Chronic Fatigue

The Downside of Upselling (Or "What Part of NO Don't You Understand?")

I was at the Safeway Deli counter today, ordering my usual tuna sandwich        (they make a surprisingly good tuna sandwich).  Lately, I've been getting my lunch there almost every single day.  I always order the exact same thing.           And regardless of who is behind the counter that day, the exchange always - always - goes exactly the same way:

DELI CLERK:    Can I help you?

ME:                      Yes, I'd like a tuna sandwich on rye toast with nothing on it.   

DELI CLERK:     Would you like cheese on that?

ME:                      No, thanks...no cheese...nothing.  Just the tuna...on toast.

DELI CLERK:    No cheese?

ME:                      NO cheese...just tuna.  That's all I want.

DELI CLERK:     Did you want tomatoes on that, Ma'am?

ME:                      No.  No tomatoes.

DELI CLERK:     Can I get you anything else with that?

ME:                       No thanks, just the sandwich.

DELI CLERK:     Would you like some tasty soup with that, lady?

ME:                       No thanks, just the sandwich. 

DELI CLERK:     Would you like to order a large sized soft drink today?

ME:                      NO THANK YOU.  I...JUST...WANT...THE...SANDWICH.    

By the time my sandwich is finally made, and it's time to pay for it, I am about to go postal.  But I'm not out of the woods yet.  Because that's when the Cashier attempts to close the deal by asking, "Do you want a refreshing soft drink with that today?  Or may I suggest some delicious soup?"

At which point, I respond with, "NO, I JUST WANT THE #@!!% FREAKING SANDWICH!!" (Note: I don't actually swear at the Safeway counter...but this is what I would LIKE to say.  Regardless, my expression – and the steam escaping from my ears –  says it all.  The Sushi chefs at the neighboring counter have been known to stare).

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

Now, I know the Safeway Deli clerks are only doing as they are told.  And they have been told to always ask if the customer wants another item.  Even when said customer makes it absolutely clear he or she doesn't want another item – they must still ask the question (it should be noted here that most Safeway Deli personnel have a rather tenuous grasp of the English language to begin with, which tends to exacerbate the situation).

Of course, this technique is quite deliberate.  It's called "upselling". 

I call it a pain in the butt.

This popular practice is hardly unique to the Safeway Deli counter.  It happens almost everywhere nowadays.

Jamba Juice, for instance, is notorious for their upselling tactics.  I can't order a smoothie without being asked if I'd also like a "yummy baked good" with my drink.  Since I've  caught on to their methods, I've tried to head them off at the pass, immediately jumping in at lightning speed with "No, I don't want anything else with that", just as the eager Jamba clerk is forming the question.  Alas, it does no good.  The question gets asked anyway.  These people have been given a script, and by golly, they are going to stick to it.  Which means they don't even act that much like real people.  They're more like perky automotrons with aprons.

Upselling isn't new.  As anyone who has frequented a department store cosmetics counter knows, you can't just buy a lipstick without being asked to sample the latest miracle serum or amazing, line-smoothing foundation.  But for some reason, I expect this at the makeup counter.  And when you tell a Lancome salesperson "no thanks", it tends to stick.  He or she just gives you a dirty look and skulks away to ring up your measly purchase.

But this new breed of aggressive retailers won't take no for an answer.  I assume that's because they must have had some success with this technique.  It's all predicated on impulse buying and the power of suggestion.  I guess a certain number of people who had no idea they wanted soup with their sandwich suddenly want soup when the suggestion is made.  But when I am asked the question repeatedly – regardless of what I've already said – I have an entirely different impulse:  I want to strangle the person asking the question.  Better yet,     I want to strangle that person's boss.

Good customer service used to mean that you listened to what the customer wanted and gave them exactly what they requested.  But listening is just so passé.  Today, you simply tell impressionable customers what they should want.  And if they still don't want it, just tell them again.  And again.

Retailers of America: Come to think of it, I would like something else with my sandwich or smoothie or whatever the hell it is I'm about to purchase: someone who actually listens and knows enough to not presume to know what I want.

