Today, I accidentally entered my eccentric old lady era. It’s a bit premature, me being in my early 50s, but as they say, practice makes perfect. Perhaps I’ll be an expert in 10 to 20 years if I keep this momentum up. What images come to mind when you think of an eccentric old lady? For me, I immediately think of Graciela, the cigar-smoking lady who has turned herself into a tourist attraction in Cuba. I think of Iris Apfel and her Iconic style, with her large jewelry, brightly coloured outfits, and deep red lipstick. I think of the way people like Mary Morello or Margaret Atwood challenge and help others. I am nowhere near as iconic as those ladies, but I can draw inspiration from them and strive to be as iconic, eccentric, boisterously vocal, and flamboyant as I can in my own way.
Today I acted on a simple whim, but it led to bigger thoughts. I took our 1926 Model T Roadster to work. Most people where I am from only take their convertibles out on especially warm days, when there’s no chance of damp or cool weather. Today, it was 2 degrees Celsius, and there I was, in my full-length winter coat and a long, luxurious scarf wrapped around my head, tortoiseshell horn-rimmed glasses peeping through. I admit that I need to work on the glamorous aspect of eccentricity. I suspect I looked a whole lot more like the unhinged villain, Madame Medusa, from Disney’s ‘The Rescuers’ in a swamp than I did Sofia Loren on a speedboat. But there I was, headed off to work in a topless car in freezing temperatures, and in my wake, I received many a delighted laugh that has encouraged this recent non-conforming behaviour. Who drives a hundred-year-old vehicle in winter? Apparently, now I do. It’s a good, safe start.
I work in an office. Usually, I drive a fuel-efficient, boring little hatchback to this office. I bring my regular sandwich lunch with a side of celery sticks, and I dress in grey or black. When I really want to get wild, I’ll pull out my charcoal cardigan with grey and black plaid pants. I know, calm down, right? I’m not sure when this happened – this graceful, or rather ‘grey-ceful’, step past my youth. Speaking of steps, when did the most exciting part of my day become when I hit my ten thousand daily steps threshold? Didn’t I use to be in a rock band? Didn’t I use to have spiked pink hair? What happened to me? How did boring get passed off as age-appropriate sophistication, and why did I buy into it?
I’m not sure when this happened – this graceful, or rather ‘grey-ceful’, step past my youth.
There is a tree older than I am in my front yard. It has taken up more space than what was allotted for it. It flowers brilliantly in the spring and drops crabapples all over the place in winter, getting the local wildlife hyper on sugar. When the wind blows, it creaks as loudly as it wants to and raps on the windows to let us know how irritated it is in a storm. It is not quiet, grey, or small. I want to grow old like my tree. I do not want to grow old gracefully. What can I do about this, and how can I reclaim or rather, ‘redesign’ myself? I’ll need inspiration and action, and I promise to share what I discover with others who think this way.
Eve Di Potenza 