The February 2003 issue of a magazine featured a bold statement on its cover: “Whether young or old, I am a woman!” At the time, I was 30 years old, brimming with the peak of my female hormones. I was pregnant, heavily pregnant. Standing, sitting, or lying down, the weight of my belly felt overwhelming. It was an animalistic desire – “Oh, I just want to get this thing out!” In 2024, I am experiencing menopause, navigating the trials of perimenopause. My sons are adults, and I am 52 years old. While both 30-year-old me and 52-year-old me appear to be women, the core of my self-awareness isn’t “I am a woman!” It’s “I am a living being!” Because I am alive, I am swayed by hormones. Because I am alive, my body changes daily. It’s not that there is a young phase and an old phase; every living thing, every day, becomes less young. A five-year-old, a 90-year-old, a ground beetle, a human. Especially women, we are defined by our reproductive capabilities. Society has traditionally placed value on those capable of bearing children, diminishing the worth of those who are not. This is deeply discriminatory, and it was once a societal norm. This view, unfortunately, still lingers. Twenty-one years ago, it was necessary to explicitly declare, “Whether young or old, I am a woman!” The air was thick with that notion. While things have been slowly improving, that air remains. Why is this line between the young and the not-so-young so persistent? It’s because people fear death. While everyone, regardless of age, faces the possibility of death, with drastically reduced infant mortality rates, the elderly are generally perceived as closest to death. Beyond biological death, there is also social death. This is the one we likely fear more intensely, a fear grounded in experience. We fear being overtaken by the younger generation, losing opportunities, being labeled outdated, facing retirement, being left behind by society, and eventually being forgotten. We fear becoming “those who are no longer useful.” In the realm of romantic relationships, we fear the diminished desirability that comes with age. The fear of our bodies aging is a natural response for any living being afraid of death, but for women, it is especially tied to visual beauty. For a long time, beauty equated to youth. Over the past two decades, there has been a shift in the perception of beauty, with supermodels and creators who defined that era remaining at the forefront of their fields despite aging. Many individuals find fame as influencers in later life. But the notion that youth is synonymous with beauty hasn’t completely vanished. This belief thrives in societies with a wide gender gap and persistent structural sexism. It’s a reality where women struggle to achieve economic independence and age gracefully, often relying on parental support or marriage to secure stability. A society that values only young women is a society where women are essentially left with no secure path to living except under the protection of a man. In short, it’s a living hell. The February 2003 issue featured interviews with women aged 68 to 80 who were actively working. Among them were Jeanne Moreau (actor), André Putman (interior designer), Joan Didion (journalist), Toshi Sato (owner of Tawaraya Ryokan), Setsu Asakura (theater artist), Sumiko Haneda (documentary filmmaker), and Hanae Mori (fashion designer). Twenty-one years later, many of them have passed away. These interviews are still insightful and fascinating to read today. The stories of these “elderly women” from 21 years ago are not outdated. I realized something startling: it’s the readers who are aging. I was, and still am, younger than them, and their stories were incredibly inspiring. However, other features on heartbreak and divorce among Hollywood celebrities in their 20s and 30s felt strangely outdated. I am now older than those women, and I’ve followed their romantic lives through gossip. Those pages are now a part of the past. Those who live in ages we have yet to reach are fresh and new. What it will be like to be 100 is still unknown to anyone who hasn’t lived to that age. As we age, we become the future for the majority. No matter how long we live, today is the first day for us all, and we can never know everything about the world. But simply dwelling on the “40s of 20 years ago” or the “30s of 40 years ago” and critiquing the present will only lead to the ramblings of someone who doesn’t understand the future of 2024. “Yes, we learn until we die. What is life? What does it mean to live? I constantly ask myself these questions. Some people say that once you reach a certain age, you stop learning. Don’t ever listen to those people. They’ve already died before they died.” – a profound statement from Jeanne Moreau, at 74 years old.
The Ever-Evolving Journey of Womanhood: Beyond the Age of Reproduction
