But You Look So Young
Words by Christi Jeane
I’m in my 20s on a work trip, wearing jeans and tennis shoes for a site visit. A friendly woman on the plane asks, “What school do you go to?” When I start to say I’m an engineer, I can already tell by the surprised look on her face what she’ll say. “Oh wow. Good for you. I thought you were still in college.” We exchange a few more pleasantries, but the awkwardness has been established.
I’m 21 at Sam’s Club, shopping with my then boyfriend. We’re walking around, trying samples, and a silver-haired woman serving bites of pizza stops me. “Um, excuse me, miss? Are you old enough to sample? The minimum age is 15.” I stare at her, dumbfounded. I mumble something about being in college and move on to the next aisle. Can’t remember if I grabbed a sample.
I’m in my 30s, having an engaging conversation with a colleague about our work histories, and how we got our start at this company. He then asks, “So how old are you, like 23?” I remind him about the conversation we just had, i.e., I’m not a new hire. A light bulb clicks for him, and he apologizes profusely. I’m left finishing the conversation by taking care of his guilt for his assumption.
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I could give many more examples like this. I've always looked young compared to my actual age, or so I’ve been told. I have a round face, full cheeks, and eyes that shrink when I smile. I like to dress comfy (read: athleisure is my jam). And in these encounters, I involuntarily let my expressions give away my feelings: face drops, mouth shuts, blank stare, or simply saying, “Yeah I get that a lot.”
But this is when someone's favorite go-to phrase kicks in: “Oh, you’ll appreciate it so much when you’re older. Like in your 60s.” I still haven’t come up with a good response to that. There’s some truth to it, though a) it’s bold to assume how a stranger will feel about their own future, and b) it’s bold to assume that I wasn’t happy with my features until that comment came along.
I usually attempt to end these conversations gracefully by admitting that my nearly 70-year old mother still passes for late 40s, and that we’re grateful to have good genes. But it feels ingenuine that I can’t convey with gentle honesty that direct comments about my age, immediately after introductions, are simply unwelcome.
What irks me most is the veiled message I internalize with such remarks: you look too young to be competent. As a teenager, I got my second degree black belt in Taekwondo before I stopped practicing to focus on school (I can still do a flying sidekick!). I have a Master’s degree. I am a licensed Professional Engineer who leads construction management field assignments. I am boldly pursuing my passion for nonfiction creative writing on the side. Things that light me up when I have the chance to share a piece of what made me who I am. But I’m lucky if I get to talk about even one of these stories, when the conversation is hijacked by how I look. My personality, values, and achievements can feel gravely under shadowed when it’s nonverbally implied that I don’t look old enough to have them.
Being the youngest in my class from K-12 hasn’t helped my “youthful” story either. I started kindergarten when I was 4, which means I was the last to turn 16 and 21 of my friends. I was consistently the youngest person in the room up until my mid-20s, when new hires slowly trickled into the office.
I’m an only child. The handful of cousins I have live out of state, and most are 10+ years older. You could say I’ve been surrounded by more people to look up to than to teach throughout my life. I’ve savored every minute of these encounters, to experience the depth and insight that comes from spending time with people older than me. But perhaps on a subconscious level, being the youngest hasn’t given me the language of “elders” who have a certain gravitas and commanding presence wherever they go.
When it comes to ageism, I’m learning how to embrace and be proud of my God-given looks, despite the scrutiny and misjudgment of curious strangers. I just wish our society had better language for split-second perceptions. Myself included—I’m not innocent of my own snap judgments in other capacities. But my general point is, we could all benefit from a pause and self-guided filtering, especially with that first thought that comes to mind when we meet someone new.
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I don’t have some nice conclusion to wrap this up, for now. When we think about age, are we limiting ourselves when we equate old with successful? And what type of success? What I’ve gathered up to this point, is that I can still be me, and it’s much more fun to explore new things about myself, instead of comparing myself to what age I should look or act like. I can bless my “good genes” while not feeling the need to explain them. I can keep working on the inside that I can control, while being content with the outside that I cannot.
About the Author:
Christi is an engineer by day who finds fulfillment in writing by night. Both call for creativity, intensity, and tenacity to create connection with others. You can find her on Instagram @cjdubs03, or follow her blog at leftbydaywritebynight.com.
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