Ain’t life grand? Just when you thought women were gradually reaching a nearly acceptable level of gender parity, last week the world was aghast at a 57-year-old woman appearing on screen with no make-up.
That woman, of course, was me. Two weeks ago I took part in Spencer Matthews’s podcast, Untapped, to discuss my relationship with alcohol and achieving over a year of sobriety.
I had the audacity to turn up bare-faced, without a trace of make-up, having foolishly forgotten that an audible recording is nowadays also very much a visible one: I was to be filmed too. The other error I made was to be tanned, from hours spent tending to my one-and-a-half-acre garden in South Oxfordshire. The consequence of which was that I had the brass, the nerve, the reckless abandon and boldness to look “old”.
Jonsson on Spencer Matthews’ Untapped podcast
Within minutes of the podcast being released and clips of our chat being posted on Instagram, nasty, vindictive and hurtful comments came flooding in on social media about how I looked.
“Ulrika Jonsson has let herself go.” “She looks old.” “She’s gone to seed.” “The sun damage has ruined her.” The list of comments went on. Seeing the reception this vital conversation about alcoholism was getting, my heart started hurting and I felt an uneasy sensation in my entire body. It made me feel awful.
Yet that troubled feeling I had was a mixture of knowing that, yes, I would doubtless have looked better with some maquillage softening and lifting my ageing face, but also I felt disturbed because the comments did not come as a surprise.
I have a reasonably small, dedicated Instagram following of people who rarely, if ever, troll, spout acidic remarks or set out to injure or upset. These comments came from the wider public.
Men have never had any such worries about trying to achieve equality or visibility — they, like fine wine, get better with age, don’t you know? For women it’s been an altogether different story. We have always been told to go quietly into the autumn of our lives.
Some women have tried to fight this, and who can blame them? I’ve worked in the image-obsessed medium of broadcasting for 37 years now. My industry is vain, selfish, peacockish and certainly not for the faint-hearted. Profile, persona and façade is, effectively, everything.
When it comes to Botox and fillers, I’ll admit I’ve tried both in the past. But I’ve realised I don’t want to look 20 today. I want to look my age.
Women, though, have come to embrace, become obsessed with, cosmetic surgery, because while we reluctantly accept that women get older, we also want them to do whatever they can to prevent it.
I grew up in Sweden, probably the most egalitarian country in the world, and I saw older women as matriarchs of incredible knowledge, experience and wisdom.
As a child, I suffered from eczema and had to have sea salt baths and expose my arms and face to a little UV lamp my mum had bought as part of my treatment. I would tear at my skin until it wept and bled, especially my eyes. So the idea of wearing make-up when I got older was not a priority.
When I was presenting the weather, aged 21, on TV-am, I hated having to face the make-up chair every morning, but it came with the territory.
Ulrika Jonsson on TV-am in her early twenties
TV-AM
Presenting Gladiators in 1994
REX
A lot has changed since my early television days. In many ways we are more accepting than ever. Sexism, ageism, racism, all seem horrendously outdated, especially among the younger generations that use social media.
In recent years the body positivity movement has exploded: women at different stages and ages of life appear more frequently in adverts and films, and are even celebrated as models in fashion campaigns.
I’ve fought hard against the whole perception of women being solely about beauty and image. I’m a practical woman and I come with a wealth of experience, kindness and intelligence. The fact that I now have wrinkles, lines and jowls should be of no consequence.
I look at the bravery of Pamela Anderson, who is my age, and who has started a crusade of ditching make-up in favour of a natural face. And while I refer to it as “bravery”, I realise it plays straight into the fear the majority of women carry about going au naturel.
Pamela Anderson, 58, at the Naked Gun premiere last week
ISABEL INFANTES/REUTERS
I know I look older. But then I should: I’m a menopausal mother of four whose body and face has lived quite the life.
The vast majority of men I’ve dated in the past few years have all been in their late twenties or early thirties. They appear to love an older woman and not be too bothered about the ageing bits that come as part of the package.
I know what the alternative to ageing is and, with my newfound sobriety, serenity and inner peace, I don’t want to go there right now. Getting older is a privilege, even though for some nasty, cruel individuals, that’s conditional upon us girls keeping our make-up on and staying wrinkle-free.