The middle of life can be an exciting time of revelations and personal transformation and growth, not to mention great sex. Who cares if you're no longer being oggled at? By Angela Barnett
It was the third headline I’d read in a week about menopausal, middle-aged women feeling invisible, how nobody sees them waiting at bars and café counters. It got my attention because I am a menopausal woman (although I prefer the title Gen Xer), and it annoyed me.
"Who cares?" I asked my laptop, but nobody heard because if I'm invisible, I'm probably inaudible as well.
Frankly, I'm sick of reading about this phenomenon: the dreaded invisibility that comes with middle age! The loss of the (male) gaze!
I prefer that other type of story that's emerging – the ones about how how Gen X women are having excellent sex. As the New York Times recently pointed out, my generation of women began having sex earlier than any other, were single for longer than their parents, and while other (even younger) generations appear to be having less sex, Gen X is "shaping up to be possibly the sexiest generation on record".
Menopausal women might not be visible in clubs – ugh, too hot, it’s easier to find potential dates on Bumble or Hinge – but by the middle years, women of all persuasions are in charge of their own sexuality, they know what they want, and what they don't. For some, staying home alone and enjoying the sex scenes in The Hunting Wives might be the perfect level of steaminess. Others require more. What's gone is the performative factor of sex because it's expected rather than desired.
The invisible narrative assumes the visibility in younger years was welcome. Many women didn’t appreciate the gaze, so why would we complain about losing it? Eyeballs on the street to burrow beneath your outfits. People commenting about how you’d grown, while staring at the newly acquired bulbs on your chest. Not feeling safe to walk or ride home at night. Being judged for looking young at work ("what would you know?") and then in the blink of an eye served up tropes like MILF and Cougar in our 30s. Many women don't want be reduced, categorised, or valued by their appearance at any age, not just our fifties.
I’d prefer a reframe. Ageing isn’t just a one-way descent into oblivion, and adulthood is not a one-off event we have a shot at in our twenties. It’s ongoing. Psychologists view the middle years as a time of transformation, similar to the teenage years. Carl Jung wrote about how the first half of our lives is focused on individuation, ego building, careers, families, becoming something, success. Then, after the middle years (which can be muddly as we figure out what the hell we’re all here for), it’s usually more purpose-driven, legacy-building and community-focused. It can be a quietly powerful time, not least for women. It’s OK, and sometimes necessary during any time of transformation to withdraw, to go inwards, like caterpillars, before emerging transformed. Having fewer eyes on you while you figure out this new part is helpful.
I want to read stories about that.
An exciting time of life
The middle is the juicy part of any story. It’s a time of suspense, when choices are more crucial as they lead to different conclusions. Things are swinging at you in middle age – kids are leaving, parents need care or pass away, separations are rife, there's loss and grief, and there's change. As the main character in the story of your life, how you get through this time is the interesting stuff. You learn you can’t control the uncontrollable. Like the hormone-fueled, eye-rolling, rollercoaster time of teenage years, maybe you come out the other side of the murky menopausal middles transformed. Wiser. Calmer. Generous. Giving not just fewer, but zero f##ks.
Actor Gillian Anderson said the best part of being over 50 is less worry. “The great misconception is that women over 50 shouldn’t bother – dating, starting a business, pursuing dreams," she said, admittedly in promotion for collagen cream, but at least she wasn’t complaining about invisibility. (Don’t get me started on the lucrative menopause industry catastrophising this time of life to push potions and lotions.)
The fear of invisibility is also a Western, heteronormtive stance. In the queer world, women get wiser and hotter as they age, pushing back against unhelpful binaries like "young equals hot; old equals not". In many cultures, including Te Ao Māori, menopausal and post-menopausal women are revered. Menopause marks the end of a vital, life-giving cycle. The patriarchy, colonisation, and Western standards have diminished the importance of what follows.
During the middle, menopausal years, women are not invisible to their families and the people who matter – try hiding a hot flash or lack of sleep – but being invisible to strangers is not relevant. It’s actually wonderful. What conversations can you hear, what insights can you gather with your invisibility cloak on?
I’m not bashing the trailblazing journalists and medical professionals who've brought the subject of menopause to the table. We have a few in Aotearoa – and they’re legends. Families, workplaces, and communities function more effectively when they have an understanding and compassion for this important stage of life. Organisations that learn how to work with women going through menopause have a more productive workforce and a lower turnover.
But let’s talk about menopause without having to tell women how tragic and sad it is to become invisible, or add another negative angle to the ageing narrative for women – oh my, we lose the gaze and vanish into nothing. My teen daughter and neice don’t need to hear that. They need stories of how women, over time, especially after the murky middle years, get a whole lot more powerful.
Angela Barnett is a writer from Tāmaki Makaurau and co-founder of Like Bodies Like Minds.
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