It was only a matter of time. A mature, full-figured gal can let herself go for just so long before people begin to notice. It’s especially true when you’re an icon. 

For decades I ignored the whispers of visiting school children who giggled and pointed at the blackened tips of my tusks. (Um, hello, that’s what happens when you’re struck by lightning—twice. You think I don’t still have nightmares about that? Elephants never forget!)

I pretended not to notice the side-eye from couples heading to and from Atlantic City, snickering about my fading beauty. Tell me about it! I’ve been standing around for 140 years now. You try it! But I do get a pedicure each year ahead of my birthday, which is typically celebrated on the Saturday closest to July 20. (I’m a Cancer. Water is the element most associated with my sign—go figure!) 

A little attention to my tootsies sounds like a special treat, right? Well, get a load of this—I’m not the one who picks the polish color! You’re probably thinking a marvelous mammal such as myself has a stylist. Maybe you’re imagining I share a glamor team with other beloved landmarks like the Statue of Liberty or the Mount Rushmore guys. I’m afraid you’re wrong. Finding the perfect hue for my toenails is a group activity. It’s actually voted on and selected by visitors as well as my online friends. (Score one for democracy!) Honestly, I don’t mind as it saves me from having to keep up with trends. I’ve watched bathing suits go from full-body coverage to barely-there and back again as the ozone layer disappears. 

Not to go all James Taylor on you, but I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. Heck, Hurricane Sandy washed right up at my feet, and yet some fans insist I’ve aged better than my King of Marvin Gardens co-star Jack Nicholson. And I’ve done plenty more than just standing around marveling at the ocean. During the first half of the 20th century, I served as an office, a cottage, a restaurant, and even a tavern, which eventually closed due to Prohibition. Still, never let it be said that Lucy can’t hold her liquor! 

Despite everything, I told myself, “Luce, you’re growing old gracefully like any proud pachyderm should.” 

After all, people come from miles to see me. Me! The oldest surviving roadside attraction in the United States. That’ll keep your ego afloat and warm your heart when the icy wind’s whipping off the Atlantic. How did I end up here you may be wondering? Obviously, I’m a long way from the African savanna. I’m actually the curvy creation of land speculator James V. Lafferty Jr., who hired Philadelphia architect William Free to design me in the hope of attracting property buyers to his sandy soil. As an American icon, I respect his hustle and business savvy. Capitalism for the win! And bring visitors I did. I’m a field trip favorite! 

Then, in August of 2021, I heard I was getting a facelift—and not just a tiny nip-tuck. A $2.4 million makeover! You know you’re in rough shape when you find out you’re a Preservation Fund grant recipient. I’m not too proud to tell you that my appearance has scared a sailor or two over the years. Even pirates were known to put down the rum when they spied a 65-foot wooden elephant on the other side of the telescope. Can you blame them?

And yet, I was offended—at least initially. On one hand, why must society force ladies of a certain age to attempt to turn back the hands of time? Just because I’m getting a little long in the tusk, that doesn’t mean I’m no longer a stunner. But, on the other hand, over the years I’ve been a wedding venue, a private home, a summer camp, and an Airbnb. It’s taken a toll. 

Who couldn’t benefit from some TLC? If Jersey Shore’s Snooki and JWow can make a couple of “enhancements,” why shouldn’t I? After the past few years we’ve had, I said, “Sign me up!”

Rest assured, while I might tip the scales at 90 tons, I promise, this wasn’t about me losing weight, though I did shed 50 pounds of rust and old paint from my 12,000 square feet of sheet tin. I’m nothing if not a body positive role model—a silver siren who embraces all her curves.

Thanks to this makeover, I’m now shiny and smooth and ready for my closeup. As with any large-scale procedure, my transformation didn’t happen overnight. In fact, it took 15 months. But, don’t worry, my gift shop was open the whole time. (Gal’s gotta make a living.)

 If you’re in the area, I do hope you’ll stop in and check out this Jersey girl’s new look.

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Liz Alterman is the author of a domestic suspense novel, The Perfect Neighborhood, a young adult thriller, He’ll Be Waiting, and a memoir, SadSacked. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, McSweeney’s, and other outlets. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, three sons, and two cats, and spends most days microwaving the same cup of coffee and looking up synonyms. When she isn’t writing, she’s reading.