This is The Parlour, a place for intimate conversation, a real-time archive, a shared diary passed between a rotating cast of queer characters every week in an attempt to capture a kaleidoscopic view of what it’s like to be a queer person right here, right now.
Last weekend, I competed in a tennis tournament. In the semi-finals, I encountered an opponent who looked young, very young. She wore a blue tank top emblazoned with the name of the Central Florida high school with one of the best tennis programs in the state. I figured she was a recent grad. I’ve encountered some alumni on the USTA league circuit, strong and confident girls of 19 and 20 who can’t legally drink but sometimes sneak sips of champagne during post-match celebrations. My baby-faced opponent eyed me as we made our way onto our assigned court. We plopped our bags on the benches and mentally prepared to play in the 90-degree heat. I physically prepared, too, doing the little stretches that help prevent cramping and post-match joint pain. She did not stretch. As I tried to do some mental math to figure out her age — surely she was at least 18, as the tournament had separate competition categories for juniors and adults — she broke the ice.
How old are you? she asked, with all the immodesty of a very young person.
32, I said. 33 in a couple weeks actually.
She didn’t hide the shock from her face, but she quickly gave a compliment, something about how she never would have guessed. Still, from the look on her face, I may as well have told her I have one foot in the grave.
I turned the question back on her. How old are you?
Fifteen, she said. Fif. Teen. Yes, she was competing in the juniors category for singles, too. But nothing had stopped her from entering adult women’s singles. (It helps that her dad organizes a lot of the tournaments at these particular facilities.)
My tennis bag, sitting on the bench between us while I stretched and she did not, is older than her.
But my anxiety around aging is somewhat recent and has taken me completely off guard. In my early twenties — hell, in my teens even — I would have gladly pushed a button to make me turn 40. Undergirding this desire was a belief that surely by then I would have a stronger sense of what I desire, of who I am, of how to live the life I’m meant to live. I yearned for the self-knowledge that seemed only possible with age and experience. I had failed at heterosexuality, and I was flailing at queerness. I felt an ambivalence about being the “baby gay,” simultaneously loving the attention and affection I got from older queers and also wishing they’d take me seriously. I wanted to somehow be the baby and also be 40, with a stable and successful career and an even older hot wife.
In 2018, when I was 26, my hair started turning gray. Not all of it, but many silvery strands streaming out from the crown of my head, almost seemingly overnight. I’ve blamed the first Trump presidency and my ex. But it doesn’t take much digging to see it’s probably just genetics; my father has had salt and pepper (heavy on the salt these days, as we like to tease him) hair since he was a young dad. He can pull it off better though; he’s a man.
There I go, reinforcing gendered and patriarchal notions of who gets to age gracefully and who does not. Trust me: I beat myself up over it. When my gray hairs emerged, two close friends were shocked to learn I was so self-conscious about it. But you love older women, they reasoned. I do, it’s true. It’s not even just that I appreciate wrinkles and gray hair on women; I think it’s hot. I just don’t have the same attraction to aging when it comes to myself.
None of what I’m describing is particularly novel. It is easy to romanticize adulthood and age in youth and easy to envy youth as you age. Suddenly stressing about aging on the precipice of turning 33 is woefully cliche. Being a lesbian doesn’t inoculate me from the pressures of beauty standards and patriarchal conceptions of womanhood. But when I stress about gray hairs and aging skin, I do feel like a bad dyke. I feel like I’m setting my own traps to fall into.
But, as I’ve joked to many teammates and opponents, I might be able to run to a dropshot like I could as a teen, but the recovery takes three times as long. The 15 year old at the tournament beat me, of course she did. She got to every dropshot I tried on her, dropped me right back, barely broke a sweat the whole time. She didn’t even stretch.
It’s hard not to think of the what ifs as a later-in-life amateur athlete. What if I still had the endurance and agility of a teenager now that my groundstrokes are so good? What if I’d actually committed to strength training and conditioning more when I was a teenage tennis player and hadn’t just coasted by on youthful energy and endurance? What if I could merge the best parts of then and now and become a superhero version of myself?