Not that you asked.

 

 

 

 

 

It's Like, So Amazing

Q: What do the following words have in common?

"awesome", "fascinating", "incredible", "marvelous", "prodigious", "shocking", "stunning", "surprising", "unbelievable", "wonderful"

A: They are all synonyms for "amazing".

However...you don't hear any of those other words used much anymore.       Because the only adjective that gets used to describe anything these days seems to be "amazing".

Have you noticed that right now, absolutely everything is "amazing"?  It is the adjective du jour.  Every time I overhear a cell phone conversation on the bus  (which is a lot more often than I'd like), it's pretty much guaranteed I will hear the phrase, "It was amazing".  If it's a twenty-something who is having the conversation, then it was "...like, SO amazing."  They might be describing last night's pizza, a new brand of lip gloss or the latest episode of "Lost"...makes no difference.  Whatever it was, it was amazing!

Remember when everything was described with that other A-word, "awesome"?  Mercifully, "awesome" gave way to "amazing".  Which would have been just fine, except now there is only "amazing".  Apparently, we as a people are only capable of using one adjective at a time.

Earlier this year, Larry King hosted a pre-Oscars show featuring the cast of the musical, Nine.  His celebrity panel included everyone from Kate Hudson, Penelope Cruz and Fergie to Daniel Day-Lewis, Sophia Loren and Dame Judi Dench.  At one point, Larry asked each person on the panel to describe what it was like to make this movie.   Every one of them - including the esteemed Dame Judi - answered exactly the same way: "Oh, it was just amazing."  I waited to hear Sophia Loren's answer.  Surely, the legendary Ms. Loren would never say, "It was amazing" - but sure enough, she added her "amazing" to the chorus.  Then Larry asked the director, Rob Marshall, what it was like to work with such an amazing cast.  His answer?  "What can I say, Larry?  It was just amazing."

I have to admit, I am not immune from using the A-word.  In fact, I use it way too often.  It's become so automatic, I have stop mid-sentence and force myself to describe something as "incredible" or "wonderful" (I still refuse to say "awesome"...and if I ever did, there would be gales of laughter).

There was a time when "amazing" was reserved for people and things that were truly amazing - usually circus acts, magicians, comic book characters or natural wonders.  The Flying Wallendas?  Now, they were amazing.  The Amazing Houdini?  He definitely earned the "Amazing" part.  The Amazing Spider-Man?  Hey, anyone who can scale a 30-story skyscraper and look good in Lycra is amazing in my book.  Niagra Falls...The Grand Canyon...Mt. Everest?   All pretty darned amazing.

But today, everything from a goat cheese salad to Taylor Swift's latest CD qualifies as "amazing" (the fact that Taylor Swift is even a recording star...well, that's what is truly amazing.  But I digress).

I never cease to be amazed at how one word can catch on and suddenly, it's the only word anyone ever uses.  You know, it's just like, so, um, unbelievable.

Transform Your Whole Life in 60 Days! (Actual Time May Vary)

Sorry that I haven't posted anything for a while.  I've been busy trying to          reinvent myself. 

"How's it going?" you ask.  Uh, not so great.  In fact, if you must know, I've made remarkably little progress.

Where do you even start when you're told you need to "reinvent yourself for the 21st Century" or wind up eating catfood?  (The un-reinvented me was more than acceptable in the previous century, but hey, this new century is a bitch).

Reinvention is big right now - for good reason; the current economic crisis has forced many of us into survival mode.  Like it or not, we have to reinvent ourselves.  And we hope we can figure out how to do it before we find ourselves flipping burgers at McDonalds on the nightshift.

It's scary.  But we don't have to go it alone.  A whole industry has conveniently sprung up to exploit, um, guide us through the reinvention process.

There are endless self-help books about how to reinvent yourself.  A gazillion websites are devoted to the topic.  Personal coaches are coming out of the woodwork, eager to help you on your road to reinvention (or, as they say, while you are "in transition").   There's even a Reinvention Institute - their website cheerfully proclaims, "We are the Reinvention Institute, your partner in transformation".  The site offers a myriad of products to help facilitate your transformation, including the "Momentum eKit" ("...to keep the ball rolling!")...yours for a mere $79 (minus shipping and handling).

