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I’m 70, and I Want to Do My First Nude Photoshoot

And I want my 101-year-old mom to pose naked with me, too


two naked figures sit inside a flower bloom shaped like a camera shutter
Laura Liedo

Welcome to Ethels Tell All, where the writers behind The Ethel newsletter share their personal stories related to the joys and challenges of aging. Come back each Wednesday for the latest piece, exclusively on AARP Members Edition.

I just turned 70, and I want to do a nude photoshoot. And I want my 101-year-old mother to join me.

It started the other day when I stepped out of the shower, wet and naked, and caught my reflection in the mirror. I scanned my body. Nothing had been altered, tweaked or repaired — on the outside, that is. My surgeries had been internal, leaving a few scars, some more visible than others. But overall, my skin still had some spunk and vibrancy. My breasts weren’t bad, and my butt could be perkier. My stomach, however, has taken on a life of its own, expanding steadily over the past 20 years despite my half-hearted sit-up attempts, which have done absolutely nothing to tame it.

Living in a society where youth is worshipped, I stood boldly in front of that mirror, embracing every line I had earned. That’s it, I thought. I’m going to do a nude photoshoot. I could see it already — black and white, high contrast, film noir lighting, shadows falling just right. From the belly up, my arms crossed, fingers spread wide covering my breasts, exposing just the skin in between. The caption: “The New 70.”

It's been 20 years since I bared my flesh publicly. When I turned 50, I was in an O Magazine feature about ill-fitting bras. There were five of us, women of different ethnicities, colors and ages. I was the oldest. We were photographed in our worst bras — mine was an old lace one I had bought in Paris years ago — then in a properly fitted one, with a fan blowing our hair for added glamour. The magazine landed in doctor’s waiting rooms for months, and soon my uncle called me. “You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered as if I’d posed for Screw or Playboy. My niece, on the other hand, proudly showed her friends. “This is my aunt!” she exclaimed, pointing to my picture.

The truth was, by the time O Magazine called, I was already getting attention. My first personal documentary, A Dog’s Life: A Dogamentary, had premiered on HBO, and people kept telling me how photogenic and entertaining I was. “Get an agent,” they’d say. No one knew my childhood dream had been to be a movie star — until my mother crushed it early on. Not that I ever let her stop me from pursuing what I wanted. But I had buried that dream myself after working as a young television commercial producer, watching actors get treated horribly.

Still, the spark never fully died. Living in the West Village, I started going on auditions, dodging in and out of casting calls in between working on my indie films. I was often the odd one out, standing among all-American ingenues. My face had always read “ethnic” and “Jewish.” I never landed anything — until the bra shoot. And ironically, I only booked that gig because, in the casting call, they had you lift your shirt, which covered your face in order for them to get a look and a photo of our ill-fitting bra. Essentially, my bra got me the gig.

That shoot was my coming out. Until then, I had avoided giving my age in interviews, even as I was getting significant press, including a New York Times feature for the film I made with my dog, Chelsea. The paper noted, “Ms. Kirschenbaum — who said she was in her 40s but declined to give Chelsea’s age because of age discrimination in Hollywood.” When Howard Stern, 71, born the same year as me, asked my age on-air, I simply said, “40-something.”

Thanks to O Magazine, my secret was out. And I embraced it.

When I turned 60, I thought about doing something again, but the moment passed. Now, at 70, I’m overdue. As I envisioned my nude photoshoot, one thought kept nagging at me: my mother.

She’ll be 102 soon, and her body is extraordinary. Just the other day, we were at a new doctor’s office — an attractive man in his 50s, if even that — when Mom, the self-proclaimed cougar, proudly announced her age. Then she added, “And my boobs are perky. They don’t hang down.”

She’s not wrong. She has no cellulite, her skin is not crepey and her ankles are thin — remarkable. I keep telling her she should donate her body to science.

So, I thought, why not include her? A mother-daughter nude photoshoot. The same pose. The same framing. A side-by-side of two women, 70 and 101, defying expectations.

Women like Helen Mirren, 79, who posed topless for a cancer charity campaign at 72, or in 2023, then-81-year-old Martha Stewart posed for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, becoming the magazine’s oldest cover model and demonstrating that beauty and confidence are timeless. Even Jane Fonda in 2021, 83 at the time, graced Harper’s Bazaar looking stunning and fully embracing her years. These women have helped redefine what it means to age gracefully, boldly and unapologetically.

I can already hear the reactions. Shock. Admiration. Discomfort. Laughter. Maybe all of the above. But what better way to challenge the way society views aging? What better way to say, “This is what it looks like to be fully alive”?

We’ve both earned our bodies. We’ve both earned our stories. And we’re ready to bare it all.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.

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