An Open Letter to an Aging Madge

Dear Madonna/ Madge/ M-Dolla,

We, the gays, need to sit down and have a talk with you. We know you’re busy avoiding being killed by terrorists, raising your prop-babies and planning a high-NRG meth freak dance with Britney, but this is important.

See, we don’t know if you realize it yet, but you’re getting old. Actually, that’s not the problem; everyone gets old eventually. The problem is that you’re not handling it very well. We worry for you, not because you left your husband (that, we know you can handle), but because you’re slowly transforming into Cher before our very eyes. News that you’re on a “salmon retox” diet to make yourself look 15 years younger is the last straw. We could handle the $150,000/year blessed water habit, the fact that your last concert tour had all the charm of a Jazzercise class and that you give Justin Timberlake Vitamin B shots in his ass, but there’s a difference between being healthy and obsessively chasing after your fading youth.

Look, we’re the gays, your biggest fans, we’re with you no matter what you do. But you’re the woman who redefined what it means to be a woman. You’ve broken every taboo, flouted every societal norm and made millions doing it. With the Baby Boomers greying and fading into retirement, you could reshape the whole idea of what it means to get old. You could make old sexy and fun and erotic, but instead, you’re running around with Britney Spears in what’s starting to look like a desperate attempt to seem young and relevant.

Madonna, you will always be relevant. Embrace your pop star gravitas and embrace your 50s. The thing we loved so much about Ray of Light was that it reflected your maturity. Hard Candy, not so much. It’s time for you to stop worrying whether you can make it with Kanye & Timbaland and transforming yourself into a piece of salmon-infused gristle.