Pick up just about any women's magazine, and you'll find endless, "inspiring" real-life stories of midlife women who "reinvented" themselves only to find greater happiness, success and satisfaction than ever before. O, The Oprah Magazine, is the Bible of Reinvention.  Which isn't surprising, since Oprah practically invented "radical reinvention" and has created a mega-empire from it.  Virtually every issue features stories with titles like "Transform Your Whole Life in 60 Days! - One Woman's Incredible Journey"  or  "How to Become the Person You Were Meant to Be" (that might take more than 60 days...better allow at least six months).

These stories are meant to inspire us; and sometimes, they do.  It's inspiring to read about Middle Aged women who gave up secure but boring jobs to pursue their passion, whatever that may be.  Like the woman in the recent  MORE Magazine story titled  "Extreme Reinventions"  who "quit her job as a corporate Marketing Executive to become a professional rodeo barrel racer!"  Or the former editor-in-chief of Playgirl magazine who found fulfillment as an ordained interfaith minister (no, I'm not making this up).

Frankly, I've always been fascinated by these stories.  In fact, I've needed these stories.  We all want to believe that it's possible to reinvent oneself...to make a meaningful, midlife career change...pursue a dream...have a "second act".           And I give credit to anyone who actually does it.

The underlying premise behind all these stories is that reinvention - even late in life - is just a matter of pluck, passion and determination.  If you are willing to "follow your bliss", work hard, and take some risks, you will be rewarded with a meaningful new career, a satisfying new life, a fresh start.  You might even make a fortune and never have to send out a resume again.

Well, maybe.

You see, I've noticed a pattern with lots of these stories.  More often than not, you discover that the woman who "started her own fashion line after 40" didn't just have a passion for fashion...she also happened to be married to a hedge fund manager (what we used to call a "Sugar Daddy"). 

Or that the woman who "always dreamed of having her own restaurant" is actually a former, high-paid fashion model living in a villa in Tuscany who can now well afford to "risk" going to culinary school and "follow her dreams".

And the woman who quit her boring Accounting job to devote herself to full-time volunteer work?  Well,  there's this one, tiny detail:  she just happened to have a large inheritance to fall back on.

The salient point buried in many of these stories is that women who successfully "reinvent themselves" in midlife often possess more than guts, passion and initiative; they possess a healthy bank account (theirs or their hubby's).                 In other words: they are already financially secure. 

That rather significant disclaimer is at the heart of many (not all) "reinvention" stories.  And for me, it's always a colossal bummer.  Which is probably why every time I read one of these accounts, I inevitably have what Oprah likes to call an "Aha" moment.  Because while these  dramatic "life transformations" may seem "inspiring" and "brave",  it just doesn't count as much if the person is already independently wealthy or has some other means of financial support!

Case in point:

At MORE Magazine's third annual "Reinvention Convention",  New York real estate mogul, Barbara Corcoran,  told an audience of midlife women how she was faced with reinventing herself after her first business closed.  It was a painful time...and she learned a lot.   The celebrated broker shared her "10 Lessons of Reinvention".  She offered up "hard earned advice" such as  "Good things come out of insecurities" and "When making new contacts, don't forget 'thank-you' follow up emails".

I suspect she left out Lesson #1: Before you reinvent yourself, it helps to sell your first  business for $77 million dollars.  Let's face it, that kind of cash can be a comfort when you are "jobless", over forty and struggling with your identity.

I am reminded of a popular self-help book that came out in the early 1990s.      The book was called  Your Money or Your Life: Transforming Your Relationship with Money and Achieving Financial Independence.  The radical idea behind the book was that by spending and consuming less, people could leave the corporate rat race to pursue their dreams and find real happiness.  According to the blurb on the back cover, the authors, Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin "took back their lives by gaining control of their money.  They both gave up successful - and stressful - careers in order to live more deliberately and meaningfully."  As one reviewer gushed, "This is one of those rare books that can really change your life!  The authors live their own advice, and it works."

