‘I don't feel old - so why have men started to offer me their seats?’
I was bemused the first time it happened. Would I like to sit down, a youngish bloke in his 20s politely asked me on an overcrowded Tube last year. I turned him down with a casual wave of my hand and thought nothing more of it.
But then it happened again. And again. Until it got to the point where I couldn’t travel on public transport without people, of different ages, nationalities, even women, falling over themselves to offer me their seat.
I felt increasingly offended, horrified even. Not because I thought it was sexist, or patronising – but because it seemed that overnight I’d gone from ‘Still Got It’ woman of a certain age to someone in their dotage who needs to rest her pins. I wasn’t even invisible, I was attracting attention for all the wrong reasons. These random acts of kindness became a barometer by which I measured my attractiveness and vitality.
It reached a peak a few months ago when an elderly lady, in her 70s and struggling with a suitcase, stood next to me on the Tube. One bloke immediately stood up for her. As if in competition, the man next to him sprang up for me. I tried to convey with a smile and shake of my head that clearly I wasn’t anywhere near as old, or in need, as the old lady. But he wasn’t having any of it. What began as an act of courtesy turned into an embarrassing stand-off.
In the end I had to give in. A few weeks later an older gentleman in his 60s, wearing tight jeans, pointy shoes and a leather jacket, stood up for me. ‘You need it more than me, love,’ I thought, begrudgingly accepting, by now beaten. A woman opposite gave me a dirty look, as if I was taking advantage.
I canvassed friends for their opinion. One said it was because I was a ‘lady’ – which I’m not. Another said she’d be ‘bloody furious’ and book in for Botox. My husband suggested it was because I glowered at people. A colleague admitted the same happened to her, but she loved it, and saw it as a sign of good old-fashioned chivalry and respect for an ‘older’ woman.
But that’s just the point – I don’t feel like an older woman. Even if the world views me differently. Yes, I’m north of 50 but I feel fitter and healthier than most of the people who offer me their seats. I eat a balanced diet, I’ve finally reached my ideal weight, I’ve got more stamina than many of the 20-somethings in my dynamic flow yoga class, I have a strong sense of style and the confidence to carry off a platinum crop (which could look white to the short-sighted, says my teenage son).
These acts of kindness became a barometer by which I measured my attractiveness
Perhaps I’ve got the reverse of body dysmorphia, whereby instead of seeing a woman past her prime reflected in the mirror, I see the person I feel, who is 30 years younger.
The politics of politeness used to be more simple. Men opened doors and gave up seats for women of all ages. Now it’s a minefield. A male friend said he’d never stand up for a woman for fear of being branded sexist or ageist – eventually you’re going to insult somebody. But he also pointed out that those offering their seats will have their own reasons – maybe it makes them feel good or maybe they want to make a public display of their generosity.
More recently, I’ve made my peace with it. In fact I’m starting to feel offended if someone doesn’t stand up for me. And why shouldn’t they? I’m a busy working mother who needs to sit down, grateful that the age of chivalry isn’t yet dead.
