Terry Prone: Dolly Parton is a lesson to us all in growing old disgracefully

“Just in case you miss the seriousness of this, let me tell you that these were not proper walking shorts, although, to be nothing but honest, anybody over 50 should have reservations about walking shorts, too. I mean, really. These were the kind you’d see on a young one going into — what’s that place? — yeah. Coffins. Sorry? Oh, you’re right. I mean Coppers.

“This old woman doesn’t stop at that. Above the waistband — your unplanned shudder is visible from here — above the waistband, she is naked. Well, naked to a point. Her middle bit does have more of the tights material across it with the sequins, which mercifully prevents you from seeing her actual skin. But it’s as near as dammit. It’s not respectably concealed, you know what I mean?

“The nearest to acceptable was the top she wore on the night, which was dark blue. You couldn’t dignify it with the word blouse, because it started just below the bust, but at least, and in fairness we have to concede this one, at least it covered the old lady arms of her, which is a mercy, really.

“What was she thinking, at her age, dressed up like a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader?”

All of the foregoing sums up the hostility in certain social media circles to Dolly Parton’s outfit at the Dallas Cowboys versus the Washington Commanders match at the AT&T stadium when singing some of her hits.

Most of those present and most of those watching on TV were enthralled by her performance, which benefited the Salvation Army. But some who might otherwise have enjoyed her singing were seriously distracted by the way she was dressed.

Not that it’s going to bother the woman who once pointed out that it cost a lot of money to look as cheap as she always has looked.

Nothing bothers Dolly Parton, who knows that any controversy about what she wears puts her to the top of the news lists and guarantees the next booking.

Dolly is a lesson to us all in growing old disgracefully.

Everybody but her seems to know what you’re supposed to do when you hit 60. You kind of go invisible at that age, so you’re supposed to collude with your own invisibility by wearing “tasteful classic clothes”.

Tasteful classic means beige. Or fawn. Since your hairdresser may recommend the same for your hair, you can easily become a monochrome biscuit-coloured nothing. 

Add in a pair of elastic-waisted trousers hiding a pair of support tights (the latter labelled “energy” in a contradiction not worth addressing) and a pair of shoes like the late Queen used to wear, and you’re doing old age the way it should be done.

Dolly’s doing old age the way it shouldn’t be done. 

It isn’t just her working all the time and getting the highest of high-profile gigs, at a time when most of those who survive to her age consider themselves lucky to be a) alive, b) on a couple of boards, c) getting longevity awards. Dolly doesn’t do any of that legacy stuff.

She’s living her own legacy in real time wearing unseemly short shorts and, in addition, wearing a face that doesn’t look anything like a 77-year-old face, probably thanks to her having had work done.

The thing about old age is that, until it hits, you assume it’s going to be a gradual process. It isn’t. 

It’s a series of sudden step changes and most of them are irreversible.

Fillers and Botox can help you stay on the step where you’ve
landed. Sure, you look slightly inflated and expressionless, but let me tell you, expressionless is a whole lot better than the outa-my-way-I-hate-you expression gravity and time conspire to give you.

Botox and fillers

The “growing old gracefully” brigade leaves Botox and fillers more or less alone, probably because they’re having the odd jab themselves.

But even if Botox and fillers hold you on an ageing step for a while, your social currency declines like Bitcoin when the owner forgets the password. 

Plus you find yourself visited by helpful gobshites who say things like “Age is just a number,” which makes you want to belt them, except that at your age, you need to conserve your strength to make the big choices.

The big choices, from 65 onward are between wrinkly beige invisible or working out if you have the money to pay for radical improvements, which are expensive, unless you go to Turkey, in which case you stand a good chance of coming back solvent but dead.

I’m saving to have work done, because I do not buy into the current view, mostly held by young media commentators, that people like Helen Mirren and Judi Dench are a lesson to us all, because they haven’t gone the way of yesterday’s supermodels and had surgical improvements.

These women are brilliant performers, super survivors, class act legends in their own time, and admirable for serious reasons.

It is possible to agree with all of the above while counting up the cash to get the next facelift. That’s where I’m at, right now.

I aim for a style that’s somewhere between 1940s film star and bag lady, erring towards the bag lady.

Four-inch heels are a must, as are bright colours.

This look precludes wearing reading glasses hanging from a string around your neck, so I went for eye surgery to allow me to see. It worked a treat.

Problem with suddenly having 20/20 vision is that your own face in the mirror moves from blurred but acceptable to clear but catastrophic.

You end up lying on your back on the floor, holding a mirror or a camera up, because that’s the best way to work out how you’ll look after a facelift.

Lying on your back on the bathroom floor is chilly, these days, although at if you live alone, you don’t get asked awkward questions. 

On the other hand, getting back up can be a problem, so, as you clutch door handles and presses, you begin to think about surgical improvement of knees and hips, too.

Onward and upward. With difficulty.