The drink appeared in front of me at the bar while I chatted with a friend. I looked up at the bartender inquisitively and she pointed to a young man seated at the end of the bar. His smooth face, the bright smile, a little hungry.
What is wrong with this kid? Why is he buying ME drinks?
I smiled at him and thanked him. Some version of, “you’re welcome, beautiful,” escaped his lips.
I asked his age. Eyes twinkling playfully, he said –
“You guess.”
“Ok, 27?”
“Ha! No. 24.”
I pushed the drink away and laughed. A baby. I’m old enough to be his mother. I am by no means haggard and gray, but I think I am showing my age. A hint of turkey neck forming, a side effect of weight loss and gravity. The smile lines, and forehead wrinkles. The gray hairs that keep popping up. The ample cellulite and stretch marks. The extra punds. The soft belly and c-section scar. Too many dimples and wrinkles and scars. Too much time and gravity and living like I would stay young forever.
Now I am sitting in the bar with a tall young man smiling at me expectantly while I was taking an inventory of every flaw on my body and wondering how he could possibly see that as desirable.
And then it happened again on a dating app. And then again out with friends. And I realized that something is happening here without my knowledge. Somewhere between marriage, childbirth, divorce, and too much time passed in survival mode, I came of age to date him, his dad, or his grandpa. What a staggeringly free feeling. What a terrifying prospect to have so many options and also no options. Because I’m still raising my son, I have no business dating someone who was born the year I graduated from high school.
But these twenty-somethings – they love us! We, the middle aged women who are entering perimenopause, who have built our lives around our families and now. We are cynical, we are tired, and we are pissed. So – Why an older woman? What could possess a verile young man in the prime of his adulthood to turn his head to us?
I took to Instagram to ask the world for their input.
A post shared by Brindi Shreeve (@brindidoodah)
The unanimous answer from men around the world is: Sex. They think women in their 40’s will be less inhibited. Which may be true. In my case, no. Maybe right after my divorce, when being desired seemed like the same thing as being valued. Maybe after any breakups I have had since then, when validation felt like the same thing as healing. But I’ve come to really value things of value. Quality people, quality things that last. That stay. That are not just here for a good time.
The next most common answer: a sugar momma. Older women are established, own homes, have careers, and possibly a spare bedroom. I think it is a bit of an insult to younger men, much like calling younger women gold diggers for attaching themselves to older, successful men. There is room for nuance here that our social media-saturated brains somehow tend to miss. I’m not saying these things don’t exist, just saying I think the occurrence of negative things happen as often as the occurrence of positive things, but somehow we only seem to focus on the negative. The trope that all men only want something from women. If not their bodies, then their bank accounts. These comments came from accounts owned by seemingly older men who came across as somewhat bitter that their best years had long since passed. Men who were being asked to step up or step away by women their own age.
Third most common answer: Older women have leveled out and are more mature/play fewer games, and are more secure about who they are. This one I have observed to be generally true, though there are some exceptions. Unstable, manipulative and insecure women exist at all age ranges. However, older women may have more responsibilities, like children and grandchildren, mortgages, busy careers, thriving social lives, and more hobbies which make them less prone to stirring pots and creating drama. Maturity, time, wisdom, mistakes – that decade between 30 and 40 changes a lot for anyone, particularly women in marriages that are heading inevitably toward failure. We are less interested in appearances, we are less inhibited by self consciousness, and we are more likely to be open, honest, authentic. I am definitely more secure in my 40’s than at any other point in my life. My identity, sense of self, and confidence are the things I cherish most about this stage of life. Not because I have it all figured out, but because I have enough perspective and experience to know what really matters, and confidence to let go of what doesn’t.
It’s an interesting and strange age, this middle part of life. This security and success and confidence interlaced with the freedom of being single. Being older. Being completely and fully possessed of all the free will I never claimed in all the years before.
I smiled at the boy at the end of the bar and drank the drink he bought me. Gave him a hug and told him I hoped he finds the love of his life. And then smiled all the way home, because sometimes attention feels like validation.
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