Recently I was at a dinner with a bunch of female friends. The five year old daughter of one friend had a birthday coming up, and was extremely excited about it. She kept rolling up on us guests and announcing: “I’m going to be six! How old are you?” We all dutifully reported our ages–which ranged from twenties to late sixties–at which point she’d cock her head and say: “That’s nice, but I’m going to be SIX!” Six is apparently where it’s at, y’all.
But there was one friend who simply refused to give up her age. She was obviously annoyed and kept fake-joking: “I’m going to be 97!” or “I’m 100!” Cutie-pie grew frustrated, saying ever more shrilly “No, really! I’m going to be six, how old are you?” It got uncomfortable for all concerned. Eventually Cutie-pie’s mother, saw the problem and distracted her, but not until Party Pooper grumbled, “Doesn’t she know that’s an inappropriate question?”
My friends and I all shot each other “WTF? glances. Party Pooper is a fifty-something professional and normally an outspoken feminist. But she had apparently bought into the anti-feminist idea that a woman’s age is something to hide, at least, when a woman is her age. In fact, her being in her fifties is apparently such a shameful secret she had to hide it from an innocent five-year old, who I guarantee had no agenda at all.
It pissed me off no end. Not only was this woman being needlessly rude to a little kid, but she’s just successfully taught that kid one of Patriarchy’s Greatest Hits: Aging is shameful, because the older women get, the more useless, irrelevant, asexual and generally unworthy of attention they are. Way to represent for womanity, sister!
This issue hits home for me as well because of my own age. Next year, I will be 35, a birthday which is supposed to induce panic, particularly if you are unmarried and childless, as I am. There’s no end to the scary messages I get fed about this upcoming birthday.
After 35, it’s all downhill for my poor, neglected reproductive system! I’ll get desperate and baby-hungry! I’ll be infertile! Or if I do get pregnant, my children will have Down Syndrome! Or worse! ZOMG, all is lost! If only I hadn’t spent my twenties building my career and rejecting marriage! After 35 I’m going to pay for my selfish, slutty feminist ways!
Never mind that at 34, I’m the happiest and most confident I’ve ever been in my life. Now’s the time I’m supposed to start lying about my age. One of my friends jokes about how she’s celebrated her 32nd birthday many times over–about seven times, by my count–so that she “never has to tell anyone I’m in my late thirties.” She’s clearly doing it because she’s sick of the negative messages she’s gotten from ladymags, Big Fashion, reality shows and the solicitously faux-concerned relatives who ask, “So do you think you’ll settle down soon? You’re not getting any younger…”
Well, you know what? FUCK THAT SHIT. When I turn 35, I’m not going to lie about it. Or about 40 or 50 or right on up until I’m 100. The only thing worse than getting older is NOT getting older. I want a long life and I will be proud–and grateful–to tell people about it.
And shame on older women who perpetuate anti-feminism by lying–or hiding–their age. When women refuse to be proud of their age and experience, we play right into the ugly stereotypes, and pass them right along to younger women and girls.
I’ll bet she didn’t care if the child knew her age–she cared that everyone else at the table would.
I’m 41 and I’ve recently decided that I’m going to start lying up about my age. I figure if I tell people I’m 52 I can then revel in their compliments about how good I look.
I finally learned why all the hype for the 35 is advanced maternal age stuff. It’s not that the risk suddenly increases at 35. In fact, 35 is simply the age at which the risks from the amniocentesis itself equal the risks of having a child with a genetic mutation like Down Syndrome. Most Down Syndrome babies are still born to people under 35, because people under 35 still have the most kids. So, the flipping out about having flipper babies after 35 is completely overhyped.
Aftercancer, that’s what’s always confused me about lying about your age. If I want to impress people I could tell them I’m ten years older than I really am, so they think – wow, she’s got it going on for [fake old age]! Not – oh my she looks nasty for [fake young age].
@dangermouse: See, we all knew her age, more or less. That’s why it was so ridiculous for her to refuse to tell the little girl. Maybe she was worried the kid would say “oh you’re old!” but shit, to a 6 year old everyone over 10 is old. And what kind of person gets upset at a 6 year old over that?
Oh man. Awesome, and cosigned.
Though I got a weird dose of the bizarro-world version of this logic from a V.C. Andrews novel (I think it was Flowers in the Attic) in which the mother lied and said she was *older* than she was so that everyone would marvel at how well-preserved she looked.
It’s all crazypants. Thank Maude I had a great-grandma who liked boasting about being over 90.
My mother lied to me and my brother about her age until I was, idk, ~18. I swore I would never do that.
BUT…I have been lying by omission on my resume: I don’t list all my jobs. The economic pressure is cracking my principles. I am only human after all.
My mother lied to me and my brother about her age until I was, idk, ~18. I swore I would never do that.
