In the past few weeks, I’ve been contacted by two different media companies regarding two opportunities. To put this in perspective, I’m guessing I’m one of a million who received an email.
Okay. Maybe one of 50,000.
These were initial queries, and naturally, we all find it lovely to be “asked to the dance” or even considered for being asked to the dance. For that matter (more realistically), being told “Yo! There’s a dance! You don’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell of going, but maybe you know someone who knows someone who knows someone that we might like.”
Cue my consternation.
In case you want another variation of this theme, do read this tale at Chloe of the Mountain where our intrepid heroine recounts her recent brush with fame.
Returning to the inquiries under my mini-microscope, one had to do with a dating reality show, while the other was a makeover series. What irked me is this: There’s an age limit.
Apparently I’m too old for reality. Reality TV, that is.
One was explicit. The other, well… The description led me to believe that they weren’t after “my” demographic.
Yes, yes, I know. We have Housewives Galore who are approaching the half century mark, at the half century mark, or several years past. (Naturally, we aren’t concerned with the age of their hubbies.) And let’s get (ahem) “real.” The women in question were younger when they started, though I dare say “reality” has aged them.
I am now channeling a conversation that took place in my deepest, darkest past – as in five or six years ago, still slogging through the “Oh-my-god-I-won’t-survive-two-teenagers” years. I remember one of my sons saying to me: “Mom, you watch those shows. You ought to be in one. Your real life is more interesting, especially with all your strange online dates.”
Indeed.
And trust me. My boys never knew the half of it.
I also recall a single mom friend joking with me about the fact that our “realities” were a little too gnarly for the kind of foolishness they wanted to see on TV. (Hey, they don’t call it the Boob Tube for nothing, and I’m sure we can all think of at least a pair of reasons.)
I did, however, titter at the thought. Quite an amusing prospect – the real single mother’s dating life in all its unadulterated comic glory. If reality television actually resembled reality – not so airbrushed – my kiddos would have been right. During those years I was dating on two continents, in two languages, and often in two frames of mind – hopeful and miserable. (The makings of a poignant series, no doubt replicated tens of thousands of times across this country?)
Returning to the recent inquiries, I admit that I’m miffed. Offended. Rankled.
Have you dropped by PBS lately? Have you caught a few episodes of Last Tango in Halifax?
We have a couple well into their 70s who fall in love, kiss on camera, share a bed and even occasionally talk about sex! Neither the woman nor the man appear to have been near a vial of Botox. They are a breath of fresh air in a wonderful ensemble show.
Me?
Apparently I’m too old for reality, for American reality, that is, though one of the messages mentioned that if the subjects “looked younger” they might be considered.
Right. Because we wouldn’t want to show someone with a lined face getting a makeover or style update in order to embark on a new venture. (Hello? Demographers in the house? And the 74 million Baby Boomers, aged 50 to 68?)
Jeez. I guess we’re all too old for reality – at least for dates and makeovers as we plunge into our “Chapter 2” or “Chapter 3” when it comes to relationships and careers.
Good thing I didn’t buy into it when I went on a blind date three years ago. (Lovely man. We’re still together.) Good thing I didn’t buy into it when I reinvented my working life several times since divorce. (All systems still a Go.) Good thing I didn’t buy into it when I was slipping into my hot heels for an evening out (or in), and not allowing pop culture to label me as Ready-To-Be-Put-Out-To-Pasture, at least – not just yet.
Nobody puts Baby in the corner… right?
And brava to the Brits who provide entertainment that captures a broader slice of “reality” – which makes for very fine fare.
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I have a dream that one day women of a certain age will be treated like the interesting people they really are. Oh, and that one day bloggers will stop getting treated like pieces of meat.
I hear you on both counts, my friend.
I always laugh at what passes for *reality* television. HA! Anything but! True, most of the audiences wouldn’t be able to handle the real reality of how people live. And, NO…nobody puts Baby in the corner… regardless of her age!!
It seems to be everywhere – the age discrimination. No wonder some of us question our view of reality – am I too old? Am I kidding myself? Is it going to worth the effort to embark on something new when I know I have a lot to say but does anyone else? When we have to hide our age? What the HELL is the matter with society? And does it only seem ubiquitous because I find myself in that AARP age demographic?
Oh and yes – age discrimination as it applies to women. Throw like a girl? Run like a girl? Subtle and not so subtle insults. Apparently aging like a girl is perceived as a negative too? Girls of all ages have to fight it.