Since a sucker is born every minute, I immediately plunked down my $15.95 for the book, eager to discover Joe and Vicki's "inspiring and empowering" nine-step program that held the secret to financial independence, greater personal satisfaction and inner peace.

About eight pages into the Prologue, I unearthed the secret: it turns out that at age thirty-one, Joe Dominguez "retired from his career on Wall Street - never again to accept money for any of his work."  That same year, he met Vicki.            "Her open mind and substantial savings allowed her to recognize the value of Joe's new road map for money and apply it to her own life."

Translation: Joe had Wall Street money and he married well.  His wife, Vicki, didn't just have an "open mind" - she had an open wallet.  Bingo!

After I learned the truth about Joe and Vicki, their book lost all credibility;        after all, the authors were living off their substantial savings and were obviously set for life.  My feeling is, once you're set for life, it's a lot easier to focus on "attaining a wholeness of livelihood and lifestyle" (i.e. live frugally and learn to stick to a budget ...which, as it turns out, was the core message of the book). 

Reinvention is a swell idea.  But try telling a single Mom who works two jobs and earns minimum wage that if she just "followed her dreams", she could go to medical school and become a heart surgeon.  Or that an older, unemployed woman without a rich hubby can - and should - start a gourmet chocolates company because that's her "passion".  Sorry, it just doesn't work that way - especially in today's tenuous economy.

These sunny stories of radical reinvention make it sound as if reinventing oneself was as simple as changing your hair color or trying on a new outfit.  The whole notion of "reinvention" is way too facile.  Worse yet, it's downright misleading. 

The truth is, try as we may, most of us will never reinvent ourselves.  We may learn new skills.  We may even take a stab at a new career.  But mostly, we'll      just muddle through with our un-reinvented selves, make whatever adjustments we can, tinker around the edges, try to adapt and be resilient, keep plugging away, and hopefully, somehow manage to survive in an increasingly challenging and unforgiving world.

I know that's a downer.  But it's a lot closer to the truth than what Oprah would like us to believe.

Reinvention may be a necessity.  But these days, it's also a luxury that only a few can afford.

Reach Out And Reject Someone

Anyone who has ever applied to an online job posting knows there is no more frustrating, dehumanizing process than filling out boxes on a long, electronic job application and then sending your carefully crafted cover letter and painstakingly customized resume into the Cyberspace equivalent of the Black Hole.  The system is intentionally designed to give the job applicant (you) a minimum of contact with the job provider (them). 

Of course, that assumes that there's even a them on the other end to admire your brilliant prose and impressive credentials.  More likely, there's merely some computer software scanning your resume for key words.

Whatever you do, don't expect a response.  These days, you have a better chance of landing a spot on "Idol" or losing that last five pounds than ever hearing back from an HR person or recruiter.

Sometimes, though, you do hear back.  And on those rare occasions, I've noticed that the responses all tend to sound strangely alike.  As a matter of fact, they sound exactly alike.  

In an effort to put the "human" back in Human Resources, the folks in charge of hiring have latched on to a stock phrase to say "thanks, but no thanks".  It usually goes something like this: 

"Dear so-and-so: 

We received your resume.  Thank you for reaching out to us.  We appreciate your interest in Company X and will keep your resume on file in case an appropriate opportunity arises."

Thank you for reaching out to us??  The first time I heard this, I thought it sounded warm and fuzzy. . .you know, kind of a New Age-y approach to the standard rejection letter.  But by the fourth or fifth time, it finally dawned on me:  "thank you for reaching out to us" is now the official jargon used by virtually every HR person and recruiter in the nation.  It's basically Corporate-ese for     "HA! HA! HA!  Are you &^%% kidding me? ?  We've received 8,000 resumes in the last hour alone. . .oh, and did we mention the job pays only slightly higher than the starting salary for greeters at Wal-Mart?".

