The Material Girl. When she was starting her career, I was in college. I was listening to hard rock and heavy metal radio and she wasn’t exactly, “underground.” My roommate, however, was a HUGE fan. Huge. We had a door sized poster of Madonna’s face hanging in our apartment. (We also had a door poster of Jon Bon Jovi) My roommate was the rightest republican there ever was. She even worked in our state capitol and had plans to run for office. (I know, I know – how did I end up with a roommate like that?) I was mildly amused that she admired a woman who strutted around wearing a “Boy Toy” belt buckle on stage. That is the main reason that I was not a big fan. I was nobody’s toy. Also, when I looked a little deeper – all I wanted to do was scrub all that smeary meakeup off of her face. Not my cup of tea.
The roommate, though, still idolized. It took several years for me to catch on and catch on I did. When Madonna released the “Justify My Love” on VHS for sale after it was banned on MTV, I decided I was a fan. Talk about a genius marketing move. Impressive. I didn’t love everything she did and frequently disagree with some of the things she stands for. But, here is a woman who made it on her own by herself. She worked hard, made decisions, some amazing decisions, and did everything she could to continue to make herself relevant. Talk about a role model.
She is raging against the machine – the one that says that women of a certain age should act a certain way and are basically irrelevant. C’mon. Madge isn’t going to take that shit laying down. Where have all you fuckers been? But, here is the thing, for the first time in our relationship (mine and Madonna’s), we are on the same page. She is saying the things I am saying.
Apparently some are saying she isn’t aging with dignity or grace. What, she is 60? She needs to wear a housecoat, crocs and stay at home crafting? Or doing volunteer work? Who defines and why do we listen?
Who decides when we are irrelevant? I have been saying for years that I am so tired of being treated like I am invisible. I have just hit my stride – who is going to tell me my voice isn’t important? Okay, I think we all know it isn’t important – yet. But, when did a number determine when I had to silence it or use it in a different way?
I don’t want anyone to tell me what to wear or not to wear, what to say, who decided we had to: be pretty? Wear makeup? Get botox? Look young? How many men do this? I could age rage forever. You get the picture.
Madonna doesn’t need my support, but – Rock on, Sister Queen. Fuck ’em.