Dear BMW,
Forgive me if I sound incredibly vain, shallow and elitist, and maybe I am. But I need to speak my truth. My husband and I are both 42. We have been married for 15 years, have three beautiful children and live a comfortable, affluent life in Area 10, Lilongwe.
Let’s call him DJ. He is a high-earning consultant, an amazing father and a genuinely good person. Our finances are solid and overall, we are blessed. The problem, Biggie, is that DJ has completely allowed himself to become an aesthetic disaster.
When we met in our 20s, we were the ultimate power couple. We were both corporate, stylish and physically fit. But over the last few years, DJ has aged at terrifying speed. His hair is entirely grey and receding, he has developed a massive, soft potbelly from too much braai meat and zero exercise. His wardrobe consists of oversized, faded polo shirts and sandals. He looks pale, perpetually exhausted and like he belongs in a retirement home.
As for me, BMW, yhoo! I am aging like fine wine. I hit the gym five days a week, I do intermittent fasting, I have a strict skincare routine and my body is toned and curvy in all the right places. When I dress up to go out for cocktails with my girls at the high-end spots in the city, I turn heads because of my Nyashi. I get hit on by successful, handsome men in their 30s who assume I am single.
The issue now is that I am deeply embarrassed to be seen with my own husband. When we walk into a restaurant together, people look at us and assume he is my wealthy uncle or my driver. I tried gently suggesting that he joins my gym or start lifting weights, but he just laughs and says he is content with his current status and that his annual medical check-up says his cholesterol is fine.
I am feeling so frustrated, bored, and resentful. I feel like I am chained to an old man while I still have so much heat and fire left in me. I am seriously considering packing my bags and finding a man who actually matches my energy and look. Should I leave him?
The fine wine wife,
Via WhatsApp, Area 10, Lilongwe
Hi fine wine wife,
Let me begin by validating one modern truth: women in their late 30s and early 40s today are absolutely running the show. Thanks to yoga, clean eating and good high-waisted denim, a lot of 40-year-old mothers in Malawi are looking sharper and tighter than 20-something-year-olds who spend their entire youth sitting on couches eating fast food and scrolling through TikTok.
But let me give you a very necessary reality check, Mwali. You need to approach this modern “I am 40 and flawless” arrogance with extreme caution. No matter how many squats you do and no matter how much your mirror flatters you today, gravity is an undefeated champion. Time is an undefeated fiscal discipline; it collects from everyone.
You think you are 25 because you have a flat tummy and a tight outfit, but your biological clock does not read your gym membership card. Your internal organs are exactly 42 years old.
I have a 52-year-old friend, a corporate big shot, who also thought he was an ageless deity because he ran marathons. Last month at a corporate sports day, he decided to sprint against 22-year-old interns to impress the crowd. By the 30-metre mark, his hamstring snapped with a sound like a dry branch breaking. He had to be carried off the pitch on a plastic stretcher, groaning in agony, his dignity completely destroyed.
I also know a classy lady from Blantyre who went to a high-energy dance fitness class to show the young girls “how it’s done.” She was twerking and dropping to the floor like a teenager. On her third drop, her knee locked, her meniscus tore and she had to be evacuated from the studio by paramedics while wearing neon spandex.
It is wonderful that your body has responded well after bringing three human beings into this world. Bless your personal trainer for that. But to look down on a loyal, hardworking, loving husband who has sweated for 15 years to give you an Area 10 lifestyle just because he has a receding hairline and a potbelly is peak childishness.
Do you think those 30-something-year-old boys cat-calling you at the cocktail bars want to build a life with you? They just want to test drive the sports car; they have no intention of paying for the insurance, the maintenance, or looking after your three kids.
Appreciate your husband. The grey hair and the exhaustion you see on him are the physical receipts of the stress he has carried to ensure you can afford your gym memberships and your comfortable life.
Enjoy your fitness, continue looking good, but do it to inspire your partner, not to insult him. Because believe me, a day is coming when your knees will start clicking when it rains, your metabolism will shut down, and those catcalls on the street will completely vanish. And when that day comes, the young boys at the bar won’t even look your way, but this same “dad bod” husband will be the one sitting by your bedside, rubbing your back with wintergreen oil when the arthritis kicks in.
Osamapanga chibwana chammtundu umenewu! Take care of your man!
All the best,
Big Man Wamkulu
