At first, I didn’t notice it. I was never one to turn thousands of heads. While I was relatively attractive, I never stood out in a way that made people go crazy over me. But I was attractive enough to receive smiles and glances.
Then, somewhere in my early fifties, people just stopped noticing me.
I found myself saying “Hello!” at the checkout to catch the cashier’s attention. When ordering coffee, I could see their eyes pass right over me, settling instead on younger, bolder, and more interesting people. “That’s it,” I thought. “I’ve become invisible.”
Before, I was visible. The attention from men ranged from appreciative smiles to flirtatious conversations that often ended poorly when I didn’t respond as they wished. It could be pleasant until it wasn’t, and it was hard to see the line until it had been crossed.
Some men flirted, and it was nice and fun. Others just gave me the creeps. The same behavior from different men could feel very different, making these encounters tricky. Constant vigilance is exhausting. And sometimes, I just didn’t want to be bothered.
I wanted to go about my day without being approached by men who made it clear I should be grateful for their notice. Search for “women,” “fifties,” and “invisible” on Google, and you’ll find two types of results. The first will tell you that yes, it’s true, women stop being noticed as they age. The second will offer all sorts of advice to keep men noticing you.
I grew up with casual sexism and all those other isms. Early on, I learned I was expected to smile, fidget, and laugh at misogynistic jokes. I was ready for love, ready for intimate relationships, and wanted boys to notice me. But to be seen, I had to endure male cruelty. Jokes about my periods, comments about my body, the fine line between prude and promiscuous—I wouldn’t wish female adolescence on anyone.
At 19, I constantly questioned myself, worried about how I was perceived. And I thought boys could restore my confidence with a single word. It’s exhausting being a woman in this world. It can still be scary and requires vigilance. But I no longer feel constantly judged, and that’s a huge relief. I have so much more space in my mind. The opinions of others have become less important over time. When you’re not being watched, you have more room to observe. And what I’ve seen is an overwhelming number of people whose opinions don’t matter.
Here’s what I’ve learned since entering my fifties: the people who love you think you’re beautiful. They care about your feelings. They’re interested in what you have to say. Those who ignore me don’t matter to me. Their opinions don’t count. I decide if I’m important, interesting, or valuable—not them.
So, I embrace my fifties, with its aches and surprises. Would I like to look like I did at 30? Of course, I’m human. But it doesn’t torment me. I want to please the mirror, not the outside world. Sure, I’m a bit disappointed that I’m no longer considered interesting. But overall, it’s a great relief to walk down the street carefree. I’m not braced for unwanted attention. No one invades my personal space.
Peter, a distinguished alumnus of a prominent journalism school in New Jersey, brings a rich tapestry of insights to ‘The Signal’. With a fervent passion for news, society, art, and television, Peter exemplifies the essence of a modern journalist. His keen eye for societal trends and a deep appreciation for the arts infuse his writing with a unique perspective. Peter’s journalistic prowess is evident in his ability to weave complex narratives into engaging stories. His work is not just informative but a journey through the multifaceted world of finance and societal dynamics, reflecting his commitment to excellence in journalism.