Look, the job-hunting process is daunting, at best.  It's always nice to get an      email back, regardless of how it's worded.  So if you've responded to my application, thank you.  It can't be easy facing an Inbox full of highly qualified, hopeful applicants, all competing for the same, underpaid position.  Maybe the "reaching out" thing is simply a kinder, gentler way of dealing with doling out rejection on a mass scale.  Or, more likely, you're just following the directions in your company's HR manual.  I understand.  It's stressful for you, too. 

But whenever I hear that phrase, I can't help thinking of someone who is safely aboard a crowded lifeboat, yelling to some poor soul who is bobbing in an icy, shark-infested sea, "Sorry, there's no room in the lifeboat right now, but thanks for reaching out to us!"

Memo to those in the lifeboat:  Don't get too comfy.  Sure, you may be safely in the lifeboat today.  But tomorrow, you could be out here with the rest of us, treading water and composing endless cover letters.  Face it, there aren't even that many lifeboats to go around anymore.  You could be just a budget cut away from being the one reaching out to those nameless, faceless recruiters in Cyberspace.

If that happens, don't panic.  Remain calm.  Re-format your resume.  Proofread your cover letter (again).  Then hit "Send". . .and get used to the sound of silence while a robot reviews your qualifications and deems if they are worthy of sending on to an actual (overworked) human.

Your next job is out there. . .just out of reach.

Cougar Uproar

I know, I know...I haven't posted in a while.  I will spare you my feeble excuses.
I wouldn't normally try to cheat by recycling old posts.  But I am proud to say that the piece I wrote way back in April, "Cougars Bite", criticizing the whole "Cougar" phenomenon, was frankly ahead of its time.  And it's now more relevant than ever.

The bad news is, since I wrote that blog, the Cougar trend has only grown.         There are more Cougar-themed shows and movies than ever.  ABC's "Cougar Town", starring Courteney Cox, premiered this week.  I tried to watch it - I've gotta keep up on this Cougar stuff - but it was so excruciatingly horrible, I could hardly sit through even fifteen minutes (poor Courteney...one minute, you're a cute, young "Friend", and the next thing you know, you're a nasty, old Cougar).

What is it about this "Cougar" thing that has caused it to catch on with such a vengeance?  This insidious label has clawed its way into the vernacular and taken hold - and I fear it may be here to stay. 

The good news is, I'm suddenly hearing more and more anti-Cougar sentiment being expressed by women.

This month's issue of MORE magazine features an article by Candace Bushnell titled "Attack of the Cougars".  In it, she expresses a lot of the same sentiments        I have (except she's rich and famous and gets published in MORE magazine).

In addition, I just came across a piece called  "Don't Call Me a Cougar" posted on Open Salon.  The outpouring of comments that followed this blog would seem to indicate there is a growing attitude among women that we're mad as hell about this ugly, sexist label and we're not gonna take it anymore.

I sure hope that's true.  Because this whole Cougar thing is getting really old.

   

You're not getting older, you're getting cozier.

If  you want to know how old you are, just look in your mailbox.  You can run, but you can't hide -- those crafty marketers know your age and virtually everything else about you.  Or at least they think they do.

Lately, my mailbox has been crammed with glossy catalogs clearly aimed at mid-life females. The brochures have reassuring names like "Time for Me" and "Soft Surroundings" (tagline: "my time. my place. my self.")  I suppose the "time for me" concept makes sense if you're an Empty-Nester, relishing your free time now that the kids are finally out of the house.  Or maybe you're a hard-driving career woman who is re-prioritizing her life after decades in the rat race.  It's high time you put yourself first, right?  Absolutely.  No arguments there.

The other title makes less sense to me.  Why does one require "soft surroundings" at this stage in life?  Are we that fragile?  That in need of extra pampering?  Apparently so.  One look at the merchandise in these catalogs tells the story;  mohair throws and cashmere shawls figure prominently in the pages of  "Soft Surroundings".  As do lavender-scented booties and Cuddledown robes. 
The Founder of "Soft Surroundings" introduces this month's catalog with a personal note:  "My home is all about comfort.  I'm there a lot, playing with my dogs - all that unconditional love!".  The underlying message seems to be that you've reached a stage in life when you're unfit - or unwilling - to leave the house.  Since you're going to be spending a lot of time at home (presumably alone, or with your Golden Doodle), you might as well be comfortable.  I like comfort as much as the next person, but perhaps they should re-name the catalogs to be a little more direct.  Then again, who is going to order anything from "Rejected By Society", "Alone and Irrelevant", "Crazy Cat Lady", "Time for Spider Veins" or
"One Step Away from Assisted Living"?

