We know that advertising in social media feeds on our on-line profiles and makes up stories about us from the information it harvests so that it can tailor the ads. Such clickbait never tempts me beyond a virtual exercise in comedic possibility. I am offered funeral insurance (they have worked out my age). One featured a coffin on wheels. Very handy, but I was not disposed to invest. There are the ‘weird old tricks’ often employed by ‘moms near me’ to efface all signs of wrinkles. Often the woman in the ‘before’ photo looks as if she has already undergone ‘momification’. A well-known science journal recently invited me to ‘get smarter’. How smart does a wrinkled old lady need to be, beyond not succumbing to clickbait ads? I liked the veranda one, because I like al fresco entertaining (aka drinking in the garden). Perhaps I could hold outdoor parties for other old fuddy-duddys on the veranda. They got somewhere near the mark, here, but I know how to party even without a veranda. (And with, or preferably, without, fuddy duddys of any age). Then there are the tee-shirts with slogans that are clearly targeted to appeal to my vanity. They run along the lines ‘Never Underestimate a Woman/Older Woman/Mom/Mother/Grandmother With a Physics Degree’. Clearly, they are fishing for the right classification of woman. Regardless of what degree I have, I do not doubt that there is potential for me not to be underestimated in any capacity of womanhood that can be mustered. Apart from the issue of tee-shirt wearing, particularly with slogans blazoned across the front. It is many years since I have been moved to make some up-front, on-tee-shirt, declaration of personal prowess or – more probably – some kind of facile engagement with the world; something along the lines: ‘make love, not war’, to demonstrate that I was some kinda ‘right on’ babe. Decades on, I have forgiven myself for things like that. But what about now? There are more shades of grey hair than there are of tee-shirts.