Feeling Invisible

I must say, I love being in my 50s. There’s something truly liberating about it. Like wisdom—there’s definitely that. 54-year-old me has a whole lot to say to 24-year-old me like choose the path you want to take instead of listening to what others believe you should do, or get out of that toxic relationship ASAP, also stop worrying about the way you look because women your age are always seen (maybe not listened to, but definitely seen).

Then there’s the not caring as much about what other people think. That’s truly freeing, too. It’s nice to not give a fuck about someone else’s opinion. Whereas, in my youth, I cared what everyone thought of me. It was exhausting.

But while both wisdom and being dismissive of other’s opinions are well-earned aspects of being 50+, there are also drawbacks. Such as invisibility.

Now let me tell you, I like blending in as much as any other introvert on the planet. I want to do my thing and not constantly be evaluated for how I’m doing it or what I look like when I’m carrying it out. But being invisible when you hit 50 (maybe even 45) is a whole different thing.

Let’s talk about that for a minute. Invisibility. When a woman is in her twenties or thirties, people notice her. They acknowledge her existence, sometimes in ways that are unwanted, but they are aware that she takes up space in the world and they like having her in it. She’s often fun to look at, even fantasize about. Younger women epitomize the ideal picture of what a woman should look like: smooth skin without sun spots, shiny (non-gray hair), a figure unmarred by gravity or hormonal shifts. They’re the portrait of fertility, which probably finds its place somewhere in the simian brain.

Older women (typically over 45) often wind up fading into the human landscape. We’re more like barriers people need to go around, but otherwise unnoteworthy. For the greater part, we’re no longer considered societally attractive with our wrinkles, expanding waist lines, and scars from childbirth and/or surgeries. We’re no longer in “pristine” condition. We’re not worthy of double takes or lingering stares because we blend in the with the scenery. Or…our signs of aging stand out enough to warrant someone to look away. People (many men) don’t want to see varicose veins, sagging breasts; they don’t want to witness the natural course of getting older. Not in women. From a societal standpoint, it’s considered repulsive; unnatural.

We’re encouraged to color our hair (either in a salon or over our own sinks); buy anti-aging products that (when added up) cost the amount of a small mortgage payment; get Botox injections; take collagen peptides; get facial peels; have plastic surgery; just simply look younger. At the same time, we’re shamed for wearing clothes that are considered too young for us.

Short-short are a no-no.

Miniskirts? Girl, aren’t you too old for those?

Bikinis are absolutely and unequivocally out of the question.

Your midriff peeking out with its muffin top? Better cover that shit up. Better yet, just buy a longer, age-appropriate shirt. Maybe with a floral pattern on it. You know, something your grandma might have worn in the 1970s.

Think those heavy, bangled earrings look cute on the department store carrousel? Don’t even think about holding them up to your ears. Those are for 25-year-olds.

Considering a pair of strappy, high heels? Girlfriend, get your ass over to the section with the modest heels. No wait, how a nice pair of orthopedic shoes while you’re at it?

So what’s a woman to do? If we’re supposed to look like we blend in with the scenery, then maybe we should opt for something comfortable like a sweatshirt. I googled what women over 50 are “not supposed to wear”, and guess what? Hoodies are off the menu, too. Apparently, they don’t do anything for our figures, but we’re not allowed to have those anyway, so I just don’t get it. Apparently, the world and social media are conspiring to keep us invisible. The message seems loud and clear: Maybe just disappear, and we’ll all be better off. After all, it’s hard to control a woman who is in control of herself and doesn’t give a damn about people’s perceptions of her.

We’re given a series of messages that tend to be confusing. When media outlets tell us to embrace our age, that’s not truly what they’re saying. That’s evident in the platitudes I often hear spouted about other woman and myself:

You look good for your age.

You don’t look your age.

I never would have guessed you’re [insert age here].

All implying that we need to strive to appear younger without…appearing younger.

This mixed messaging is absolute shit. I went out to the Google and found all sorts of disgusting articles telling us what we must and must not do after 50: find the right balance of slouchy and polished clothing (what the actual fuck does that mean?); ditch the all-black wardrobe; simplify your accessories; find a bra that props up your boobs; avoid powder-based cosmetics since they add texture to skin that’s already gaining texture with the onslaught of years.

24-year-old me would have taken all of that to heart. And, to be frank, she did. She bought clothing based on magazine recommendations. If Glamour told me to purge my closet of all denim, I would have done it. But today’s me—54-year-old me—calls bullshit. That’s the beauty of wisdom in all of this. We see that none of society’s expectations mean jack. If we become secure enough with our inner selves, we no longer care what others think of the loose skin at our necks or the post-menopausal weight around the middle.

How about just being ourselves? Wearing what we enjoy? If I’m in a mood to wear all black—and there are many of those days where I’m not feeling all too colorful—then I sure as hell am going to put on black. As for hoodies? I have a whole section in my closet devoted to them, and I know I look pretty damned good in them as well, plus they’re comfortable. If I want to wear a form-fitting tank top to the gym to show off the muscle tone I’ve been working so hard to achieve over the last seven months (and believe me, it’s much harder to keep fit and show gains after 50), then I’m going to wear it and not give a shit about what the other gym rats think.

At 54, I am so very tired of being told how to be in the world. I no longer want to follow the code of what it means to operate as a woman in today’s society: how I should behave, the way I need to look, what I should wear so as not to offend other people in my orbit. I’m proclaiming it now: I’VE HAD ENOUGH!

Women as a whole are under such tremendous scrutiny, and that’s even more true the older we get. I like my sunspots because they tell of all the times I spent hiking in the national parks and rock climbing in cool places such as Joshua Tree. I’m grateful for the scar on my abdomen because it meant I was afforded the privilege of being sliced open for my younger son to be born. I adore my gray hair (with it’s cool white stripe down the side) because it means I’m embracing my age and not having to spend time and money on having my hair highlighted or colored or both; it gives me more free time to care about things that matter, such as my living son, my writing, reading, and my real estate business.

We women devote way too much time to doing what society thinks we should. It’s time to do what we intuitively know is best for us, which is fully embracing who we are, and that unquestionably includes aging. 

And as a sidenote: I know there will be haters that say this sort of blog post is merely one woman's resentment over losing her beauty. They may suggest that it's a response to jealousy of younger women. That is absolutely not it. At all. I appreciate how beautiful women are...at any age. And I think the rest of society needs to be more forward-thinking. They need to stop with the Dorian Gray-ish approach to people and life and, further, stop fixating on the Fountain of Youth. Because, let's face it: if we're lucky to live a full life, aging is natural. It should be celebrated rather than stigmatized.