What did I do to make L.L. Bean Woman think I was their type? Is it because I went through that turtleneck phase? Because I thought everyone had gotten over that.
It seems every catalog that shows up these days is geared toward helping me lift, separate or minimize a part of my body. Not that I don’t need it: I just don’t like that every address list in America knows I need it. Nothing cool comes in my mail anymore. It’s all filled quizzes on what pair of Spanx is best for you, and ads for “Not Your Daughter’s Jeans” — the original tummy tuck jeans. I think “not your daughter’s” is a poor attempt at changing the tone of “Mom Jeans.” I’m not going there yet, no matter how good an above-the-belly-button waist sounds.
To add insult to injury, I recently saw Jennifer Garner doing an anti-wrinkle cream commercial (this may have been going on for years. I have Tivo, so I wouldn’t know). Now I’m waiting to hear that Sally Field has kicked the bucket and Lindsay Lohan will be doing Boniva ads.
I find it disheartening that I’ve gone from the doctor saying “don’t worry about it, you’re young” to “you know, women in their 30s . . .” What?! Die a little bit every day? Wear sweatshirts with cat appliques? Mail order corduroy jumpers from L.L. Bean Woman?!
If you are in your 30s, let’s make a point this week to remind marketers that we are not decorating our homes in teal jungle print. Not yet. Show some cleavage. Squish your rear into something from the junior’s section. Actually, don’t do that, it’s obscene. But do something. Shred those lady catalogs and go to Banana Republic like you’re supposed to. Be young. We’re going to live a long, long friggin time. We can wear pastel muumuus later.