MommaRat is NUTSO about this, like seriously deranged to the point where there have been situations where she has asked me and my sister to lie about OUR AGES so that she could keep up some sort of facade.
@HillRat: an aunt of this does this, lies about her oldest daughters age.
When I read this I felt like cheering at the top of my lungs.
I have a great-great-aunt who recently turned 89. Best quote ever: “I’m only eleven years away from 100, but with a little work I think I can do it in 5.”
I have never understood the reasoning behind lying about age or weight. If people look at me, they will see me as I am. Lying about numbers will not change the way they see me.
I’m 28 years old, and I weigh 160 pounds. I’m proud of every year and every pound!
55! You got a problem with that???
Please. It’s just embarrassing to lie about your age, people. The more you make it an issue, the more it’s an issue.
Now that I’m in my middle 50′s, I’m beginning to notice the little niggling physical problems that will, I assume, be with me for the rest of my life. I’m also becoming invisible to people in their teens and ’20′s. It’s an odd feeling.
@Hill Rat: so you got married at 15, right?
You know, I always meant to lie about my age, but could never be assed to actually remember to do it.
Although, I do occasionally answer with something like “twenty-eighteen” when asked.
Mostly though, I get mistaken for a good 7-10 years younger anyway. I like telling them the truth after that.
GrandmaCalculate doesn’t lie. She says every additional year is an accomplishment. And at 87, I think she’s right.
Then again, Grandma and Grandpa Calculate brag about their active sex life, too.
I always tell my age, 64. I admit that I sometimes add that my husband is 48:)
Amen, BeckySharper. It is completely ridiculous the way women get pressured to be younger or sexier (or in some cases, older and more matronly – cause you know, those MUST go together) than they are. Claim your knowledge, experience, wisdom, energy, vitality, guts and hutzpah for what they are!
Claim your age & station with pride! Good god, I hope someday I rock as much as my Suffragette-Grandmother-Born-in-1889 did at ANY age, and she was proud of breaking the age barriers. Heck, she had a baby at age 43 – in 1932! And she never let people get away with asking “is that your grandbaby?” “NO! This is MY baby!”
I’ve lied about my age a few times, but I made myself older than I really am. I didn’t do this for the “you age well” comments. I did it because when anything under 30 comes out of my mouth, I feel disrespected.
I’ve never understood lying about age to make yourself younger. But then again, I’m only 30 and feel really young (and I hate when people guess my age younger than I am which happens a lot). So maybe I just don’t don’t get it yet.
Co-signed! Ladies, from now on, just tell your real age. There’s nothing shameful about it.
How about this: If someone like that lies or acts awkward about it, call them out on it. I’m sick of everyone around me perpetuating stereotypes and until someone gets called out on their shit, they’ll just keep doing it.
And you don’t necessarily have to be rude to do that
I have to admit that I knocked a year, yes one stupid year, off my age when I was 28 because someone one told me that if i hadn’t worked for national newspapers by 30 I would never make it (in the end I worked for national newspapers by the age of 31 and realised that was a pile of shit that I’d bought into for no reason) so since then i’ve never lied about my age and in the spirit of truthful disclosure I admit that l’m 36 and will be 37 in November.
I never mean to lie about my age, I just CAN’T seem to remember how old I am . . . I always get it within a couple of years.
When my group of friends turned 35, we all called it “the year of the baseline mammogram.”
“…but she’s just successfully taught that kid one of Patriarchy’s Greatest Hits: Aging is shameful, because the older women get, the more useless, irrelevant, asexual and generally unworthy of attention they are.”
I hope you’re wrong about this one. My glass-half-full tendency wants to suggest that maybe because only one vain woman at the table acted this way, the little girl picked up on the fact that in this group, she was the ridiculous-looking minority.
Well, I definitely don’t lie about my age, and am actually, in some sense, quite proud of it. I’ve worked hard for my years! But, weeks away from 35 I’m certainly not advertising it (my class year isn’t listed on my facebook page or my birth year). Not sure what to make of that, but thought I’d throw it out there…
I’ve always looked young, and when I was in high school and college people would fall all over themselves to tell me how glad I would be when I was older. Which isn’t a comfort when you’re 18 and people ask if where your parents are because you can’t possibly be out on your own.
I’m 31 now, and I still get carded. It’s not a compliment, it’s annoying. I had outpatient surgery recently and the nurse wouldn’t give me my prescription until she looked up my age – she wanted my parent to sign for it.
I don’t know. Maybe in ten years I’ll appreciate it, but everyone told me it would be good by now, and all I feel is that I don’t get taken as seriously because I still look too young to vote or drink.
Also, the disapproving looks when I’m out with my kid are pretty annoying.
