About a decade ago, on the eve of my 20th birthday, I was paralysed with an impending sense of existential doom. With my teenage years now behind me I believed that my youth (and therefore my life) was essentially over. A truly asinine thought to look back on as I approach another milestone birthday – 30.
As it turns out, I wasn’t suddenly transformed into a haggard crone as soon as the clock hit midnight like some kind of grotesque Cinderella; I was still a fresh-faced baby turning into an ever-so-slightly older baby who had no idea on how to operate in the world – who among us does at that age?
But this type of gerascophobia at such a young age was not a fear unique to me. It’s practically hardwired into the internal systems of everyone, especially young women, across the globe. There are highly lucrative industries dedicated to making women hate themselves simply for no longer being 21. Plastic surgery and the advent of AI perfectionism have only exacerbated this self-loathing into something more palpable – and sinister.
I’m only in my 20s, but I’ve been inundated with anti-ageing sentiment on social media since my early teens. After all, it’s a space that is proliferated with influencers and celebrities pushing facelifts and FaceTune on to their susceptible young audiences. Thus the fear of actually looking your age has been struck into the hearts of Zoomers everywhere.
In just over five years I’ll hit that age that most young women will dread to actually look – 35. Still a remarkably young age in the grand scheme of things!
Don’t get me wrong, I firmly believe that every person has the right to do whatever they’d like to their own bodies, but filler and botox being seen as the norm for women over the age of 25 just seems incredibly depressing and self-defeating to me. And when tween girls are investing in anti-ageing products and tech billionaires are trying to reverse the clock and live forever, we have well and truly lost the plot.
Of course, there are outliers in the form of Pamela Anderson, Emma Thompson and Tracee Ellis Ross, who have each spoken publicly about the merits of ageing naturally – even 24-year-old Billie Eilish has spoken about her excitement to age – for which they are each graced with the condescending moniker of “brave”, just for not being ashamed of their wrinkles. Unsurprisingly, their male counterparts have not been awarded the same epithet.
But in stark contrast to my anxiety-ridden younger self, as I’ve gotten (slightly) older, I can’t help but look forward to finally earning my greys.
This is due, in part, to me relishing the exploits of older women online – each of whom are far cooler than any age-defying starlet or Silicon Valley bro. As a lifelong fan of designers Betsey Johnson, Anna Sui and singer-songwriter/living saint Dolly Parton, I’ve been reminded time and time again that older age does not mean you have to dim your whimsy or lose your unique sense of style. It is important to note that Dolly is of course no stranger to the knife, joking that she’s outlived “so many plastic surgeons”.
As a matter of fact, cool older women are not hard to come by. There’s the beloved green lady of Brooklyn, her rosy-hued pink lady of LA counterpart, as well as the late, great Helen Van Winkle (AKA @baddiewinkle) whose kaleidoscopic style captured the attention of global fashion superstars such as Rihanna and Miley Cyrus.
Closer to home, watching the uber-fashionable diva duo of Ginger and Carman trot around my city of Melbourne has rekindled my excitement for getting older; there is still so much more fun to be had, fancy frocks to don and years of sunshine to lap up with a like-minded pal to enjoy it all with – and I don’t have to move overseas for it to manifest.
Of course, as commenters on this piece will be quick to remind my spring chicken self, old age isn’t all sunshine, rainbows and bedazzled walking canes.
Health issues, grief and other forms of life’s merciless blows are unavoidable, and there’s no guarantee to reach our golden years either. Getting older is a privilege, but there is a wide array of heartbreak we might endure along the way.
Yet that doesn’t mean that I have to dread the inevitable ageing process, nor does it mean that I’ll suddenly become flush with wisdom as soon as crow’s feet are bestowed upon my mug. I’m sure that my dumb 20-year-old self will still exist within me for ever.
But I’m no longer afraid of entering new phases of my life. Every trip around the sun is something to celebrate and every wrinkle is a badge of honour for a life well lived.
I know that there may come a time where I look in the mirror and don’t recognise the grey-haired woman staring back at me, but I can’t wait to meet her. I just know that she’s going to be exponentially cooler than I could ever be at this age.