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Gerontophobia: the fear of ageing, the fear of old people. It can be argued that fears are instinctual, or
that they are rooted in experience, yet gerontophobia is a fear founded purely on societal perceptions.
Whilst Payscale found a man’s economic peak is 55, in Western society we are taught to hate not old
people, but older women. While this might seem like a strong statement, it is not unwarranted. It is not
demonstrated in covert declarations of hatred for women over 50; instead, it is shown in the lack of
roles afforded to older actresses, the fear of fading into social obscurity and the latest trends rooted in
the idea of an eternal girlhood filtered through the male gaze.
In the complex landscape of societal perceptions surrounding women and ageing, TikTok and the
cultural phenomena it generates lie yet again in the centre of its discourse. While the coquettes of the
digital age have reimagined pursuits of eternal girlhood, those that are still in its midst are implementing
multi-step skin care routines in the fear of ageing. Naturally, this begs the question: why, even amid the
omnipresence of feminist discourse, do we still fear ageing as women?
The emergence of the coquette subculture, adorned with bows and a hyper-feminine aesthetic, inspires
critical questions about this emphasis on eternal girlhood. No other micro-trend generated by TikTok has
generated such fruitful discourse. Branded by hyper-femininity, far-fetched idealisms about ‘old money’,
bows and the colour pink, the concept of eternal girlhood permeates online popular culture. Now
becoming synonymous with artists such as Lana Del Rey and Sofia Coppola, the hazy dream of girlhood
has branded recent culture.
However, the trend is not without its controversies. The saturation of visual culture with images of plush
toys as glaring signifiers for self-infantilisation raises concerns about the potential fetishisation of young
women and girlhood. While bows and the colour pink are not inherently problematic, it is the emulation
of youth and innocence that allude to an enduring fascination with the demands of the male gaze. Are
adult women subconsciously trying to reverse the works of time to appease it? And is this inherently
tied to a woman’s fear of ageing?
Once society sexualises the idea of youth and adolescence, women over 50 suddenly become its sexual
antithesis. This perceived lack of sensuality in representations of older women nods more gravely to the
Madonna-Whore Complex. Once there is less of a chance that a woman is young and inexperienced
sexually, sex appeal and star power towards her dwindles; once she is deflowered, she may as well
wither. OKCupid did a study that reported that women in their early twenties garner the most male
attention of all age groups. The study, published in OKCupid co-founder Christian Rudder’s book
Dataclysm: Who We Are (When We Think No One’s Looking), show that while the site’s female users
remained attracted primarily to men their own age, its male users stayed consistently attracted to 20-
year-old women for the rest of their lives. With this, is it any surprise that trends surrounding youthful
depiction are inappropriately branded by the male gaze?
Additionally, TikTok has made way for the horrors of anti-ageing to be repackaged through the lens of
wellness and self-care. The ubiquity of popular skincare brand Drunk Elephant, reflective of a wider
ritualistic obsession with skincare and anti-ageing, has not only permeated adults’ consumption habits,
but also that of pre-teens, instilling a fear of the natural ageing process. While the cosmetics industry
capitalises on the demand for wrinkle prevention among younger demographics, it raises a poignant
question: is the industry merely meeting a pre-existing demand fuelled by society's aversion to ageing in
women? While the answer might not be clear, its outcome is: girls are being trained to fear ageing and
older womanhood.
If we are going to begin to unpack this fear of ageing, we need to examine the treatment of older
women within Western society. Our treatment of older women extends past the physiological; it is
inherently intertwined with curated cultural perceptions and media representation. In our capitalist
society, older women lose their social currency while paying economic currency in the hopes of not
becoming invisible. Loos and Ivan (2018) have proposed a ‘visual ageism’ within the media, defined as
“visually underrepresenting old people or misrepresenting them in a prejudiced way” and it seems as
though the trends of TikTok have inherently contributed to this. While they might not overtly be about
older women, it is the fear of ageing and a continued existence of girlhood that lies at the root of this
generation's ageism.
The gerontological concept of "successful ageing," initially conceived in postwar America, positioned
itself against traditional narratives of ageing. However, its emphasis on the individual and adjustment in
later life has faced criticism for being socially exclusionary. While there is a shift in the older woman, a
resistance to dwindle into social obscurity seen from the likes of Joan Didion and Nicole Kidman, this is
rooted in a kind of visibility that can only be enabled by enormous wealth. Where does this leave
working-class older women or women of colour? It is important to note that this treatment of older
women is most prevalent in Western societies, in which the ties of patriarchy and colonialism are still
integral to our perception of the self and others.
Discrimination prevails sexually, socially and vocationally. Western ideals have halted the ageing
process; we confine young women to the pedestal of girlhood, in fear that they dare to age naturally or
God forbid even ‘poorly’. When we tie our worth to ageing and consequently hate ourselves for it, we
are not only resisting a natural process but demonstrating a repulsion for our own mothers and
grandmothers, whose skin we are afraid to grow into.
Words by Millie Cairns, she/her
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