I remember someone once remarked apropos of that famous assertion by the Duchess of Windsor that one can never be too thin or too rich...
"Two words: Mick Jagger."
Sir Mick has only become richer and thinner with the years to the point where the only comparable point of reference these days is his fellow Stone, Keef Richards.
This week they played the Saga stage at Glastonbury.
Previous turns there have included wrinkled contemporaries like Sir Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan. (The original zimmer man.)
But nobody, it has to be said, does sagging, jowly, vein-popping wizened like Mick and Keef.
One newspaper published close-up shots (never kind) under the headline: Glastonbury's night of the living dead.
And they do look awful the pair of them.
But oddly magnificent at the same time.
You don't know whether to laugh or gasp in awe when you look at Richards with his cobalt headband and eyeliner defiantly adorning a bake that rightly belongs to a Galapagos turtle.
The Stones have enough money to pay to get "work done". Instead they've chosen to grow old historically.
And so what if they look like a patchwork of remnants from the plastic surgeon's facelift bin?
They're still raking it in and Jagger is still moving like, well, Jagger.
What helps enormously is that the Glastonbury audience itself is increasingly geriatric.
For the Glasto crowd – Keef and Mick, too rich, too thin? Maybe.