The Batwing dilemma—to bare or not to bare

The tyranny of Michelle Obama's arms.

I have never had slim, toned upper arms.  Or actually slim, toned anything.

  As a young woman I made sure to wear at least elbow length sleeves to cover up my well marbled biceps.   As I hit menopause, I got hotter and sweatier.  Since long sleeves just didn’t cut it on hot days, I compromised and started wearing short sleeves.   Not sleeveless mind you—no tank tops—but shortish t-shirts and blouses.   I searched for ¾ sleeves but as anyone who has shopped for them knows, they are few and far between. So, bowing to comfort before modesty, I’ve stuck to short sleeves into my seventies.  When I find lightweight “elbow length” t-shirts I snap them up.   

I have long ago given up on the effort to disguise my age.  My hair is gray, my face un-made-up, my clothes utilitarian.   I admit it.  I’ve let myself go.  I’m not proud of this capitulation.  I admire older women who put on makeup and heels and make the effort.  I’m just not among them.

I wish I could be proud and defiant about my lack of vanity.  But the truth is I am ambivalent about it, especially when it comes to showing my upper arms which, along with the rest of me, have succumbed to gravity.   Batwings, as flabby upper arms are so offensively called, are, like gray hair, a sign of age that youth-oriented baby boomers are obsessed with covering up.   

We don’t all have batwings.  Some of my friends still have slim upper arms and wear sleeveless tops unselfconsciously.   I surreptiously stare at their arms and succumb to envy. 

Faces can be repaired with fillers and Botox.  Upper arms are unfixable without major surgery. 

 Jane Fonda, who just turned eighty, bemoaned her supposed batwings on Grace and Frankie a few seasons back by wiggling her underarms back and forth pretending they actually had fat on them.   They barely moved.   I bet that if she actually did have underarm flab, she wouldn’t have been showing it off.  Her face, of course, has been so transformed by surgery it’s hardly recognizable, but her arms are still hers. 

I pay close attention to the sleeves of the aging stars on the red carpet and elsewhere.  It used to be the fashion to wear short sleeves in the summer and long in the winter, which makes sense, but ever since Michelle Obama started a trend by showing off toned upper arms no matter the weather, sleevelessness has become de riguer in all seasons. The hosts of the Today show go sleeveless even when it’s snowing in Rockefeller Center right outside their window. 

Not everyone of a certain age follows the sleeveless trend, however.  Perfectly-coiffed and fashionable Joy Behar, 78, of the View, always wears sleeves.     That ultimate icon of agelessness, Helen Mirren, 76, wears glamorous low-cut gowns on the red carpet that always cover her upper arms.  Judy Dench, 81, is known for her gorgeous, long-sleeved red-carpet gowns.  Susan Sarandon, 74, wore a low-cut bra with a suit jacket to the SAG awards a few years ago.  She got to be sexy and trendy without baring her arms.  Go Susan!!   You may see Jane Fonda without sleeves but not her co-star, Lily Tomlin, 82, whose signature look is flowing bohemian prints.

I do have one friend with serious batwings who always goes sleeveless because, she says, she gets too hot with her arms covered.  She’s a very animated speaker and I used to find myself unable to look away from her arms while she waved them around to make a point.   One day she caught me at it and asked why I was always looking at her arms.   

That was my wake-up call.  Why WAS I always looking at her arms?  Why did I care?  Why wasn’t I admiring her for her lack of self-consciousness?

In fact, I did admire her for her insistence on putting comfort before artifice.   I admire all the old ladies who don’t give a damn about aging, who defiantly look their age. It took me a while, but I wound up admiring Barbara Bush despite her party affiliation for her gray hair and unreconstructed face--for not tarting herself up like other first ladies. 

But for me, and I suspect, for many of us, this attitude is a work in progress.  It’s layered over my mother’s voice “Erica, you really shouldn’t wear those jeans.  Your behind is much too big.”  Little did she know that my behind would eventually become fashionable.

I don’t think batwings will ever be fashionable. Neither will aging faces on women.  But that’s no reason to bow to the cruel dictates of fashion.  We need to stand our ground, in our Birkenstocks, and insist on growing old gracefully—batwings and all.