Somewhere Along the Way, Women Learned Age Was Currency
The other night, I was sitting at my son’s basketball game when another parent casually said something I have heard women say more times than I can count:
"I’m just too old."
She was talking about going back to school.
My husband had recently finished his master’s degree—something I am incredibly proud of him for—and as we talked about education, timing, and ambition, her words stayed with me long after the conversation ended.
Not because I believed her.
But because I recognized how often women say things like that about ourselves.
“Somewhere Along the Way, Women Learned Age Was Currency”
And if I am being honest, I have said it too.
I told her, “You can go back to school at any time. I got my PhD at 35.”
And while I meant every word, the conversation forced me to ask myself something I have been wrestling with for a while now:
Why do women age ourselves out of our own lives?
And while I meant every word, the conversation forced me to ask myself something I have been wrestling with for a while now:
Why do women age ourselves out of our own lives?
Why do we convince ourselves that opportunity has an expiration date?
Why do we act as if ambition belongs to younger versions of us?
Because when I look around, I do not hear men talk about life the way women do.
I do not hear men saying:
I need to be married by 30.
I need to have my first child by 32.
I need to own a home by 35.
I need to figure out my purpose by 40.
I mostly see men... living.
Trying things.
Pivoting.
Starting over.
Taking risks.
Changing careers.
Building businesses.
And somehow, society often calls that confidence.
But women?
Women are taught timelines.
Marriage by this age.
Children by this age.
Career success by this age.
Homeownership by this age.
Reinvention... preferably never.
And if you miss one of those milestones, it can feel like you missed your chance.
Now, to be fair, our bodies do remind us that time matters in some ways. Biology is real. Life stages are real.
But life itself does not stop.
And somewhere along the way, I realized I had started doing this to myself too.
Especially in fashion.
There were moments where I genuinely thought:
Maybe I’m too old to influence.
Maybe I’m too old to build something in fashion.
Maybe I’m too old to take over this industry.
And then I stopped myself.
Because according to who?
Fashion, like many industries, has taught women that youth is currency.
That if you are not the newest, youngest, freshest face in the room, somehow your relevance starts to fade.
But when men age, we often call them established.
Visionary.
Seasoned.
Brilliant.
When women age, we are often made to feel like we should shrink.
And honestly?
I am no longer interested in shrinking.
I have made a decision that I am going to try the things I have always wanted to try.
Pilates.
A cooking class.
Traveling to Venice.
Going places by myself.
Starting new things.
Building new things.
Wearing what I want.
Taking up space.
Because I refuse to let age become the excuse I use to avoid the life I actually want.
And if I am being honest, I think part of that came from watching my mother.
My mother has never let age define her.
She goes out with friends.
She travels by herself.
She builds community.
She enjoys life.
I cannot remember a single time hearing my mother say, “I’m too old for that.”
And maybe that is why this has been hitting me so hard lately.
Because I was raised by a woman who never treated aging like a limitation.
So why was I?
Maybe growing older is not about becoming less relevant.
Maybe it is about becoming more honest.
More confident.
More selective.
More certain.
And maybe I am not too old to do anything.
Maybe I am exactly the age I am supposed to be, in the exact season I am supposed to be in, doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing.
And maybe the real work is learning how to stop apologizing