Shirley Freitag has her eye on a coat for next fall: a Norma Kamali sleeping bag model in a searing shade of red. “It’s the one that that fashion guy Talley is always wearing,” she said, referring to André Leon Talley, the high-visibility style world fixture.Ms. Freitag had stopped last week at the offices of Inspir, an upscale Upper East Side senior residence she hopes to move into once construction is finished later this year. Trim in a bottle green St. John jacket, skinny pants and sparkly black sneakers, she lowered herself elastically into a leather banquette, and got candid.Keeping up one’s image takes work, Ms. Freitag said. Still, “I don’t even walk my dog without putting my lipstick on.”You might expect that Ms. Freitag, a retired real estate agent in her 80s, would be over all that. You would be wrong.“I’m going to my dermatologist right after this visit,” she said, adding tartly, “What? You think I’m going to be sitting around waiting for my liver spots to come in?”Like scores of her contemporaries, a style-conscious cohort whose numbers will only increase as baby boomers age, she is not inclined to shuffle, unkempt and uncared for, into her sunset years. Ms. Freitag represents the most senior of seniors in an aging population: a closely watched minority willing to make a substantial investment into their personal upkeep.Armed with robust confidence and, often, a bank account to match, they work out, practice warrior yoga poses, paint balayage streaks into their hair, shop and dress with an undiminished purpose and pride.Why not? “If you had style when you were younger, it never goes away,” said Eve Greenfield, who lives at the Renaissance Palace in Coral Gables, Fla., one of the more established upscale senior residences popping up around the country.A sometime swimmer and inveterate shopper, Ms. Greenfield, who celebrated her 100th birthday last fall, announced with some fervor: “We look in a mirror, we care, we don’t think old.”She is part of an aging population whose sense of vanity remains intact: if not the last vital sign, as may be supposed, a reliable index of energy and self-regard.Third Husband, Fifth Face-Lift“‘Vanity,’ it’s a loaded word, but it has depth,” said Marc E. Agronin, a geriatric psychiatrist at the Miami Jewish Health Systems. “It gets to the core of one’s identity, of how people feel about themselves, how they see themselves changing or not changing over time.”Making an effort to work out, draw on a perfect cat eye, or dress with some zip can provide continuity, said Dr. Agronin, the author of “The End of Old Age: Living a Longer More Purposeful Life.”“It contributes to a feeling that you are still who you were, who you always have been, who you will continue to be.”If they have always worn makeup and jewelry, even some patients with dementia will keep up those rituals, said Andrea Abbott, an executive at Symphony, a senior living company with multiple locations in the United States and Canada.“When you lose c
Vanity Is Not a Deadly Sin. It’s One of Life’s Last Vital Signs.
Shirley Freitag has her eye on a coat for next fall: a Norma Kamali sleeping bag model in a searing shade of red. “It’s the one that that fashion guy Talley is always wearing,” she said, referring to André Leon Talley, the high-visibility style world fixture.Ms. Freitag had stopped last week at the offices of Inspir, an upscale Upper East Side senior residence she hopes to move into once construction is finished later this year. Trim in a bottle green St. John jacket, skinny pants and sparkly black sneakers, she lowered herself elastically into a leather banquette, and got candid.Keeping up one’s image takes work, Ms. Freitag said. Still, “I don’t even walk my dog without putting my lipstick on.”You might expect that Ms. Freitag, a retired real estate agent in her 80s, would be over all that. You would be wrong.“I’m going to my dermatologist right after this visit,” she said, adding tartly, “What? You think I’m going to be sitting around waiting for my liver spots to come in?”Like scores of her contemporaries, a style-conscious cohort whose numbers will only increase as baby boomers age, she is not inclined to shuffle, unkempt and uncared for, into her sunset years. Ms. Freitag represents the most senior of seniors in an aging population: a closely watched minority willing to make a substantial investment into their personal upkeep.Armed with robust confidence and, often, a bank account to match, they work out, practice warrior yoga poses, paint balayage streaks into their hair, shop and dress with an undiminished purpose and pride.Why not? “If you had style when you were younger, it never goes away,” said Eve Greenfield, who lives at the Renaissance Palace in Coral Gables, Fla., one of the more established upscale senior residences popping up around the country.A sometime swimmer and inveterate shopper, Ms. Greenfield, who celebrated her 100th birthday last fall, announced with some fervor: “We look in a mirror, we care, we don’t think old.”She is part of an aging population whose sense of vanity remains intact: if not the last vital sign, as may be supposed, a reliable index of energy and self-regard.Third Husband, Fifth Face-Lift“‘Vanity,’ it’s a loaded word, but it has depth,” said Marc E. Agronin, a geriatric psychiatrist at the Miami Jewish Health Systems. “It gets to the core of one’s identity, of how people feel about themselves, how they see themselves changing or not changing over time.”Making an effort to work out, draw on a perfect cat eye, or dress with some zip can provide continuity, said Dr. Agronin, the author of “The End of Old Age: Living a Longer More Purposeful Life.”“It contributes to a feeling that you are still who you were, who you always have been, who you will continue to be.”If they have always worn makeup and jewelry, even some patients with dementia will keep up those rituals, said Andrea Abbott, an executive at Symphony, a senior living company with multiple locations in the United States and Canada.“When you lose c
0 Comments