I was shocked when I moved to Boston and learned the women in my office frown on celebrating birthdays. I was particularly taken aback when they were shocked I did it, since I am still considered a baby in my office (I’ll be 27 in a month). I will be happy and proud every year I gain because it means I am still here! So every year I throw a huge party and put my age in HUGE numbers on the invitation. I will do it when I turn 40, or 100…especially 100!
lol – the people in my family have a tendency to literally forget how old we are. If I do the math, I know I am 38 – and will tell you so if asked – but I have also been known to tell people I’m 26 or 40, because it’s the number that comes to mind at the moment.
I’m 28. Due (mainly) to my insanely short stature, I’m almost always mistaken for 5 or more years younger. I have to fight the socially-conditioned impulse for me to be thrilled when someone says, “I thought you were 19!” like a bouncer did earlier this year. (Pilgrim Soul, who was with me, thoroughly cracked me up by saying “well, you look like you’re eight.) I really hope I never want to start saying, “Oh yeah, I’m 23!” when I turn 30. It’s not like I was having a lot of fun when I was 23 anyway.
If asked, I won’t lie about my age, but I also don’t volunteer it. I think, if I had the plum job I wanted, I would feel less self-conscious. As it is, being 34 and professionally in limbo feels a bit shameful.
When students ask me, I usually demur; whatever I say, the reaction could be problematic. Either OH MY GOD SHE’S SO OLD AND OUT OF TOUCH or OH MY GOD SHE’S SO YOUNG AND HAS NO AUTHORITY.
@misscalculate: Your grandparents sound awesome. I don’t know why people get squicked out by older folks having sex. Sex is awesome and I hope when I’m in my 80s my sex life is still exciting!
@OP: That’s disappointing indeed. Who the hell gets upset with a little girl about that? I prefer your attitude. Right on!
My mum’s in her late 50s, and I don’t think she lies about her age. She had me when she was 35 and people would often ask if she was my grandma when I was a kid. She would tell them straight up, “Nope, this is my daughter.”
I’ve always known my parents’ ages and birthdays, and when I got older I found it totally weird that some of my peers didn’t know how old their mothers were. My boyfriend is almost 23 and he doesn’t know his mum’s exact age, I don’t think. She is always trying to appear young.
My mum has never been like that… she’s perfectly open about how old she is, and why shouldn’t she be? She’s an intelligent, accomplished, fucking badass professional woman. She says what she thinks, and she gets shit done. Assuming I make it to 50 without getting hit by a bus or something, I don’t want to be ashamed of my age. I want to be like my mother.
@Isa: Does your friend have a copy of his own birth certificate? It always lists the mother’s age at the time of birth. A little simple arithmetic will take care of the rest. That’s actually how I found out how old my grandmother was–she refused to tell me, so later I asked how old she was when my mom was born. She told me that and all I had to do was some subtraction.
I have been going around proudly announcing that I am thirty all year (I’m about to be thirty one). It’s fun to be proud about this thing that you’re supposed to be all upset and ashamed/frightened about.
I keep being an annoying old fart too. Telling young folks in their early twenties how as you get older all sorts of stuff just appears to be irrelevant crap and you’ll be much happier without it. (S’true tho.)
That said I did have an age-related meltdown when I was 27. That was because my misogynistic ex-employers had convinced me that everything I’d achieved for them I’d achieved because I was young and female so men did stuff for me to try to get into my pants.
Of course that wouldn’t work after the age of 26 because I was now too old to be attractive to men. So I was useless and should give up on ever having a meaningful career and just be a photocopy slave and beg the first available man to marry me so I wouldn’t die in penury.
@BeckySharper: We’re Canucks, and it looks like Canadian birth certificates don’t have any info on the parents, just the children. Which is a shame because I must confess myself powerfully curious. Heh. I still find it so odd that he doesn’t know his own mother’s age.
[...] 13 September, 2009 · Filed under US news, activism, art & literature, body politics, discrimination, feminism, film, history, human rights, immigration, racial politics, racism, sexism, world The Pursuit of Harpyness: Don’t Lie About Your Age: A Rant [...]
[...] forbid!–old. Some women probably prefer “Miss”, because, as we know, some women don’t want people to know how old they are and like being treated as though they’re still sweet young things in knee socks. But [...]
I hate the way age is either condemned or glorified. Everyone is always asking me what my age is. I’m young, but i always respond with what year of school i am in, or something like that, because if i have to be measured at all, i’d rather it’s according to something that i’ve accomplished on an intellectual level. I don’t have to work or try to get older, but i do work to be educated.
And when i do tell people my age, 16, they always say something about how “those were the days” or “enjoy being young while it lasts.” Ha-ha, yeah, i’ll do that, thanks for putting pressure on me according to my age. Almost worse, though, is the opposite reaction: when people find out i’m a teenager, my opinions are immediately discounted. I don’t matter anymore.