When I was 71, I wrote about a poignant moment for women, up there with their first kiss and heartbreak: the moment the wolf whistles stop.
While many regard the hackneyed catcalls from building sites as an anachronistic bore, many more admit to a moment of sadness when the silence finally and gradually sets in.
As one of the UK’s first women newspaper editors and a proud feminist, I lamented the moment I knew I wasn’t turning heads any more.
Ten years on, however, my perspective has shifted again. Here is my chart of my slide into invisibility… and how I feel about it now.
Aged 25
I always swear this is the year my chest grew and heads started turning
Here I am, aged 25, newly married and working as assistant to the fashion editor on a teen magazine. I always swear this is the year my chest grew and heads started turning.
I never thought that my body was all that special. There was far less you could do with yourself back then.
My hair was still brown, my make-up, unless the beauty department gave me some, was from Woolworths. I even borrowed my clothes from the magazine’s fashion cupboard – which was a possibility in the Sixties as many teenage models were not nearly as thin and flat-chested as they are now. Size 10 was normal.
Did I want to turn heads? No, I just wanted to be fashionable and have fun!
Aged 32
Wearing a Biba dress and knee-length boots before interviewing the author Harold Robbins
It’s 1978 and I’m 32, and the mother of a little girl, now the TV presenter Claudia Winkleman. There was no statutory policy in place for having a baby so I returned to work when she was six weeks old. I remember I felt very unfit, unsexy and truly unattractive. Other women bloom in pregnancy – not me.
But I was now truly entrenched in a man’s world. Testosterone-filled newsrooms made me feel I had to get back into shape and look attractive.
While I knew it was my ideas and energy that would keep me in my job, as a rare woman, working alongside men, I knew I could not afford to look unattractive or unkempt. I couldn’t be invisible. They wore their uniform, smart suits and ties. I had to don mine.
There was only one thing for it. The bottle. The blonde bottle. But as you can see, this was when subtle highlights and smooth shiny hair were much harder to achieve than now.
But I did have my fantastic, close-fitting Biba dress and knee-length purple boots. The uniform worked (I’m pictured here about to interview the author Harold Robbins). I look fashionable and confident and am discovering the power of clothes.
Aged 35
At an exclusive star-studded dinner, for which I’d bought a long pregnancy evening gown
I am in my mid-30s and very happy. Yes, my cleavage is huge, but what you don’t see is an even larger bulge hidden under the table: I am pregnant with my son Oliver some 18 months after my second marriage to newspaper editor Nicholas Lloyd.
The event was an exclusive star-studded dinner, for which I’d bought a long pregnancy evening gown – it looked like a tent Pocahontas might have lived in.
As I left the bedroom I took one look at me in the tent and decided no, I didn’t want to be invisible. So I poured myself into an old, low-cut dress.
As I arrived, I was introduced to the late, great Larry Hagman, at the height of his fame as JR in Dallas. When my husband arrived, he was ushered to the other end of the long dining table next to the no doubt long-suffering Mrs Hagman.
My triumphant feeling may have been immature, boastful and completely shallow, but being pregnant and not invisible, for just one evening, was great.
Aged 39
Dressed up to the nines with Sir Nicholas Lloyd at a black-tie dinner in 1984
Togged up for a black-tie event in 1984, the old-fashioned mullet-type hairstyle and make-up make me look older than my 39 years.
Dressed up to the nines I should have, as it were, carried all before me.
But the picture does not lie. A heavy workload, husband, children and a widowed father left me exhausted. Like a lot of young women, I may not have been invisible, but I was to myself. Yes, I look like I have got more front than Brighton – all of it garlanded with sequins – but at that stage I was working so hard, I would have given up any male attention in the world for a full night’s sleep.
Aged 46
Long fair hair is trendy at the time of this photo, but should really be worn by a younger face
With hindsight there is a slight desperation in the very blonde look.
And I fear, now well into my 40s, I may have crossed the line into invisibility.
