When Old is an Insult

On aging, insults, and disrespect of wisdom

It wasn’t the first time I saw the comment and it stung. Even though it wasn’t directed at me personally. They didn’t have anything else they could say, so they called her old.

Not “ugly.” Not “mean.” Just plain old. When did the word old become an insult? Like that alone should make a woman feel ashamed. I know I’m not the only one that has noticed the uptick in younger women calling women of a certain age old as shade. It’s funny how quickly “you’re old” gets thrown at women online, especially Black women, as if aging is failure, as if getting older is embarrassing. As if the simple fact of living, which in itself includes aging, is not the ultimate goal. When did some in society start treating the passage of time as something to be ashamed of? It makes me wonder who taught us to be afraid to become women who’ve lived?

It is not new that we live in a culture that embraces men for aging and penalizes women for the same. If a man lets his hair go gray, he is suddenly distinguished, and even considered by some as sexy. We have all heard the term “silver fox” to describe an attractive, older man, with gray hair. As they age, men are able to grow into power, wealth, and status. All signs of respect.

But women? There is a $105 billion dollar beauty industry in the United States. At the heart of much of their marketing, women are told that youth is their value. Ads target women suggesting they maintain their youthful figures and appearance. The second women start looking like they lived, they lose their appeal. Wrinkles are treated like flaws, not a simple part of life.

In celebrity culture, think about how Angela Bassett is often revered, not for her exceptional acting, but how fantastic she looks for her age. Recently, I saw multiple black, content creators falling all over themselves to say how wonderful Kris Jenner looks after what appears to be some recent work that cut decades from her face.

I don’t pretend to be excluded from the brain washing. As I’ve aged, I can see every crinkle around my eyes and the way my face is slowly sliding down and I wonder if others can see it too. I wonder when I am in a group of women, with my growing sense of vulnerability, if they can tell my age. Are the slight sag of skin around my neck and the thick veins on my hands really the first place people look to determine how old I am? And I wonder if any of this would even matter to me if I was not going to be 52 next year.

Aging is viewed as a flaw in our culture. Our society has been fed this lie for generations. That the more youthful a woman looks and the less she looks like time has touched her, the more worthy she is of attention, of love, of visibility. But who benefits from that kind of thinking? Certainly not women.

Black don’t crack is a compliment until it becomes a requirement. In our community, we love to celebrate how youthful Black women look. “She looks so good…for her age.” Problem is we don’t always protect their growth or honor their age. Sometimes, we use beauty as a mask. We’ll praise how good a woman looks at 40, 50, 60, but don’t seek out the wisdom she’s earned. If we can sense her vulnerability, and we’re kind, we ignore her use of Botox and fillers to hold onto a certain visual. If we can’t guess her age, we respect her more. If we can, we mock her for any attempt at relevancy. This obsession with being ageless can feel like pressure to stay stuck in a version of ourselves that doesn’t get to soften or evolve. But aging, especially for Black women, is not just a privilege. It’s an act of resistance. A simple declaration: I’m still here, and I’ve lived.

In many parts of the world, age is synonymous with wisdom. And that wisdom is integral in their societies, often allowing elders to be viewed with reverence simply for their presence. Age equals status, not shame. In Indigenous, African, Caribbean, and many Asian cultures, elders are considered sacred keepers of knowledge. They are the leaders of their communities. They are sought out for their guidance.

In the US, there is a similar respect for aging men. One look at recent administrations (excluding those that intentionally understood the assignment) and it’s plain. Older men are often chosen for their claimed experience, while older women are excluded after being sexualized and demonized for their appearance.

In other cultures, the idea of mocking an older woman would be unthinkable. I wonder if it boils down to their understanding that beauty fades and wisdom deepens. Western cultures are so used to measuring value by aesthetic, we don’t stop to consider who they are? What have they learned? How did they survive? Our obsession with what someone wears, how smooth their skin looks, how youthful they appear makes us cancel out their internal beauty.

Don’t get me wrong. There are many older women, maybe insecure, who have a mutual disdain for younger women. And there are younger women who seek out friendships with older women simply for their wisdom and lived experiences. It’s the disrespect that I don’t understand.

When younger women call older women grandma like as an insult, it’s not about the woman they’re mocking. It’s their own fear. A lot of people are terrified of becoming irrelevant. Of being alone and no longer being desired. Of running out of time to find a person who values them. Do they disrespect older women as a way to reject what they’re afraid of becoming?

What is the source of the disrespect? Is it their internalized misogyny? In a society when women are taught their value is only skin-deep and time-sensitive, does it spill over into a women’s disdain for her future self? So when another woman shows up in her 40s or 50s and isn’t hiding? Isn’t apologizing? That confidence makes people uncomfortable. But it should inspire them instead.

Aging is not what hurts. It’s how people treat you once you age that does. Our society makes growing older feel like vanishing, especially for women. There is an undercurrent that when you see an older woman showing up as her full, authentic self, that she should really be at home in her rocking chair watching the world through her window.

But I don’t plan on disappearing. I don’t plan on hiding myself just because my skin isn’t twenty-two anymore. There is nothing shameful about growing into yourself. I am grateful for the experiences I’ve lived that have made me into the woman I am today. There is nothing to hide about knowing your worth. About carrying stories in your eyes and grace in your walk. If anything, we should be chasing that and not running from it.

So call me old if you want to. I’ve earned it.

I’ve lived, I’ve learned, I’ve loved through things some people haven’t even named yet.

And if you’re lucky? You’ll get to grow too.

That means I can envy the smoothness of your skin, but not hate you for it. I can look at your youth and still try to see your inner beauty. Because youth is cute, but it’s not everything.

And when you get here, to the older, wiser version of yourself, I hope you’ll realize:

Old was never the insult. But ignorance always is.

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