I RECENTLY SENT out a message to family and close friends telling them I have decided to action a Crone Club. No membership fees required, just weekly proof that we are all leaning into our Crone Era.

On that particular day, the back of 2026 had barely been broken, and already it was proving to be a long year. The weather and the fragile state of the world conspired in a dual effort to raise my hackles, which resulted in me having several short fuse moments.

One was in a supermarket and was trolley-related. I watched, OK, I judged, as another shopper left an empty (convenience) trolley in the car space beside them before getting into their car and driving away.

The other infractions were back-to-back driving-related infractions – a motorist overtaking on a single white line into oncoming traffic, and someone else neglecting to yield on a flat roundabout.

Endlessly sick of it all, and the ensuing thumbs up of approval from others bearing witness to me asking drivers parked in the yellow box to please move, I decided I was going to start the above mentioned Crone Club.

Newsflash! Apparently, several of my fellow hags have been embracing their inner Crone for ages now. Emboldened, I rolled up my cloak sleeves, adjusted my pointy hat and hunkered down to address any pushback that might be headed my way.

For the uninitiated, the mother, the maiden and the crone symbolise the three stages in a woman’s life. All three embody innocence, fertility and wisdom, respectively. The maiden, a poster child for youth, someone unburdened with responsibilities and life’s challenges.

Alamy Stock Photo Alamy Stock Photo

The mother signifies fertility and protection. It is a time of growth, creativity and fulfilment. As she enters the third act of her life, the crone emerges, bringing with her wisdom, acceptance and power.

Some cultures traditionally see women becoming a crone when she turns 50, for others, it is when she enters menopause. Personally, I think it is only right and proper that a woman enjoys this metamorphosis when she herself sees fit. Dammit!

Comedian Jimmy Carr has weighed in, following an audience member asking for his thoughts about menopause. Carr opined, “older women are essential to our society” adding “they are the bedrock of it” and they “should be celebrated.”

He pictured the crone as an older woman showing up with a cup of tea and the words “you’ll be alright.”

In retrospect, there were glimmers of my inner crone already skulking about long before my half decade. I suppose you could say I was in training.

Whilst peers were bending the knee to cosmetic tweakments, I decided to accept my deepening 11’s, those little vertical frown lines between my eyebrows, the logic being that addressing those would only draw attention to everything else.

Embrace your inner crone

So what does embracing your inner crone involve, and what are the signs you might be heading that direction?

Societal rhetoric would have you believe we are caught up in a midlife crisis but that term itself is outdated and redundant if not the construct itself. Our entire existence is a combination of mini crises; they do not just amble along in midlife.

I have previously written about a clear indicator: the invisibility of middle age. I might be cackling with merriment and unbothered with a seven-step skin care routine, but it still rankled when not one but two people pushed past me in the supermarket queue. I was in good form that day, so instead of putting a hex on them, I wished them well. Restraint, see? Another superpower of the crone.

If you have been called “difficult” – another way of saying you have put boundaries in place and don’t hold when people trample all over them – you are growing your crone wings. Scientist and global activist Jane Goodall, who lived a life devoted to protecting the environment and was known worldwide for her devotion to primates, has an excellent comeback for when women are labelled demanding. “It actually doesn’t take much to be considered difficult. That’s why there are so many of us.”

Watching a clip of Sharon Stone talking about a film crew requesting the removal of a painting, “The Goddess,” because it was a nude, I was struck by her autonomy. “Are we supposed to be terrified when we look in the mirror?” she wanted to know. “Is it supposed to be a secret when we [use the bathroom]?” She refers to her body as her apartment because she lives in it. At the glorious age of 67, Stone is a perfect candidate for my crone club.

Sharon Stone is invited, she's leaning into her Crone days. Alamy Stock Photo Alamy Stock Photo

A large poster of tennis legend and holder of 22 Grand Slam titles, Steffi Graf, caught my eye in the supermarket recently. I enjoyed some light-hearted banter with the cashier about how fabulous Graf looks.

We pondered her secret to possessing zero obvious sun damage following years of elite athleticism in the sun. Wrestling with the uncomfortable realisation that I was perilously close to declaring allegiance to society’s appetite for making us believe our worth is tied up in how we look, I backpedalled furiously.

“Someone out there is making a buck out of our insecurities,” I said. “You’d be a fool to fall for it.”

Resisting our inner crone is an exercise in futility. Time, energy and finances can be ploughed into defiance, but to what end? We like to encourage our much younger demographic to sit with big feelings, yet some of us older folk would rather do anything else but that.

A very wise person once counselled during the early days of motherhood that when you are a mother, it is ok to be a little bit blind and a little bit deaf. Thinking about that now, I see that as biding our time, gathering strength for when it is needed most.

Because becoming our inevitable crone, I believe, is who we really are. She is our third eye, the voice of unreason, the devil on our shoulder telling us to go for it, to speak up, occupy that space and refuse to be small for anyone. She lives within us all, and through the decades we have kept her watered and fed.

She is the most magnificent part of ourselves. Centuries ago, women were shunned from society, even burned at the stake, for daring to speak their truth.

Somewhere down the line, it was decided that an opinionated woman is to be feared. To be silenced.

The worm has turned. And I salute us all.

Watch out, Taylor Swift. You’re not the only one with an Eras tour.

Gwen Loughman is the gatekeeper of four boys, one husband and a watcher over two dogs. 

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