Long fair hair is trendy, but should really be worn by a younger face, and here I’m not as slim as I once was.
Older chaps who are still interested in women will be complimentary, but I am aware that there is an army of fresh young women out there.
I am working full-time as an editor, so the uniform bolsters my confidence, but I’m buying fewer and fewer clothes.
Aged 49
I look at this picture occasionally and think: that was me once. They can’t take that from me!
It’s 1994 and 50 is just around the corner. I was also becoming known on TV and radio, which was a rarity for a female national newspaper editor.
I felt I should look not only feminine, but also serious.
I’d also been told the great secret of decent skin – never sit in the sun (thank you, Joan Collins, a dear friend who is never going to be invisible).
With my white, (fake) pearl earrings that add a touch of facial flattery, I can see I still think I’m in the game. Haha.
Of course, I would still like to look like this now.
I look at this picture occasionally and think: that was me once. They can’t take that away from me!
Aged 52
Vanity hasn’t completely vanished at 52 – hair, teeth and nails are well groomed
The 50th birthday has been and gone, and the bosom is hastening into retreat – appearing for special occasions only. No point in putting on a show if no one notices. So you keep everything as neat and tidy a parcel as you can.
But why didn’t anyone warn me of the consequences of learning to cook once I had started easing up? Vanity hasn’t completely vanished though – hair, teeth and nails are well groomed – but I know I have definitely left the male appreciation society behind.
Luckily my old man – we’ve now been married nearly 46 years – is still interested.
Aged 56
In this picture, my hair gleams and the make up is so subtle you can barely tell it is there
I have finally got it right. In a flattering pink dress and jacket by Edina Ronay I feel confident.
Good tailoring keeps you together. Those ancient bones, and whatever lies upon them, is held fast (that’s why men look so good in a suit).
A bit of padding here and there, and a flare of a jacket does wonders. The hair gleams, the make up is so subtle you can barely tell it is there.
I can see from this photo at this party, that I do not feel invisible. So assured am I having read the greats like Coco Chanel, who said ‘Never leave the house without taking something off’, that I leave the necklace at home.
I feel good because my style is undercooked, which is the modern way. I had been laughing with Greg Dyke (the former director general of the BBC), which I think is a real anti-ager.
There’s not so much as a flicker of male interest from across the room. But I really don’t mind.
Aged 66
My head-turning days are well over by the time of this picture
There is a tan, fake. There is a grin, real. But, aged 66, I know I am teetering along the tightrope of invisibility.
My carefully maintained, wrinkle-free face (not due to the surgeon’s knife, I’m proud to say) might fool ’em for a while. But my head-turning days are well over.
It’s a bit of a shock at first – any woman likes a bit of attention – but then it’s gone and passed on to the next generation.
Women have been known to go slightly round the bend at this stage.
They take up cocktails or bingo. Or embark upon a search for a kindly, elderly, short-sighted man. While being slimmer is healthier, it will not return my youth. Anyway, best not to be sad. It is my brains that got me to where I am. I never felt beautiful anyway.
Aged 71
Looking back at these pictures today, I think, why did I worry so much about my looks?
At 71, I knew I had definitely gone through the invisible barrier. The Bermuda Triangle where women fall into the ocean of male disinterest.
Staying alive. Hanging on to my marbles. Looking after my family and friends – and keeping enough money so they don’t have to keep me. Like most women of my age you just have to grow up. It’s not such a bad thing.
Today
Looking back at these pictures today, I think, why did I worry so much about my looks? In the end, we women should realise it’s our brains, our ideas and enthusiasm and hard work that keeps us in our jobs.
Television was wonderful but it’s such a looks-focused industry, no wonder it made me more conscious.
Nowadays, because of all the photographs on social media, I suspect young women are as concerned about their looks as ever. But the truth is, you just have to do the best you can at the time.
As for male attention, the world has changed. Over the last 20 years women have made their feelings known about unwanted attention. I feel it’s a more level playing field now.