Ageism

THIS WEEK IN PURSUIT OF A HOLLYWOOD CAREER

I never wanted to believe that ageism existed in Hollywood, especially for writers, but sadly, I experienced first hand the cruel reality one faces when you’re older than an amoeba in tinsel town.

I was so close to getting a new agent, he liked my script, thought I had great dialogue and a witty way of writing. Then the ‘but’ came. But, he’s not going to sign me for one reason. He just signed someone exactly like me. Same type of witty writing, same great dialogue. Wonderful. Just what I wanted to hear. So when I asked him what she had that I didn’t have he was quick to respond that she was a young writer. I’d never even met him, so how did he know that I wasn’t ‘young’. There he was leading me out to pasture when I hadn’t even run the race. 

I feel pretty fortunate because I’ve been told I look younger than I am, but that conversation left me wondering if I sounded older than I am? Maybe I should have said ‘like’ and ‘you know’ more often. Or perhaps I should have addressed him as ‘dude’ instead of by his first name. 

He dismissed me by telling me I sounded like a nice woman and wished me the best of luck. A nice woman. That’s the last thing anyone wants to be in Hollywood. Now maybe a nice girl or chick, but not woman. If I have to be labeled ‘woman’ at all, it may be to my advantage to have ‘bitchy’ or ‘difficult’ precede it because that shows some pizzazz and character. There’s nothing more boring than a nice woman.

Admittedly, I do still have a tendency toward having eighties hair, but with the help of my hair therapist, I’m working on that issue. And although I can fit into the clothes in the juniors department and I like the hip fashions, the ultra thin material isn’t complimentary on those of us who don’t binge and purge. So the question is, how do you look young in Hollywood when you’re over twenty-five? Maybe I should get something pierced other than my ears. Or perhaps a tattoo. I could even fake that with one of those henna tattoos. With my luck I’d end up with a severe allergic reaction and need a skin graft to cover the open flesh wound where my attempt at trying to look young and hip failed miserably. And of course I’d run the risk of looking like one of those women. You’ve seen her. The one who’s wearing clothes about twenty years too small for her. Yeah, I don’t want to be her. 

I suppose if I became desperate enough there’s always plastic surgery to consider. Until then maybe I’ll just start using a little eye cream to stave off the smile lines a little longer until I find someone who isn’t age obsessed in Hollywood and who looks at the lines on the page, not on my face.

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