Former model Jilly Johnson, 60, lives in Hertfordshire with her husband Ashley. She says:

 

I’ll never forget it. I was crossing the road to enter Selfridges department store in London when I caught a glimpse of a tubby woman reflected in the shop’s huge windows. When her strides started to mirror mine, it hit me: she was me.
I was completely taken aback, and as people rushed past me, I stood stock-still in the middle of the road staring at my reflection. I didn’t look willowy and light, as I’d always been. On that day, aged 42, I looked dumpy and middle-aged.


I was only 15 when I first hit the modelling scene, and I soon realised that although I didn’t have perfect features, with the right poses, in the right light and by drawing attention to my best bits, I could stop traffic.
I had a svelte figure and long legs, so swimwear, hosiery and glamour modelling were my forte and I was very successful.
Still, it was a massive shock when I realised I was no longer lean, lithe and youthful — at least, in comparison to the way I’d been. I convinced myself that it must be a bad angle, but in reality, it was the start of a difficult process of coming to terms with ageing throughout my 40s and 50s.
I was battling all the time, trying to turn back the clock with the odd jab of Botox and expensive beauty products.
Perhaps the nadir was a few years ago, when I hailed a taxi and the cabbie asked me: ‘Didn’t you used to be that Jilly Johnson?’
‘Yes, I think I did,’ I replied. It was a stark reminder that I bore only a passing resemblance to the glamorous woman I had been in the Seventies.
Thankfully, I’d already learned to have a sense of humour about ageing by that point. Now, I don’t bother with expensive brands and treatments; I just try to throw my shoulders back, suck everything in and walk with confidence.