In addition to shawls, "snuggly" sweaters and hooded caftans ("summon your inner goddess!"), these catalogs also feature a dizzying array of other items specially tailored to the needs of mid-life women.  There are products aimed at easing all manner of foot pain (finally, someone understands me - and my bunions!).  A wide variety of girdle-type (um, body shaper) garments.  "Invisible panel" swimsuits ("look 10 pounds lighter- instantly!"). Numerous miracle weight loss pills.  As well as a wide variety of knit "comfort pants" (I, for one, would never underestimate the appeal of an elasticized waistband).  And of course, there is an endless assortment of exotic facial creams, serums, masks and flesh-toned, adhesive patches that promise "a face lift without the surgery" (I've tried them all...I'm still saving up for the surgery).

The first time I perused these catalogs, it was a little depressing.  But now, I think they actually serve a purpose.  Thanks to them, I now have a clearer understanding of things.  It's reassuring to know that if, after I've tried every possible wrinkle treatment and body shaper, I still don't see results, all is not lost.  I can just curl up in my snuggly hooded caftan, slip my aching feet into some quilted satin booties, grab a copy  of AARP Magazine and call it a night. 
How very comforting.

A match made in Hell.

As much as I abhor most Reality shows, I, too, have been known to fall under their powerful, evil spell.  My latest guilty pleasure is "Millionaire Matchmaker"
(I suspect this show is turning into another Bravo mega hit, as they are now running 2 or 3 back-to-back episodes each week).

This program is such a delicious freak show, it's hard to know where to start.
I spent the entire first episode just trying to adjust to the Matchmaker's bizarre appearance.  She's obviously had so much "work" done, her face is like a strange, Kabuki mask. This is exacerbated by an odd, Cher-like cascade of long, black hair that partially obscures her pale face.  Since she also totters around on stilettos and favors cleavage-revealing tops, the end result is more drag queen than Beverly Hills businesswoman.  But no matter.  What comes out of the Matchmaker's mouth is far more riveting, and frankly, quite entertaining. I'm really starting to enjoy her blunt, outrageous commentary.  She's often very funny.

What's not so funny is what transpires between the Matchmaker and her millionaire (male) clients.  It goes without saying that the guys demand only the "hottest", "cutest" babes.  No surprise there.  Inevitably, these Masters of the Universe also request a woman far younger than themselves.  By "far younger", I'm talking really young.  To these guys, 30 is the new 50.  The clients turn up their noses at anyone over 29, regardless of how charming and drop-dead gorgeous they might be (and since this is the "A-List", they are all drop-dead gorgeous; every one of them a "10" or "11").  Although the Matchmaker takes the guys to task for their obnoxious biases ("...when she's forty, you're going to be seventy and  incontinent!"), it falls on deaf ears.  They want what they want - and they get it (one mystery is why these powerful, uber-wealthy dudes even need a matchmaker.  I suspect they don't, and they're just doing the show for publicity or to have their fifteen minutes of fame).

Of course, we've long known that L.A. is the capital of blatant Age-ism, Looks-Ism and Sex-ism. The horror of "Millionaire Matchmaker" is that it reveals things are actually far worse than we ever  suspected.  Now I understand why even relatively young actresses in Hollywood bemoan the lack of good roles, or feel they're all washed up at thirty-five.  Hell, if "Millionaire Matchmaker" is any indication, a woman over the age of twenty five is damaged goods.  It's scarier than the prices at Fred Segal.

