk down the hall naked with a bald head and beer gut and think they’re beautiful.” Amen, sister.

This rant might seem like a huge contradiction from a woman who dyes her hair purple but I assure you it’s right on track. When you’ve been purple on the inside for a very long time and it finally makes an outward appearance, that’s a good sign to the universe that you refuse to be invisible.

I say make the most of your assets and do whatever makes you feel best but don’t ever diminish who you really are by relying on your body to convey that.

“We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented fabulous,” asks contemporary writer and spiritual teacher Marianne Williamson. And then she asks: “But who are you NOT to be?”

Do we really need new  face cream to save us from invisibility? Let’s hope not.

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