Time For More To Be More

I have a subscription to More Magazine, billed as Canada's magazine celebrating women over 40. Hey, great, I thought when sitting at a hairdresser's shop in Victoria. I liked the mag so well, in fact, that I tore out the mail-away card for a subscription. And promptly forgot about it.

Issues of More started coming and I wondered why until the bill came. Then I was angry as I had no memory of ordering this publication. After some reflection I did remember, pay the bill and read a few more issues, finding again what had attracted me about that copy in Victoria: it's about women's things, and unabashedly so, providing a new perspective for me.

So what am I writing about today? The April issue features a cover with a 50-year-old "super model". And she looks thirty. Well, that's nice. And she is beautiful so I know why she is on the cover. When I read the article, however, I discovered that the five finalists in More's 40+ model search are all drop-dead gorgeous, thin, svelte, muscular, with not a grey hair in sight. While I don't want to take away from these women--they sound totally comfortable in their shoes, which is way more important than their stunning looks--I can't help thinking how little they represent the bulk of us over 40.

And that leads me to wonder if More is really less in its respect for women and if it is just perpetuating that old myth that women have to be stunningly beautiful and look YOUNG to be worthwhile. Margaret Lawrence, one of my most favorite authors, was certainly not beautiful, but she stroked my thoughts for years with her real female characters. I could relate. Rita McNeil will not win any beauty contests but her soft, sincere voice singing her own music speaks to my heart as she explores real situations through that music. And Lena, my neighbour for many years in Shelburne where once we lived, holds a prime place in my heart. She was over seventy when we moved next to her and had lived a lot of sadness in her life but it didn't consume her. Her eyes twinkled as she tucked a stray white curl into her invisible hairnet and hobbled from stove to table with wonderful food for my husband and me. She had lived through rheumatic fever, lost several toes along the way, was told not to get married or have kids, did both, and had a loving, boisterous family who doted on her and her Elmer. She was a winner, and beautiful, too.

Why does being beautiful have to mean not looking our age? Isn't it time we struck a chord for what's inside no matter what is outside? Of course we all like to look good but I have learned that people see the outside first and then dwell on the inside the rest of their lives. I am more than a pretty face, I used to say, and today when I am well past forty, I am really thankful for my brain and my talents. Time for More to think of more than beauty. After all it is only skin deep.