Ageing in a Youth-Obsessed Culture

Andrea, a literature PhD holder working at a non-profit in Dallas, feels the pressure of maintaining a youthful appearance in her late 40s. She describes the situation in her city as nearly overwhelming.

“You have no idea what it’s like here,” she shares. “Everyone seems to have had a facelift if they can afford it, and cosmetic procedures are just the norm. I consider myself a strong feminist, but if I had the money, I wouldn’t hesitate to get a deep-plane facelift. I’m actually saving up for a neck lift.”

Visually, there’s no reason for Andrea to fret about ageing; she appears joyful and vibrant. Still, like Nora Ephron and countless other women approaching middle age, she struggles with these feelings. Even though she recognizes that our culture’s obsession with looking youthful is at the heart of these worries, she feels almost helpless against the urge to “stop” the ageing process.

It’s telling that she chose to withhold her last name, signifying her embarrassment over these common feelings. People in the boomer, Gen X, and older millennial generations have grown up under immense societal pressure to appear youthful and flawless.

Dr. Sarah Lamb, an anthropologist at Brandeis University, has centered her ethnographic research around this societal expectation for over a decade. Her studies focus on the modern perceptions and navigations of ageing. Her subjects in Boston are fervent followers of a new quasi-scientific ethos surrounding anti-ageing, embodying the concept of “permanent personhood.” This anthropological idea suggests that many people freeze their self-image at around 35-40, expecting to adhere to that perception as they grow older.

Despite their proactive measures to “stay young,” Lamb’s participants express frustration with the idea of “successful ageing.” This concept has created a strict dichotomy: the notion that one can succeed or fail at ageing well.

As a fiftysomething woman with a background in medical anthropology and an interest in anti-ageing culture, I can relate to both Andrea’s concerns and Lamb’s research subjects. One notable difference between our experiences and those of older generations dealing with ageism is that today’s advancements in science offer more avenues to fight against the passage of time. I often find myself wondering about the miracle ingredients in cosmetic products claiming to “rejuvenate” skin, hoping to believe in their transformative powers.

But therein lies the crux of the issue—all these modern anti-ageing promises are fundamentally rooted in the same outdated ageist beliefs.

It wasn’t always this way. In the 1600s and 1700s, for instance, those over 65 made up only 2% of the population and were often revered, as noted in Dr. Deborah Carr’s 2023 work, *Aging in America*. Many even claimed to be older than they were for social standing.

Post-American Revolution, however, industrialization and an influx of older individuals brought about a shift in perception. As the importance of “efficiency” soared, older Americans found their social standing diminished, paving the way for a nascent “youth culture.”

By the mid-1800s, disparaging terms like “old coot” emerged as age stereotypes began their steady decline into negativity. A recent study reveals that these age-related stereotypes shifted from positive to negative around 1880, a change closely tied to the rise of microbiology and recent discoveries surrounding biological ageing.

Throughout the early 1900s, Russian scientist Elie Metchnikoff, hailed as the “father” of immunology, helped bring gerontology to the forefront of scientific discussion. He famously stated in a 1904 interview, “I believe it will soon be possible to extend life beyond current limits.”

However, modern anti-ageing culture didn’t kick into high gear until the latter half of the 20th century, when medical advances allowed unprecedented numbers of individuals to reach an advanced age. The term “successful ageing,” coined by chemist Dr. Robert Havighurst in 1961, has since governed the growing field of gerontology.

Ageing well or poorly became framed as a personal choice, increasingly seen as a moral failing to grow old gracefully.

This shift implied that it was now socially unacceptable to exhibit signs of ageing. Criticism arose for those who “let themselves go,” and self-help books like *How to Live Longer and Feel Better* and *Stay Young, Stay Fit* emerged.

The contemporary notion of longevity is the latest evolution of this movement. The Sinclair Lab at Harvard, spearheaded by geneticist Dr. David Sinclair, aims to reprogram cells to regain a youthful state, effectively “reversing” ageing. Research hubs like the USC-Buck Nathan Shock Center of Excellence in the Biology of Aging strive to enhance the human healthspan by studying the biological aspects of ageing.

On the surface, the desire for longevity is perfectly natural. Who doesn’t want to live well for as long as possible? But the rhetoric sometimes borders on absurdity, presenting death as something optional. Influential figures are portrayed as modern-day alchemists in search of the ultimate youth elixir, with leaders like Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping discussing immortality as if it were on the horizon. Google’s futurist, Ray Kurzweil, opines about how we will “overcome disease and ageing.”

Yet, this hope that science can put a stop to ageing might simply be ageism cloaked in the guise of scientific progress.

Cultural analyst Jessica DeFino expresses skepticism about the narrative surrounding longevity. “Longevity is just the latest term for traditional anti-ageing beliefs,” she notes.

She connects this shift back to a 2017 decision by *Allure* magazine to stop using the term “anti-ageing.” Editor Michelle Lee argued that this language reinforces the idea that ageing is something we need to combat.

