the anti-gaze: part four.
what if getting older isn’t a tragedy? (or, ageing without the apology).
Here’s the thing about growing older under the male gaze: you’re expected to do it like a magician.
Wrinkles? Erase them. Skin? Keep it smooth but not so much that you look like you’ve had work done. Energy? Hold onto just enough to seem youthful, but never overdo it.
You’re meant to come across wise, but breezy. Attractive, but effortlessly so.
It baffles me, honestly. You’re supposed to age in a way that makes men think, “She’s ageing so gracefully,” while you’re at home crying into your pillow because your back creaks every time you stand up, you’ve caught yourself making little effort noises getting out of the car, and moisturiser costs more than your weekly food shop.
For a long time, i treated ageing like a threat. Not the dramatic meltdown “i’m turning whatever age and it’s all downhill from here” kind, just the pressure that builds with every birthday. The sense that your value (your visibility and your relevance too, let’s be honest) is inching ever closer to its best-before date. That your time is running out.
Even though i knew it was rubbish, i still felt it. The panic and the dread. That sneaky internal voice that asks: Shouldn’t i have worked all of my shit out by now? Like, seriously.
And of course, the comparisons are everywhere. The ones you don’t even mean to make, where someone looks fresher or less tired or like they still sleep through the night.
Because the gaze isn’t just about how you look, it’s about staying exactly as you once were. As if change is failure and getting older is letting yourself go.
But i don’t want to live like that. i’m not interested in pretending i haven’t changed. i don’t want to be an old lady clinging to thirty-two, still wearing the same jeans and hoping no one notices they don’t fit like they used to (trust me, they don’t).
i have changed, and honestly, thank God.
i’m softer in ways that feel good, but also harder where i need to be. i know what feels good to me and what drains me. i know i’m not for everyone, too, and i’m okay with that.
i don’t want to treat ageing like a problem to solve, or a secret to keep. i don’t want to hide behind beauty filters on TikTok or pretend i’m something i’m not. i want to grow older and feel proud of every wrinkle, every scar, every squishy fold on my body that tells my story.
Because ageing isn’t a tragedy, it’s kind of a coming home. It’s about letting go of the need to impress strangers, stepping back from relationships that no longer light me up, and understanding that some attention comes at too high a cost.
i’m not saying it’s easy. There are days when i catch my reflection and hardly recognise the sagging face looking back at me. When i miss the smooth skin of twenty-two or the metabolism of twenty-five, or when that first grey hair felt like a tiny heartbreak.
Mine showed up at twenty, back in Australia. i spent years covering it up with cheap box dye and salon visits that cost more than they should, trying to erase the early arrival of something that felt like a betrayal.
Then one day, my hairdresser suggested i go blonde — not slowly, no subtle highlights, but all in, overnight. i left the salon looking like Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons, and honestly, it freaked me out for weeks. But that drastic change helped me lean into the bigger shift, to stop running from what was inevitable and start embracing it.
Today, the blonde has grown out into something eye-catching and utterly low-maintenance1, though i think i still carry that dramatic shift with me. It was permission to show up exactly as i am, without apology or disguise. Zero regrets.
The thing is, there’s power in no longer needing to be looked at to feel real.
Ageing under the anti-gaze means dressing for comfort and (your own) pleasure, not for approval. It means allowing yourself to be tired, to be complicated, to be seen even when you’re not quite ready.
It means measuring your worth not by how ‘youthful’ you look but by how fully yourself you feel.
i want to age like a forest – dense, wild, full of stories, a little overgrown in places, not manicured2 or shrinking away.
i want to grow into softness, into slowness, into quiet happiness. i want to wake up one day with a face like my little Welsh granny’s and think, ‘How lucky am i to have lived long enough to look like her.’
i’m done trying to pause the tape, i want to play <figuratively, literally>.
So, this is me, unfiltered. 👩🏻🦳
No dye, no Botox. Just soft edges and strong coffee.
Be kind — the bedhead isn’t new, but sharing it on the internet is.
Today, i made the world’s best cup of coffee, said no to something that drained me, took an untimed nap, and still felt like a God.
Love,
Lyss. x
Coming soon:
Part five: taking off the cool girl mask (or, letting yourself be known, not just liked). We’ve unlearned the gaze in beauty. Next: we unlearn it in friendship. Because being liked isn’t the same as being known — and being the chill friend isn’t always the same as being the seen one.
all the hair stylists and colour technicians love it and now steadfastly refuse to colour it. lol.
possibly manicured 💅🏻
Absolutely love this piece. Thank you for sharing. I’m in full agreement. Living under the anti-gaze is much less exhausting. I’m embracing it enthusiastically. And adore your hair!! Gorgeous!