Getting Older Isn’t the End—So Why Do We Treat It Like It Is?

The year I turned 30, it felt like the world was on fire. And I don’t mean my world, specifically—I marked my transition from youth to (some version of) full-fledged adulthood in the middle of lockdown during a global pandemic. At the moment, as I baked myself some chocolate raspberry cupcakes, poured a glass of wine, and flipped on my favorite comfort movie, I can’t say I was thinking much of the transition. In the middle of all the tragedy and stress, it felt as though time itself had stopped.

Of course, it had not. And as restrictions began to lift and the world began to slowly open itself up, all the anxieties of the “before times” began to creep their way in. And that included anxieties around aging. 

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I can’t say there were any specific moments during my 30th year that sparked the anxieties, apart from your run-of-the-mill “should I freeze my eggs?!” late-night doom scrolling–inspired panic. But not too long before my own 32nd birthday, a post from Jezebel hit my feed that (inadvertently) brought those fears bubbling right to the surface. 

Julia Fox, she of Uncut Gems and low-rise jeans fame, had hit the red carpet with gray hair as a “love letter to getting older.” The post that arrived in my feed questioned, not unfairly, if a hot 32-year-old was the person to be delivering this message. 

To be clear: The author of the Jezebel article is right. In so far as any age can be objectively considered “old,” 32 wouldn’t be it. The average American woman lives to be 79 years old, making a 32-year-old decidedly on the younger side of the middle. At 32 years old, one still has at least twice as many years ahead as one does behind. And to be fair, in the full article, the author does acknowledge that women face constant pressures to look like they’re in their early 20s, even when they aren’t.

But, in our cultural consciousness, there’s a pretty convincing argument to be made that—for women, at least—32 is middle-aged for cultural relevance; for visibility; and for, well, hotness. According to an analysis by Time magazine, female actors reach their career highs at 30 years old, while their male counterparts reach theirs at 46. Vulture noted how, in their 20s, actresses like Jennifer Lawrence and Emma Stone were consistently paired with actors in their mid-to-late 30s (if not older). And “were” is the operative word here; J.Law and Emma Stone are appearing on our screens far less frequently since turning 30, making way for a new crop of 20-something ingenues.

And this obsession with youth isn’t limited to the top tax brackets. The 2022 ASPS Insights and Trends Report illustrated this in myriad ways—including the finding that the top reason people reported for seeking cosmetic procedures was to “feel refreshed/look younger after aging from pandemic stress.” Patients in the 31- to 45-year-old group were the most likely to receive Botulinum Toxin Type A, while patients over 45 were most likely to request facelifts and eyelid surgery. I’d argue that even liposuction—another procedure most popular with those in their 30s or early 40s—falls into this category. As we hit middle age, we gain an average of one to two pounds per year; while people exist in a variety of sizes at any age, in western society, a thinner body reads as a younger body.

If the Julia Fox post triggered my anxieties around aging, a platform that emerged during the pandemic brought them into focus. TikTok, which is among the “youngest” social media platforms (according to one study, a whopping 70 percent of users are under 24), is also a wonderful app to pull up if you ever want to feel like the crypt keeper for having been around when celebrities had BlackBerrys. And I’m far from alone in recognizing the way that older users are perceived on the platform.

But ultimately, we’re all going to age–if we’re so lucky. The TikTok user @heymisskelsey noted this in a post addressing the ageism she had seen and experienced on the app. “Honestly, I don’t get offended when I hear [ageist comments]. I get concerned,” she says. “Because making fun of somebody for something you will inevitably experience is a fool’s errand in my opinion.”

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This is not to say that Gen Z is remarkably more ageist than the generations that came before them; in 1965, a 22-year-old Paul McCartney referred to 31-year-old Jayne Mansfield as an “old bag.”

Which, I think, is might add another layer of anxieties about aging for millennials: While someone our chronological age, say, 58 years ago would have almost certainly been settled into a life of marriage, children, and a steady job, that increasingly isn’t the case. Job security, home ownership, and starting a family have long been the hallmarks of adulthood—if you haven’t hit some, or any, of those benchmarks, it makes sense that maybe you don’t identify with having transitioned into another stage of life. 

And ultimately, another stage of life is exactly what it is: Because even if 32 isn’t old, “old” shouldn’t be a dirty word. I find that with each year, I become more comfortable with who I am. Keeping up with the trends is less of an organic part of my existence, but I also feel much more self-assured when it comes to my own style. And while there are some age-related things that are completely out of one’s control–changes in health, fertility, etc.—ironically, I find myself less stressed about meeting some imagined timeline or five-year plan. Everyone is on their own journey, one often dotted with many unexpected detours, roadblocks, and exit and entrance ramps.