When I was a callow youth I had a lot of judgment about the way older women dressed.   I was aghast at the sight of orange stretch pants on a less than perfect butt. I snickered at the platinum banana curl pony tail, gold lame toreador pants  and sparkly spring-a-lators that my neighbor wore.  Tank top and short shorts on heavy woman – how could she leave the house that way?

Gahhh – I was such a snot!

What I realize now is that these women were bodacious and great role models.

The woman in orange stretch pants was colorful and comfortable, and she liked them. She wasn’t concerned about her thigh dimples and why should she be?

My neighbor with her pony tail and silver fuck-me shoes felt and looked sexy. She was single and there was a steady string of tall good-looking men picking her up in shiny new cars. She was having fun and living large. Who was I to think she was “too old” to dress like that?

Tank top and shorts – it’s hot out, or maybe she’s having her own personal heat wave. Get over it Kerry.

Being the good little product of print and television advertising I also developed a goodly dose of judgment about myself.

I wouldn’t go sleeveless because my upper arms were fat (and eventually floppy.) I didn’t even own a tank top.

For years my wardrobe was all in subdued colors. No orange stretch pants for me. Then something happened at around age 40. My clothes went from Navy blue, sensible brown, and pinstripe black to fire engine red, lemon yellow and Caribbean blue.   I’ve never looked back. I still don’t own orange stretch pants but I wore out my red ones.

I sport a bright blue stripe in my silver hair …because I like it. I’m considering trying purple next.

I have a minor addiction to temporary tattoos and usually have one stuck on me somewhere.  Temporary because I like changing the images and locations on a whim. Not possible with real ink.

I haven’t had on a dress or a top with sleeves since the weather turned warm.

The one area I haven’t been able to just let it all hang out about is my middle.  My sweaters and tops all must be loose and reach down to at least a certain point on my hips. Almost the same point the hems of my miniskirts reached up to in my judgmental and taut skinned young womanhood. Maybe in another few years I’ll let this one go too and you’ll see me in short tops, or even (gasp) a belted dress.

So, what’s my point here?  We’re all role models. When we go about our lives, dressed in the clothes that make us happy and comfortable, doing the things that interest and excite us, living as boldly and colorfully as we want to, we show others what’s possible.  When we embrace all that we are, stage 2 in my Life 3.0: 6 Secrets to Really Rocking the Rest of Your Life program, we don’t worry about, or even think about someone else judging us. We enjoy a freedom that others notice and often envy.

Sure, some young (or not so young) snot may think you’re too old, fat, pick your own word to be looking and behaving that way in public. But in a few years, when she’s tired of trying to be perfect, she might just remember you and realize that you were comfortable, happy, and unconcerned about what she thought.  She’ll recognize that’s how she wants to feel about her life. In other words, by being the real you in all of your messy, colorful, even outrageous glory, you were a perfect role model.


If you’re fighting to overcome the fear of judgment, struggling to embrace who YOU are, yearning to live boldly and colorfully Life 3.0: 6 Secrets to Really Rocking the Rest of Your Life could be just the program you’re looking for.  Contact me for more details.

If you’re already a Bodacious Bad-ass Old Broad or want to hang out with some check out the Adventure Club  to see what’s brewing.

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