Shortly after this announcement, the anti-ageing industry pivoted quickly, changing terminology and emphasizing the scientific basis of products instead. The anti-ageing market is currently valued at about $78 billion and growing.

Now brands flaunt terms like pro-ageing and preventative ageing. “Even the idea of ageing gracefully has become a marketing tool,” DeFino states.

“These phrases sound positive and scientific,” she adds, “but at their core, they are still anti-ageing.”

Ultimately, the aim of both anti-ageing and longevity efforts is to halt natural biological changes, so any sign of ageing—grey hair, wrinkles—suggests failure. DeFino argues that failure is what fuels the anti-ageing machinery. With no end to biological ageing apart from death, there’s always a new product, procedure, or supplement to chase.

Before Metchnikoff’s contributions, research into anti-ageing was largely dismissed as fringe science. But now, it’s mainstream, with numerous biotech firms investing in longevity—many influencers are beginning to profit from this evolving science.

The influx of quasi-scientific anti-ageing products makes the idea of longevity appear more attainable than ever, with diabetes medication like Metformin being used off-label to enhance cellular repair despite lacking strong clinical evidence of similar effects in humans. Influential figures like Dr. Peter Attia and Bryan Johnson openly discuss using off-label medications in their quest to combat ageing.

Dr. Abou Farman, an anthropologist at the New School, noticed that the stigma associated with longevity research has diminished. With heightened interest and investment from Silicon Valley, the narrative has shifted significantly.

“When fear reigns,” Farman says, “people clench tighter to the notion of longevity.”

Farman finds deeper meanings in this anti-ageing surge, linking it to societal anxieties about the future. “We’re seeing a surge in interest just as concerns about the world escalate,” he notes.

Research psychologist Dr. Ashley Lytle echoes this sentiment. She asserts that the push against ageing may be a coping mechanism for societal chaos. “When facing overwhelming challenges, people tend to double down on these narratives,” she suggests.

Lytle and I have observed notable ageist perspectives emerging at younger ages nowadays. Young women, even pre-teens, are purchasing anti-wrinkle products, while those in their twenties often joke about their old-age ailments.

“We’ve created an environment where any indication of ageing is seen as something to fear,” Lytle remarks, “like we’re trying to avoid it indefinitely.”

This messaging is frequently directed toward younger audiences, with ads encouraging phrases like “Join the battle against ageing”—as if it’s a war to be fought instead of a natural aspect of life.

As Gen Z and Gen Alpha navigate their everyday lives online, the fight against ageism is packaged in scientific terminology and marketed as “self-care.”

“These anti-ageing ideals have been repackaged alongside empowerment,” DeFino reflects. “They’ve become intertwined in our cultural narrative, obscuring their true implications.”

This impact spans generations. Research by developmental psychologist Dr. Patricia Kahlbaugh indicates that negative age stereotypes are amplifying a desire to disassociate from chronological age across demographics.

In a study of nearly 400 individuals aged 19-77, those with higher ageing anxiety were likely to associate their “best self” further in the past after being exposed to ageist content.

Baby boomers and Gen X are now approaching their later years with different concerns than their predecessors, focusing more on “healthspan” and longevity than mere retirement. They aspire to remain active well into their 80s and 90s, a stark contrast to older generations who viewed retirement as a long-deserved break after years of work.

This generational mindset may lead to avoidance of ageing and the drive to appear younger. If other aspects of life have been molded to fit their desires, why shouldn’t ageing be the same? From my own encounters, I’ve noticed a pervasive attitude among my Gen X peers that we’re somehow “younger” than the generations before us. If collective denial exists, I believe we might very well be entrenched in it.

“We need to combat ageism,” DeFino emphasizes. “It’s crucial to explore why youthful appearances tend to boost one’s societal status.”

Lamb concurs, asserting that our largest miscalculation is to think we can stop ageing. When we inevitably do age, notwithstanding our adherence to scientific guidelines, we often face disappointment or even humiliation.

Challenging anti-ageing narratives can be a Herculean task. If associating visible ageing with job discrimination and diminished social influence is the norm, it makes sense to seek cosmetic procedures that can alleviate those concerns. Factor in fears of losing autonomy or mental clarity, and you create a perfect storm of anxiety.

“Our attempts to resist ageing are fundamentally tied to protecting our sense of identity,” Lamb explains. Over the years, she’s noticed older individuals increasingly interested in staying abreast of ageing science, seeking guidance on health and diet without necessarily wishing to “live forever.”

“They prefer not to suffer the consequences of old age,” she notes. “They wish to avoid becoming a burden or experiencing pain.”

Lamb advocates for a cultural acceptance of ageing’s natural processes, suggesting we could view signs of age as markers of our experiences. Slowing down could be framed as an opportunity to spend more time with family and friends.

When I asked Lytle about alternatives to anti-ageing, her response was pointed. “We like to say that anti-ageing is anti-life,” she explains. “Ageing begins the moment we’re born; yet we refer to it as ‘development’. This natural process is an inherent part of life; we shouldn’t strive to eliminate it.”