It’s all very silly, and no amount of wistful yearning for my youthful skin or joints does any good or changes the reality of my tennis game, which hey, is pretty fucking good. I may have lost to the girl younger than half my age, but I gave her a good match. I lost the first set 1-6 but came back to finish the second set 4-6. I’ll take those five games. And I’ll take her compliments on my playing style. She expected fluffy, high, no-pace balls. She expected, in other words, for me to play like I’m old.
Between sets, my opponent slathered thick sunblock on her face. Sorry this stuff makes me look like a ghost, she said. I just don’t want to look old.
Fifteen years old and already worried about aging. I stopped myself before I could reply, Olivia Rodrigo’s voice suddenly playing in my head: If someone tells me one more time “Enjoy your youth,” I’m gonna cry.
I hate that she has been made to feel this way. I know I’m part of the problem. I also hate when people react to my own vanity and anxieties around aging like I’m a helpless victim. I want two contradictory things to be true at once: to be comfortable with aging and to not be judged for my discomfort about aging.
In tennis, I’ve found a way to live inside the contradictions, at least a little bit. I want the endurance and recovery time of a young person, but I also know how to push myself without breaking my body. Stretching doesn’t make me feel old; it makes me feel strong. And hey, I’m queer. If there’s one discomfort I’m used to dealing with, it’s the strange strain of wanting something you cannot have.
In two days, I’ll turn 33. My tennis bag, a gift from my parents on my 15th birthday, will turn 18. The shoulder strap is broken, and it’s frayed and faded in spots. I’m endeared to it, the same way I’m endeared to age in others. It still does what it’s supposed to do. It’s cool because it’s old. The brand doesn’t even exist anymore. I wish I could show myself the same affection.
<3 <3 <3
thanks, Jay!
I got my first gray at 18 – I’m 30 now and growing to like it. I also think way too much about my mustache lol. Loved this!
right there with you lol. thanks for reading!!
So much sympathy for the mix of being fine or happy with some aspects of aging and then feeling hit unexpectedly by others that bother you intensely!
I’m almost 39 and do boxing, yoga, and indoor climbing (though not competitively) and in many ways am in much better shape than I was in my teens and 20s. Figuring out both asthma maintenance and mental health strategies make a world of difference.
(Not sure why it submitted before I meant to.) But as I get close to 40 there are some physical things that bother me. Grey hairs are more funny than anything, but neck wrinkles/sagging bug me (on myself, not on others). And I know my stomach fat and stretch marks were an expected part of being pregnant and giving birth, but they still feel harder to own than fat in other places. And feeling tight/stuff every morning just sucks (though at least regular yoga/stretching helps some). *sigh*
yes truly, there is something so different about doing sports/physical activity with a fully developed brain lol. very cool that you do boxing! do you subscribe to Laura van den Berg’s newsletter Fight Week? it’s so good
<3!
<3 <3 <3
Oof Kayla I am around the same age as you and feeling this so immensely. I’ve always been excited about aging (in the “I-never-thought-I’d-make-it-this-far” way) and I was intensely terrible at exercise and sports until my mid-twenties, so I’m not even longing for some sort of ultra-fit youth, but the impact of societal messages about what an “attractive” face and body consist of (i.e.: looking like a 23-year-old) is no fucking joke. I am finally learning to trust and train and use and care for my body, so this sudden worry about “looking old” is blindsiding me a little.
It’s interesting how aging feelings intersect with dysphoria feelings too. I was able to ignore any more feminine parts of myself pretty effectively for about a decade, and now I am noticing that it’s aging-as-a-woman that is finally making me stop and reassess and pursuing the gender affirming care I’ve kind of wanted for ages. Is this normal?? Is this morally wrong and sexist??? Who can say!
totally agree with everything you’re saying!
and sometimes when i express these feelings i’m met with people saying “love yourself!” and I’m like I do! hahahaha. I have a TON of love for myself. i think you can love yourself and still have some insecurities, even insecurities that are somewhat contradictory!
