The actress has always been a proponent of body positivity and always likes to express herself with her fashion choices. She has quite an unapologetic personality and is vocal about the causes she supports.
It was during a red carpet event that the actress was wearing a white jacket with a black bra which raised some eyebrows. A journalist went as far as to say her outfit was “totally inappropriate.”
But instead of trying to defend herself with words, the actress decided to use a picture. She posted an old picture of herself in her underwear, proudly displaying her figure. After all, a picture is worth a thousand words, and Sarandon shut up anyone who was questioning what was ‘appropriate’ for her and what wasn’t.
he actress is not bothered about aging and focuses on what feels important to her. She said in an interview, “When your sense of time has an ending and isn’t finite, like how it feels when you’re young.” She added, “When you have an understanding that time is precious—you have a tendency not to waste energy on the small stuff and only to surround yourself with people who are vital, curious, brave, and adventurous.”
As for what she does to maintain her beauty, she simply said, “If you want to age gracefully, probably laugh a lot, and get the normal amount of exercise, and eat well and stay out of the sun would be the main things,” Sarandon stated. But the actress added, as is having an amazing makeup and hair team to help you keep looking good.
Susan Sarandon is surely one of a kind! The actress marches to the beat of her own drum and does not pay attention to anyone who has something negative to say about her. What do you think of her response to haters? Let us know in the comments.
Make sure to share this piece with your friends and family so that next time they face criticism, they can adopt a strategy similar to Susan!
MY DAD JUST WOKE UP FROM A COMA, SAYING HE HEARD EVERYTHING IN THE HOSPITAL ROOM & EXPOSING MY WFE.
The sterile scent of the hospital room hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the joyous atmosphere that had filled it moments before. My father, his face pale but his eyes surprisingly alert, looked at us, a mixture of exhaustion and a strange intensity in his gaze.
“Dad,” I began, my voice trembling with emotion, “how was it? Did you have any dreams? Any… anything?”
He looked at each of us in turn, his gaze lingering on my wife, Leah, who had gone deathly pale. “Not only dreams, son,” he rasped, his voice weak but surprisingly clear. “I heard EVERYTHING that happened in this room.”
A collective gasp escaped from the assembled family members. My mother, tears streaming down her face, reached for his hand.
“Dad,” I said, my voice strained, “what do you mean?”
He turned his gaze back to me, his expression serious. “There’s something you need to know about your wife,” he said, his voice gaining strength. “Something you need to understand.”
Leah, her face ashen, tried to interject, but my father raised a frail hand to silence her. “She’s nothing at all like what we think she is,” he continued, his voice unwavering. “Once, she came here—without you.”
The room fell silent. The only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Leah’s eyes, wide with fear, darted around the room.
“She came alone,” my father continued, his voice gaining strength. “She cried, she talked about… about how she was only with me for the money. She said she was relieved when I got into the accident. Said she was finally free.”
The words hung heavy in the air, each one a hammer blow to my heart. I looked at Leah, her face a mask of denial and fear. Her eyes, once filled with love and concern, now held a cold, calculating glint.
“Dad,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “are you sure? Maybe you misheard?”
He shook his head slowly. “I heard every word, son. Every cruel word.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The woman I loved, the woman I had vowed to cherish, was a stranger. A stranger who had pretended to love me, who had plotted my father’s demise.
Anger, cold and furious, surged through me. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to tear her apart. But instead, I felt a deep, suffocating sadness. The woman I had loved, the woman who had filled my life with joy, had been a lie.
Leah, her face contorted in a mixture of fear and defiance, tried to speak, but no words came out. She turned and fled from the room, her footsteps echoing down the hospital corridor.
I turned to my father, his gaze filled with a mixture of pity and regret. “I’m so sorry, son,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I wish I could have warned you sooner.”
As I watched Leah disappear from view, I knew my life would never be the same. The trust I had placed in her, the love I had cherished, had shattered into a thousand pieces. The man who had awakened from a coma had not only saved my life but had also saved me from a lifetime of heartbreak.
The road ahead was uncertain, filled with pain and disillusionment. But I knew, deep down, that I would rebuild. I would learn to trust again, to love again. But this time, I would be wiser, more cautious. I would never again allow myself to be blinded by love, to let my guard down, to let someone else define my happiness.
The experience had left an indelible mark on me, a constant reminder of the fragility of trust, the importance of vigilance, and the enduring power of truth.
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