In one of her wedding pictures, my mum is sprawled over the register-office table, bodily blocking the marriage certificate so her witnesses can’t get a glimpse of her date of birth as they sign it. They’re desperate to see, but none of us have ever come close to discovering the magic number. Nobody ever believes me the first time, I always have to say this twice: I don’t know how old my own mother is. Nope, no idea. Seriously. It’s highly classified, a mystery to me and everyone else, and it always has been.
It means I don’t know how old she was for any milestones – when she met my dad, when she had me, or even for things that may inform my future, like when she went through menopause.
My mum doesn’t lie about her age, she simply will not discuss it at all. She says it’s because she ‘doesn’t want to be defined by it’, meaning she refuses to be judged for her achievements by the point in her life she achieved them. She won’t accept being told she looks good ‘for her age’, just that she looks good. She’s a force of nature, so this is perfectly on brand; she’s never going to play by anybody else’s rules. She’s horrified I don’t adopt the same policy – not least because she doesn’t like people knowing she’s old enough to have a daughter with as many miles on the clock as I have.
Not being defined by age is all well and good, but I also think my mum hides it because back in her day – whenever that may have been – no-one even bothered to pretend it was anything other than unforgivable for women to get old.
I don’t blame her entirely for my attitude to ageing – I also live in the world and grew up in the 1990s – but she has definitely had an impact. I hadn’t realised how much of one until recently, when my (gulp) 50th birthday approached. Around the same time, an important work meeting was scheduled, and I became consumed with worry. I felt confident about my abilities, all I was nervous about was that they would see I was… old.
I felt genuinely apologetic about it, and worse, ashamed. Like ageing was a stupid mistake I’d made, a personal failing. I’m embarrassed. By a natural biological process, the alternative to which is death.
My mother’s ageless status is the stuff of legend among our family and friends. Everybody longs to be the one who finally discovers the truth, but she is an old (sorry, Mum) hand at keeping schtum. She can change the subject on the spot more skilfully than a politician. There is no question that will catch her out. She hasn’t come close to slipping up, never mind actually done it.
My godmother swears that she once managed to see my mum’s driving licence and passport, and there was a different date of birth on each of them. She denies this and it would be illegal – yet somehow I still don’t doubt it for a second.
My late dad was kind of bemused and would roll his eyes about it. I assume he was the only person who knew the truth and, if so, he took that secret to the grave.
In some ways my mother’s attitude is inspiring – she’s far more active, professionally and socially, than any of my friends’ parents, and I truly believe it’s because she does not identify as old. But I’ve definitely inherited hang-ups from her, too. Her refusal to be defined by being older implies that being older is negative, no matter how you package it.
I’m well aware how stupid all this is. What a shallow, pointless waste of time. I see other women making their grey hair a statement part of their look, embracing their laughter lines, and I admire them. If only I could have gone into that meeting thinking, ‘Yes, I’m older now, but that means they will respect all my experience’ rather than, ‘Oh god, they’re going to think I’m past it.’ But as a society, although we make more of the right noises nowadays, we still fetishise youth – just look at Kris Jenner, who recently had a facelift as she prepares to turn 70.
I’m clearly far from alone in my messed-up mindset – the global market for anti-wrinkle products was valued at over £35 billion in 2024 and an estimated 11 per cent of the UK population underwent an aesthetic treatment in 2023. The British Association of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons reported that 27,462 procedures were performed in 2024, of which more than nine in ten were on women. Blepharoplasty, or eyelid surgery, was up 13 per cent; face and neck lifts were up eight per cent.
There are so many reasons to try to change the way I think about ageing; not least that it is, of course, a privilege and inevitable. I would be overjoyed not to mind getting older. I wish I were more enlightened, had greater depth. I’m ashamed that I’m ashamed of getting older. I want younger generations to have good examples of proud ageing; to be set free from this ludicrous, miserable burden. Someone else will have to lead the way, though. I’m too busy googling Kris Jenner’s surgeon and buying a lottery ticket. And so is my mum.
