Poof! I’m invisible!

Or society would have me believe.

Disclaimer: When I started on Substack, I hadn’t planned to write so much about feminist issues. I honestly even tried to write something light and fun this time, but I couldn’t and this is what came out of me… I guess the mind wants what the minds wants!

Algorithms being the smarty pants they are, the content I see popping on my feeds is geared towards women (checked!) in middle age (checked!). One thing keeps coming up: the fact that women turn invisible past a certain age. 45, 50… around there, millions of women go “poof” and disappear (at least in Western countries – I don’t know if women in Asia, Africa, or South America suffer the same fate).

One day we’re productive members of society. We work, we have families, we live our lives… And then, we seemingly don’t exist anymore.

I’m sorry, come again?

People don’t see me because I’m in my 50s? I’m suddenly chopped liver because I was born in 1970?

Yeah… that’s not going to work for me. And I’ll go on a limb here and say it’s not going to work for any of us.

The whole “women become invisible when they turn 50” is one of the most blatant gaslighting efforts I have ever seen. Right when women get back some freedom (kids out of the nest, along with, if needed, a lackluster husband; work mostly following its course; the pressure to conform to unrealistic beauty ideals easing up a bit, etc..), and boom! Society gives us a new bone to gnaw at, a new insecurity to obsess over: our supposed invisibility.

First off, invisibility in terms of what?

Invisible to whom? Let’s face it, when you’re young, the unwanted attention you receive is often more stressful than fun. From what I see online, it has gotten worse as male flirtations turn quickly aggressive. It’s in fact no longer flirtation but attempts to dominate girls and women through intimidation. I’m happy to be invisible to incels and other misogynistic imbeciles – no loss on my part!

Invisible where? If I go to a youth-focused place like a club, chances are the 20-somethings there won’t pay me much mind. In a world where youth (read, peak childbearing capacity) is the pinnacle, no wonder young people think they’re the sh*t. So, yes, they won’t care about me. And it’s fine – the world doesn’t revolve around me, nor would I ever want it to. It’s their time to have fun, figure things out the best they can, and find themselves.

Invisible because we don’t look like models from magazines? Most of us never have, even when we were 20. That’s why these girls are so special: perfect bone structures, pore-less skins, skinny bodies and beautiful smiles are rare. Having all of that AND being comfortable in front of a camera is even rarer (I know, I did castings for 20-odd years). Plus, don’t get me started on the fallacy of these images and the male-centric viewpoint they represent.

Invisible because we’re no longer in the prime of our f*ckability? (Because that’s really what we’re talking about here as is often the case when discussing women.) As our sex-appeal is biologically linked to our capacity to reproduce and having babies at 50 is a risky proposition, there could be some truths behind us needing to exit the stage. Except when you remember the following:

-          Women’s value goes far beyond their sex-appeal and/or nurturing womb [I can’t believe we still need to argue this!]. Women are the backbone of many societies as they take care of the young and old, handle unglamourous chores like grocery shopping and laundry, and, in short, ensure everyday life keeps going.

-          Have you heard about the sexcapades happening in senior retirement communities? Or stories of people falling in love in their later years? As long as Viagra exists, no woman will never be invisible.

I feel society (read, patriarchy and the reactionary forces it encompasses) is pushing this narrative to, once again, make us doubt ourselves. As it comes after decades of us hearing we’re not good enough, strong enough, beautiful enough, it hits all our buttons.

Except that I’m not in the mood. I’m done with society’s attempts to crush my spirit.

I am not going to buy into that narrative. And I’m going to call it for what it is, the same old repressive bullsh*t that lords over women’s lives.

The only person who can make me invisible is myself. Which I did all throughout my teenage years. I was then buried deep in the trauma of an earlier road accident and the shame of having scars due to said accident (read my origin story here).

I hid behind my long hair and my only friend. I was so uncomfortable I wanted to jump out of my skin most of the time. I spoke as little as possible, turned beet red when I had to, kept my head down and tried to disappear into the walls when someone spoke to me (or just turned their head in my direction).

It didn’t matter that I was 1m78 (5’9”) and had bright red hair – I made myself invisible… And I’m never going to do it again.