I recently read that women are getting Botox and cosmetic surgeries at a younger age than ever before, and because we associate those looks with older women, we perceive these younger women as older. The author chalked up the trend to social media filters, which I am sure have a big impact. But I was reading a post by Stephanie Raffelock on aging, and was reminded of the myriad ways our society denigrates older women, making so many of us fear aging and try to fight it.
When I turned 40, I realized it was my 20s 2.0. I had survived the adulting decade, and now felt free. The adulting decade - 30s - is where we put aside our “childish” dreams and do as what is expected. We get married, start or advance capital “C” Careers, have babies. Most of us give up adventuring and moving around. We try to buy houses. We do the things we saw our parents do and that we associated with adulthood. We do what most of our culture pressures us into it. (How many news articles decry women not having kids, millennials not being able to buy houses as if those are the most important things any of us can do.) For many of us, that “adulting” means a loss of freedom. We may not directly regret our decisions, but we do feel the loss. We make memes and video jokes about surviving adulting, we connect our experiences to our mental health and burnout. We wish for simpler times, and inadvertently grieve the end of our youth. It is that internal conflation of freedom and youth and I think drives so many women to seek youth in cosmetics and procedures. And it’s aided by targeted marketing. I was shocked in a journalism ethics class to learn that anti-aging creams were marketed to women in their 20s. I naively thought they were for once you got old.
My 30s felt so heavy. I’d failed at so much of what I was supposed to do. My capital “C” Career never took off, I didn’t love having babies, and marriage was really hard because we (I) had a lot of emotional baggage. We (he) did buy a house - our forever home - which was a terrifying prospect. But then I turned 40. I got a lot of therapy. My kid was happy in all-day school, and we decided to move to a natural playground. But deeper in me, I realized the rules were bull shit; that my life didn’t have to follow any one else’s idea of what it should look like. I revisited the activities of my 20s, and decided which I liked for myself and not because my friends liked them or because I was “trying to keep up with the boys.” I tried the things I’ve always wanted to do, like playing oboe, that I’d thought the time had past for. And I found new things that it turns out I like better than things I’ve done my whole life, like rowing instead of running. I found the freedom I’d lost in my 30s, and I am actually freer than I was in my 20s because there is less societal pressure and we are financially secure now.
There was a study conducted by Yale Medical School a few years ago that looked at menopause symptoms in North America and Europe that has stuck with me. Dr. Mary Jane Minkin, a professor in obstetrics, gynecology and reproductive health at Yale Medical School said, “In societies where age is more revered and the older woman is the wiser and better woman, menopausal symptoms are significantly less bothersome. Where older is not better, many women equate menopause with old age, and symptoms can be much more devastating.” America is in no danger of venerating women anytime soon. (The GOP is actively trying to destroy women.) And yet, I cannot wait for menopause. To have the monthly rollercoaster over of course, but also the freedom of society having no expectations of me. I find older women so much more interesting than women in their 30s because they are doing what interests them. I concede that it probably sucks it be invisible. But imagine what you can get away with when no one is looking.
Ever notice how many movements and causes are lead or staffed by older women? We don’t have to play by agist’s rules: go off into the woods and die now that we are no longer objectifable or reproductive. They have no rules, no place for us, and so we can do whatever we want. I intend to find joy in the end of my reproductive years, in the freedom from the laws and control forced on me. I will seek therapies that make me feel seen and don’t cause harm when I do have aches, pains, or hot flashes. I will am looking for rules to break, putting my self and my interests first, finding adventure, writing whatever I want, and living my life as if it is my own. With any luck all of it will be written all over my face and body like the scars of youth that make for great stories!
The correlation between the cessation of your monthly cycle and freedom from society's expectation - or more importantly, your perception of that expectation is interesting. I think my own ideas about menopause currently lean more towards the, “dear lord, what next?” variety. I also think I have a bit more work to do on letting go of my own expectations of aging...
I def recommend Stephanie’s post. Coming to terms with our own agism is invaluable.
I almost ended this post with something about sunglasses. If I’d been clever at the time I could have turned it into a whole thing about not being able to see our eyes - so, ya know, trouble. But at the time of writing I was thinking about how sunglasses prevent wrinkles. Wrinkles = old = bad. We all still have cultural agist things to deal with. But I do wear sunglasses because the sun is really fucking bright where I live.