This Cougar Bites

I object to the whole cultural notion of cougars. What do we call men that hunt younger women? We call them powerful and lucky. Courtney Cox might have made a savvy business decision by staring in the new series "Cougar," but she has set back by several decades a woman's right to equality and fair treatment. The cougar is yet another label to define a woman and to cast her in an unflattering light if she dares to choose a mate not suited to her age. Who makes such decisions? How do such notions become reified and universalized in the collective culture?

I don't understand it. If a woman is hot, she's hot. Why the need for the label? I think I know. Women must be contained and defined in order to mitigate, to make acceptable and safe, their sexuality. Women of "a certain age" are more powerful, and therefore more threatening, to men who seek young things without experience, money, education or clout. Inventing a label for women who refuse to engage in culturally appropriate behavior by pairing off with a man her age or (preferably) older creates a sense of mastery over her: I invent a category for you and define its parameters; therefore, I control you and strip you of your power, your sexuality.

I am willing to bet anyone who cares that this new show will not reveal Cox as a strong, independent and in control woman who makes sexual choices without shame or self criticism. Watch and see--I am sure we will see a woman riven by insecurities and self doubt, questioning her every move in the erotic jungles of contemporary America.

I wish for better for us as women, especially as women who are leaving behind one stage of adulthood for another. As sexual creatures, we continue to evolve and become more and more in tune with our erotic selves (don't laugh or gag, it's true)as we age. Yet, this is viewed by the popular press and by most young adults as vaguely disgusting and unsavory. How sad that we are so terrified of age and mortality that we have to vilify and deride those that are lucky enough to be healthy and active long past youth. We are ALL headed in the same direction; one would think our values and our beliefs would gradually change as the population ages. Even poor Angelina Jolie has started--at the age of 34--to be cast in the 'has-been' hottie light. My God!!! Are we really that shallow?

There is no way to conclude this other than to say I would like to do my part to change the prevailing cultural myths and misconceptions. I just don't know how, other than to fight the good fight in my classroom, in my blogs, and with those I care about. I must thank my husband, finally, for never considering me as anything other than desirable. He doesn't care what the calendar says. He just likes my ripped up jeans and my feline spirit.

David Cook and Women of a Certain Age

Why are 42-year-old women the average demographic for American Idol's eighth season?
What self-respecting adult female would rabidly support Mr. Cook above all others? For that matter, what self-respecting 40-something would even WATCH American Idol, unless she has a kid to blame for having to sit for hours in front of the television every Tuesday and Wednesday evening for MONTHS??

We are not simply a gaggle of horny women, desperate to conquer Mr. Cook's youth and take advantage of his soulful inexperience. No, even though I confess to feeling rather fond of the new Idol, it's more than a simple primal urge to rip off his clothes and teach him a few things I've learned in the last few--ahem--decades.

No, sadly, it's more about the fact that we have entered an age where such dreams have been over for awhile: the dreams of becoming the singing star, the famous dancer, or the adored actress. Celebrity and precocious talent, so admired and even revered in our culture, have abandoned us forever. There is no second chance for us, no possibility of becoming the next American Idol, or the equivalent in any other field of entertainment. We will never be the gifted wunderkind, the amazing Next Big Thing; we have to face the fact that whatever we have accomplished at this stage in our life was either expected of us, or isn't all that impressive to begin with.

In our twenties, we still believe that fame and public adoration are possible; in fact, we KNOW that we can "make it" if we just work really, really hard and maybe catch a couple of lucky breaks. Then, during our thirties, we enter a protracted state of denial as we manage families, divorces, job changes, and the rest of the chaos of becoming an adult. By the time we have entered our forties, we finally have to confront the truth, come face to face with the twenty five year old that we were, and tell her how sorry we are; we didn't live up to our own expectations, and now it's too late.

That's what David Cook is for us: the embodiment of the lost dream of eighteen or so years ago. We live through him, enjoying the attraction we feel, believing that he would want us if we had the chance to seduce him, since that's the only way we're getting close to the dream that just came true for him. We try not to think that we are close to his mother's age. We try not to think about the fact that we betrayed our dreams, or worse yet, we just didn't have the talent or the ambition to realize them. Our dreams are different now, more subtle and less grandiose. The expectations have become "realistic," and so we need to nurture those fantasies that smooth the transition into middle age.

I thought I would be in my twenties forever, that I could be anything I wanted to be, do anything I wanted to do, if I just pursued that dream, whatever it was. I didn't define it, or I ignored it, and it slipped away. David's soft eyes and amazed and joyful smile as he soaks in the applause of his happy fans eases the pain somehow; I still feel the warmth of that possibility in me, even though there is very little left of it now.