It's also frankly loathsome to watch the Matchmaker trotting out her "wares" - an actual line up of gorgeous, young things - for the Millionaires to inspect, judge, and find lacking.  It feels like the modern version of Slave Trade, harking back to the days when women were displayed in the town square, to be sold to the highest bidder.  Take away the Beverly Hills office and fancy trappings, and the Matchmaker's "A-list" girls could be hookers at the Bunny Ranch, lining up to be chosen by johns.

The show is offensive on so many levels, it's almost beyond reproach.  Of course, that's what makes it irresistible.  Week after week, I tune in to stare at the latest train wreck, unable to take my eyes off the carnage.  I keep waiting for one of the Millionaires to pick a woman over thirty.  Of course, that will never happen. 
But the Matchmaker is right: before they know it, these guys will be seventy, bald, and alone - their twenty-something trophy wives having long ago deserted them for greener pastures.  Now there's a show I want to watch: "Incontinent Ex-Millionaires of Beverly Hills."  I can hardly wait.

Cougars Bite.

 There's a popular video making the rounds these days called "Cougar Barbie." In the video, a bloated, Chardonnay-swilling, middle-aged Barbie preys on a group of much younger male dolls.  The video - inspired by the doll's 50th birthday - is hilarious, a brilliant spoof of the genre.

"Cougar Barbie" is just the latest in a series of Cougar-themed humor, such as SNL's long-running "Cougar Den" sketch. As far as I'm concerned, just about anything is fair game for satire.  But there's something about this whole "Cougar" thing that troubles me.  The term itself isn't at all funny.  In fact, it's downright offensive. 

As with most trends, I was late to the whole Cougar phenomenon.  I never even heard the term until a couple of years ago.  My first encounter with the "C" word was at the office.  I overheard a twenty-something co-worker chatting on the phone, giggling to her friend about some ancient "Cougar" who was like, SO hitting on some young guy and wasn't that, like, SO gross!?"  As I listened, I was shocked at the term "Cougar", and even more shocked that a younger woman would mock an older woman with such apparent glee.  Didn't she know she would BE that older woman someday? (the road from mini-skirted cutie to matron is shorter than she could possibly imagine). But I was in for yet another shock; I assumed the "Cougar" in question was over 50...or at least in her 40s.  Wrong!  The woman they were discussing was only in her thirties!  This smug, twenty-something considered another woman pathetic and washed-up at 35.  Just one more example of our horribly ageist society.

Since then, whenever I hear the word "Cougar", I cringe .  I know there's always a kernel of truth to any stereotype.  Do some middle-aged women dress up in halter tops and stilettos and aggressively pursue much younger men?  Probably.  Maybe some of them are only interested in younger men and proud of it - hence those "Cougar" online dating sites ("for cougars and their cubs...").  Fine.  I guess now there's a whole Cougar movement.  Whatever.  Maybe that's their way of fighting the stigma that's still attached to an older woman having a relationship with a younger man ( "I am Cougar...hear me roar!"). These women proudly flaunt their Cougar status, as they search for no-strings-attached encounters with hot, young studs.  I guess they think it's a liberating attitude.  And maybe it would be, if they didn't feel the need to describe their behavior with such an ugly, degrading label.

Look, there's nothing wrong with dating younger men.  I've got friends who are even happily married to younger guys - but they didn't meet them by prowling around, looking for "cubs".  And they certainly don't consider themselves predators.

The fact of the matter is, I don't know any actual "Cougars".  Most of the older women I know would never identify with this stereotype.  Many of them are in relationships with partners their own age or older.  That is, if they're even in a relationship at all.  Many have given up on ever meeting someone of any age.  And here's the other thing; why is an older woman who pursues a younger man a predatory "Cougar", but a guy who pursues a much younger woman is simply...a guy?  An older guy dating or marrying a woman half his age is the norm in our society.  Women may complain about it.  But there's no equivalent "Cougar" label for a 70 year old with a 30 year old trophy wife on his arm.  As usual, there's a total double standard. 

Don't women already have enough to deal with in our incredibly ageist culture without us further reducing older women to false, grotesque caricatures?   Moreover, it seems that other women are the ones who are perpetrating the problem.  Guess we haven't come such a long way, after all.  Grrrr.