Insidious Ageism: Why are Old People Disappearing?

Image by Matt Bennett on Unsplash

Around 900 CE, the imperial Chinese developed a form of torture called linchi or “death by a thousand cuts.” A prisoner was drugged and tied up in a public square. The executioner slowly made a series of small cuts in their skin until the prisoner, finally, bled to death.  In some ways, ageism is like this archaic torture.

We’re all familiar with overt expressions of ageism, like denial of care or outright discrimination. But ageism also has subtle forms that are insidious and pervasive and that, like linchi, can ultimately be lethal.

I didn’t take ageism seriously until I started to disappear.

Early one morning on a rare sunny day, I found myself in Denali National Park. My husband and I were preparing to take a good long hike up the slopes. While he puttered with gear, I roamed over to the map kiosk to study our route. A half dozen people milled about the trailhead. Just as I located our first turn, my view was disrupted by the broad back of a 40ish man. Only a half foot taller than I, he had walked up from the side and injected himself between me and map.

Ordinarily, I would have just taken the cut. But I had been interrupted, ignored, and disrespected too many times lately.

“Excuse me.” I tapped his shoulder. “There is a person standing here.”

“Oh.” He said, stepping politely out of my way.

I studied the map without seeing it for a while and walked away. When I told my husband what happened he suggested I was being “just a little over-sensitive.” After all, “It was just some clueless jerk.” We were both sure the man didn’t mean any harm. All well and good, but that didn’t explain away the rising series of insults I had experienced since turning 60.

Small, inconsequential insults directed at inescapable aspects of our identity (like gender, race, and age) are called “microaggressions.” This unduly polysyllabic phrase seems to minimize the harm. But it enables us to name what’s going on.

Older adults are being disrespected and ignored. Older women are treated as if we were invisible. It’s like there’s a dividing line around the age of 60. No one tells you when you’ve crossed it. They just start treating you like a non-person.

These days, I can joke about my disappearance. Sometimes, I even appreciate invisibility. It can be liberating. After all, there’s no need to be embarrassed or uptight when you can’t be seen. Invisibility comes in handy on a bad hair day or when you plan to engage in a petty crime. I urge older women confronting invisibility to consider all the transgressive acts you can now get away with. New Zealand artist, Deborah Wood, uses street art to express her newfound aged self. You can see her lovely aged dancers here.

Taking it in

Microaggressions are just one corrosive manifestation of the ageism that pervades our culture. Another is internalized ageism. Swimming, as we do, in a culture that reminds us over and over that we are incompetent, irrelevant, and unattractive. We eventually come to believe it. We invite the linchi executioner into our minds.

Internalized ageism is that nasty voice in your head that hisses, “You’re too old to do that.” or “For god’s sake, act your age!” It’s the thought that makes us pinch the excess flab on our stomachs as if to punish our flesh for growing old.

Internalized ageism is the assumption that age inevitably brings dementia and disability. This can lead us to mistrust ourselves and question our memory, practices which leave many older adults vulnerable to scams. Sometimes, we disregard our body’s signals that something is wrong, assuming that discomfort or sensory loss is the result of normal aging. We don’t seek care, and the condition gets worse.

Quips for your Quiver

It’s time to push back against insidious ageism; time to recognize it in ourselves and others; time to stop it.

When it comes as microaggressions, this can be difficult. We tend to just take the cut and explain it away saying:

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m too sensitive.”

“I don’t want to cause a fuss.”

But when we ignore small insults, we allow people to deny us the dignity and respect we deserve. We let them systematically devalue our experiences — our very lives. And when we internalize these attitudes we inflict the damage ourselves.

I’m not suggesting that we rear up, point a finger, and yell “AGEISM!” whenever someone is rude. I’m not even suggesting that we confront every ageist insult that comes our way. Sometimes, it really is best to just take the cut.

But older adults need practice calling out ageism. It helps to have a few quips in the quiver. 

When a 20-year-old cashier says, “You look pretty good for your age,” implying that age is, by definition unattractive, we might simply reply, “Thank you. So do you.”

When someone asks how old we are, we might say, “Why do you ask?”

When someone ignores or insults us, we might respond, “I know you don’t mean to hurt me, but please don’t [choose one: interrupt me; disregard my personal space; treat me like a child].”

To warm up for this anti-agism practice, it doesn’t hurt to call it out when it shows up in the media. Yelling at the television can be positively cathartic.

It takes bravery, strength, and resources to fight ageism, even in its most subtle forms. But we can battle this scourge by living our best lives: challenging stereotypes, collecting personal victories, building community, and reaching out to young people. One of the best ways to inoculate the young against ageism is by letting them know us as the talented, flawed, and lovely people we are.

In the long run, this is our best bet for making the world a safe place to grow old.