Donald Trump and his sidekick JD Vance are about to find out what is the point of older women as support for Kamala Harris grows

Screenshot from KamalaHarris.com

What is the point of older women? Free babysitting according to JD Vance, Donald Trump’s rather weird running mate. In a 2020 podcast that has just resurfaced, Vance agreed with the host that the “whole purpose of the postmenopausal female” is to help raise their children’s children. Coming hot on the heels of his crass remarks dismissing leading Democrats as “a bunch of childless cat ladies”, it is clear that America’s wannabee Vice President is as big a misogynist as his ageing boss. Vance has his own ‘mummy issues’, which he chronicles in his bestselling memoir, Hillbilly Elegy, but sadly his view of older women is not uncommon. And it is not just forty-something men who think any woman over the age of 55 is past their sell by date. Many young women regard their more mature sisters as past it too.

But do we care? Do we hell! As I contemplate yet another birthday in a few days’ time, I realise I have lived a decade more than my maternal grandmother, who dropped down dead at 56 after lighting one of her ever-present Woodbine cigarettes. And despite my unhealthy lifestyle – too much red wine and far too little exercise – I intend living a few more years and behaving as badly as I like. I am happy to do the odd bit of babysitting. One of the joys in my life is watching Tik Tok videos with my granddaughters, but I have no intention of becoming a full-time nanny. Not while I am having so much fun being an old woman.

Ageing has it challenges

That’s not to say ageing doesn’t have its challenges. The writer Julie Burchill, one of my long-time heroes, even if her politics get battier the older she gets, described herself recently as “65 and overweight with about 10 teeth”. Nervously, I carefully counted my own crumbling molars. I have slightly more than ten, but there are a few gaps and I live in fear that, despite the best efforts of my wonderful NHS dentist, my remaining teeth will gradually decay beyond repair. Or simply fall to pieces. A few years ago, I took a chunk out of a front tooth by just biting on a crisp, an experience that has left me more wary of what I put in my mouth.

And my bones now literally creak. I spend far too much time on my backside. Writing, reading, doom-scrolling social media or buying stuff online I can’t afford and definitely don’t need. Getting up off the sofa is slightly more of an effort than it used to be. I have cataracts, which are getting ready to ripen according to my optician. And I will soon be completely deaf in my right ear if NHS Lothian’s audiology department don’t hurry up and see me.

Research published this week suggests that we go through two stages of rapid ageing, at around 44 and again in our early 60s. The first change affects our cardiovascular system and our ability to metabolise alcohol, which would explain my high blood pressure and inability to drink more than three glasses of red wine without throwing up. The second change, which I think I have just endured, affects our immune system, carbohydrate metabolism and kidney function. Hence why I have a constant cold, am overweight and need to go to the loo three times in the night.

Our emotional health changes too. I still get angry about poverty and inequity, but I get really angry about people who place their bags on the empty seat next to them on a packed bus or train. A picture of a young Bruce Springsteen or David Bowie still thrills, but it is the sight of discounted Moleskine notebooks in TK Maxx that sets this old heart of mine racing. And not a week goes by without at least one night of insomnia where I contemplate my death, only staving off a complete nervous breakdown by listening to re-runs of Yes Minister. There is something ineffably comforting about Sir Humphrey’s voice.

Glorious older women

And there is something glorious about being an older woman in the early decades of the 21^st century. Yes, there is huge pension inequality. Women live longer than men, but our working patterns and caring responsibilities mean many of us are unable to build up a big enough pension. And we are often crushed between the needs of our adult children and our very elderly parents. But when I remember my paternal grandmother, I see a woman about my age, her body bowed and broken by twelve children, her mind closed to everything but what to cook that day for my demanding grandfather. Her only escape was a monthly visit to the local bingo hall. Her only luxury a home perm every six months.

Then I look in the mirror on my way to a meeting about women’s rights, or a glass of wine with friends, or just a quick shopping trip to track down more notebooks and the odd lipstick, and I see a woman full of life. I may not be beautiful, but hey I’m all right – to paraphrase the aforementioned Springsteen.

Fifty years ago, older women like my grandmothers were either dead or invisible by the time they reach the age I will be next week. I may be foolish or deluded – probably both – but I feel in the prime of my life. I am not alone. Many of my peers are just as active. And if Kamala Harris is elected President in November, she will have just celebrated her 60^th birthday. What was that about post-menopausal women, JD Vance?

This article was first published in The Scotsman on 17 August 2024