INTERNALIZED AGEISM

Last night, an older man with a white beard who lives in my building casually lumped me in with his age group. Referring to the other residents of our 1,100-unit luxury building in New York City, he said something like, “They’re not like us,” while gesturing toward me. He wasn’t quoting Kendrick Lamar. He was clearly including me in his “distinguished gray hair” club.

I nodded politely, somewhat shocked, while my inner voice was screaming, Excuse me? Do I look like a member of the “I-got-my-AARP-card-this-morning” club?

Did he think I was his age? How dare he? Did my face scream “senior citizen,” or had I somehow crossed the “gray-hair threshold” without noticing?

I’d always seen him as one of the building elders—a nice guy, sure, but an outlier in a building full of twenty- and thirty-something professionals and college kids who probably still think "Rolodex" is some kind of vintage Instagram filter. But here he was, throwing me into the “elderly” category. What was I supposed to say? Hello, fellow ancient?

So, I stewed. Why did this bother me so much?

Okay, so maybe I’m technically on the wrong side of the midlife divide. But who cares? I’m a pro-age activist who champions natural beauty, wellness, and aging with grace. I’m also the creator of face yoga, which, let me tell you, I do religiously (and yes, it works—my face feels like it’s been at a five-star spa). I’m not just “fighting ageism” from the sidelines. I live it. I practice it. I teach it.

And let’s be clear—I’m the person who can wear yoga pants all day and still look like I’ve been training for a triathlon… without feeling like I’m showing off (okay, maybe a tiny bit). I’m 57, going on 58, and I’m in better shape than I was in my thirties. But just because I look like I can still outrun most people on a treadmill doesn’t mean I don’t have my own insecurities. Trust me, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering whether I’ve “aged out” of certain opportunities. And that’s exactly why this moment hit me so hard.

I’m eligible for AARP. AARP, people.

So why does this bother me?

It turns out, I have internalized ageism.

What is Internalized Ageism?

You might think internalized ageism happens when an older person starts making excuses for not pursuing their dreams—like switching careers, getting a new job, or learning how to use the self-checkout without triggering a storewide alarm.

“I’d love to get a new job… a raise… learn a new skill… but it’s too late for me.”

Or, “I wish I could wear that mini skirt. My legs still look good, but what would people think?”

Or, “I’d love to perform my cabaret act, but who wants to see an old lady on stage with a microphone?”

These are classic examples, right? Almost too cliché to mention. But the truth is, these little whispers about aging are something we all struggle with at some point—no matter what age we are.

But here’s the kicker: internalized ageism doesn’t have an age limit. It can strike at any age.

I remember being 15 and wanting to learn the bass guitar. But I talked myself out of it because I thought it was “too late.” I had this bizarre belief that if I wasn’t already a master musician by age 15, it was pointless. I didn’t realize at the time that this fear of not being “perfect” was my own roadblock. And instead of playing in a band, I played it safe. Who knows? Maybe I’d be a bass-playing, rock-star by now. The female Flea!

It’s funny how many times I told myself “too late.”

“Too late” is what I told myself when I wanted to switch careers.

“Too late” is what I told myself when I wanted to switch colleges.

“Too late” is what I still tell myself when I think about really owning my acting career or finishing my memoir.

So, is ageism just a sneaky way of hiding our perfectionism? A disguise the inner critic wears when we want to spread our wings but are afraid of looking foolish? In my case, the answer is hell yes.

Here’s the thing: we’re all living longer. Modern medicine has stretched the average lifespan. Fitness and wellness practices (hello, face yoga) are giving us more time to look and feel good. On average, women live longer than men—so what are we going to do with all that time?

On the flip side, we’re all going to die at some point, and none of us really knows when. So why wouldn’t we take that painting class, learn to cha-cha, or try out a new job title? I could be around for another 40 years—long enough to make some serious good trouble.

Let’s face it: we’re going to live, so why not live well? Let’s take that one foot out of the coffin and live in the now.

Meanwhile, the pressure to stay young-looking has gone through the roof. As the population ages and capitalism gears up (while social services shrink and technology threatens to replace even the youngest among us), the race to stay “forever young” isn’t about vanity anymore. It’s about survival. Aging has very real consequences in our culture. Once you hit a certain age, society might as well hand you a cardigan and tell you to sit quietly. We don't leave you on the ice as we move to another hunting ground. We just leave you, if you're lucky, in assisted care.. It’s no wonder we’re hesitant to embrace the title of “elder.” It’s not respected, venerated, or protected.

If we let the noise that says we’re no longer “relevant” freeze us in place, we’re going to wither. Or worse, we’ll scramble to keep up with the younger generation by injecting, filing, and filtering ourselves until we no longer recognize who we are.

It’s time to stop pretending to be someone we’re not. It’s time to embrace who we are—vulnerably, proudly, and confidently. To live for today and celebrate every single 24-hour chunk of life. And paradoxically, that’s when we’ll feel as young as we truly are—whether we’re 25 or 95.