At What Age Do Women Become Invisible?

The first time I noticed myself becoming an invisible woman was in San Cristobal, Mexico. I was at Café Bar Revolución and watching a reggae trio. After the final set, the fetching young bassist came and took a seat next to me at the bar. He was originally from a small village in Chiapas and had been playing music as long as he could remember. We flirted and cracked jokes for 20 minutes until he asked me, “Cuantos años tienes?” I smiled and shared that I was 37. Without another word, this babyfaced motherfucker maintained eye contact, mouth slightly agape, backed slowly off his barstool, and disappeared into the crowd like Homer Simpson into some leafy hedges. I just laughed and pulled out the book I’d brought. 

This experience gave me a preview of what 40-something Hollywood starlets and my mom had warned: as women age, they tend to become invisible. And it’s true. Women’s main currency throughout history has been their youthful appearance. Strangers’ eyes used to linger much longer on my face and body. I get fewer free drinks, unsolicited conversations, and catcalls compared to when I had teenage acne. Men will argue, “It’s biology and such.”

Do I miss these parts of being younger? Not really. Dating was fun, but the impossible beauty standards of the 90s only led to eating disorders and cosmetics buyers’ remorse. 

I don’t want to bank my life’s prospects on an asset class with constantly diminishing returns. This obsession with women’s appearance centers the perspective of straight men (and self-comparing women). But here’s the thing: as women’s power and role continue to expand, so too are our ways of being seen.

I admit we aren’t living in the Golden Age for women’s progress in the United States. Roe vs. Wade was overturned; DEI initiatives are under assault; trans women are targeted by cruel people and dumb laws; and we have a thrice-married convicted rapist who calls himself the “fertility president” in the White House. Margaret Atwood couldn’t have dreamt up a worse anti-feminist hellscape. 

But this rampant small dick energy is an expression of misogynist fear—a backlash to women’s recent progress. Social conservatives want to return women to the domestic and economic cages of decades past. They want to preserve a world where men control women’s futures. They want us to begin life as pretty faces, grow into being walking wombs, and finally become unpaid caretakers for everyone else. Their twisted vision depends on women’s subservience—they want us to play a supporting role and exist only in relation to others: sister, daughter, wife, mother.

The good news is that they’re losing. In fact, it’s kind of a blowout, like Caitlin Clark and Angel Reese taking on Trump and Vance in a pickup basketball game. What it means to be an American woman has expanded enormously. Our meal ticket is no longer tied to the options of low-wage work, marriage, or motherhood. In theory, we can become whoever we want to: artist, astronaut, doctor, CEO. Undoing this progress would be very difficult and unpopular. Women have grown accustomed to being considered in ways our mothers and grandmothers never were.

For generations, American men have been seen by dint of their power and wealth. There’s the way a room shifts when an influential man walks in. Eyes drift to him. People subtly turn their heads and bodies, smiling or allowing themselves to be interrupted. Crowds part in anticipation of his movements, and a spotlight seems to follow him. It helps if he’s well-dressed or handsome, but appearance is one factor of many. It’s influenced by the way he carries themself, gestures, or speaks. It’s often preceded by his accomplishments and reputation. 

More and more women are getting this type of respect that runs deeper than our skin. We should not fear becoming invisible as we age. We own merit beyond our looks, and our currency has no expiration date. Our visibility is no longer constricted by youth or beauty. We make ourselves undeniable by our actions, just like men.