fwiw I don’t think it’s morally wrong or sexist for you to be having these feelings re:gender/gender-affirming care/aging! i think it makes a lot of sense and like no one can control what makes them feel dysphoric, you know?
it’s obviously so different than what you’re describing, but since starting to play tennis I’m around a lot of wealthy suburban straight moms, and they’ve had botox and things like that which I’m not considering for myself but which I’ve also had to sort of learn to not JUDGE them for. i don’t place a moral judgment on them for it or like press them to explain who/what made them feel like they had to do these things. it’s complicated!!!!
so yeah anyway, I’M not morally judging you haha so you shouldn’t place that on yourself <3
I’m 55 and my feelings about age and aging keep shifting. I continue to be surprised and dismayed during periods when I don’t love how getting older looks or feels in my body. Because you know, I don’t want to buy into all the bogus anti-aging cultural messages and because I think I will truly be a kick-old woman. So I feel like I should enjoy getting older. And I do. But I also don’t always love how getting older looks or feels in my body.
It’s strange to me how it hits. I freaked out about turning 30 a few months before my actual birthday and ended up really LOVING my 30s. I had a big crisis over turning 38 but not 40. I just thought that I’d have things more together by the time I hit 38, and that I’d FEEL more together as well.
I started feeling really confident in my body in my 40s, around the time that I seemed to become invisible to a certain type of cis het man, and I honestly loved that. But when I crossed some sort of invisible marker a few years ago and noticed that I (and all of my friends from school) suddenly look middle aged, I freaked out. I’m still more obsessed with how my chin and neck are changing that I would like to be.
If I have any wisdom to share , that I learned the hard way, it’s that fighting your feelings about age or aging isn’t very effective or useful. And at the same time, it can be helpful to try to make friends with your current body and your current age, no matter what your age is.
yeah I really love this comment a lot because it demonstrates how it can ebb and flow in these ways and also hit when you least expect it. I was fine about turning 30 and now feeling weird about turning 33??? out of nowhere, too! and after hearing so much about how my wife’s mid and late thirties were some of the best years of her life (which I’ve actually heard from a LOT of friends).
i really, really appreciate this comment a lot truly. sometimes when i share my complicated thoughts on aging with people older than me, they’re like “omg you’re YOUNG shut UP” and i’m like okay???? i’m always truly not talking about myself and not making judgments about anyone older than me; my feelings on aging don’t have to impact someone else’s feelings on aging. and i’m not even saying 33 is “OLD.” i know it isn’t haha. so idk your comment just strikes me as really vulnerable, poignant, and also empathetic! i also think you’re sooooo right about not fighting the feelings. it doesn’t do any good, only makes me harder on myself lol. thank you thank you!
Aww thank you Kayla. I really loved your vulnerability in your article too. And yes, I did have an initial “33 is NOT old” knee-jerk reaction reading it. But it also made me remember how weird I felt about feeling weird about turning 30. And how weird I feel about being upset about looking middle aged – even though I actually really love BEING middle aged.
Also, NGL, I spend waaaay more time than I want to admit to worrying about my new (imperceptible to anyone but me) double chin.
hahaha no the initial reaction is totally FAIR but then yeah a lot of people don’t take the extra step to remember how they felt at another age lololol.
no for real even when i shave my mustache i swear /I/ can see it but apparently no one else can lol
Kick-ass old woman! I think I will be a kick-ass old woman, not kick-old woman.
Thank you for sharing Kayla! I think it’s so complicated because aging is both so public (In a Way there is so much scrutiny on women’s physical appearance at every age) but also so intensely personal. And how you feel inside and outside sometimes matches up but most often probably doesn’t? idk
We are the same age and I’m loving the power of 32 and am actively trying to slow down and appreciate the things I have now that I’ve been grinding for for 10 years !! But also I am a former athlete and feel the most out of shape ever which makes me feel physically vulnerable in a way I’m not used to. So it’s all a journey! I’m working on it :)
thank you for sharing!!! “how you feel inside and outside sometimes matches up but most often probably doesn’t?” –> fully agree that most often it probably doesn’t!
what’s your former sport out of curiosity?