I’m 78. I’m old. I’m out. And I’m proud.
After all, as they say, “Consider the alternative.” It’s a quote attributed to everyone from Mark Twain to Maurice Chevalier, and it’s as true today as ever. With every passing birthday, and with the death of every friend and relative, we are increasingly aware of the grim alternative that lies ahead. At a certain point, just being alive is a triumph.
Why should I lie or prevaricate about how old I am, especially when the truth is just a couple of clicks away? I always volunteer my age because I don’t think it’s anything to hide. I’m curious about the age of others, too, so telling my age somehow (in my mind) gives me permission to flout social taboos and inquire about theirs. They can always reply, “I’d rather not say,” but most people respond without hesitation and even with relief — there, now that’s out of the way! This gives us a shortcut to know more about each other. Were we in high school at the same time? Where were we when Kennedy was shot?
I much prefer “old” over “older,” “senior,” or “mature.” Using euphemisms implies there’s something shameful about being old rather than it being an achievement.
Hiding your age used to be the norm. My mother, who always took pride in her chic and jaunty appearance, never revealed her age. I remember her going to a new doctor and telling me afterward, “He said I was in great shape for my age — and he doesn’t know how old I really am!”
She lived to be 98, by which time she was bragging about her age, as is my ambition, with regard to both her age and her attitude.
In my mind, if you look as good as she did, it’s even better that you’re old. I wish this mindset were more common. Always a contrarian, I’m looking forward to turning 80 — and turning some heads, perhaps, especially when people know my age.
Similarly, I’m a slow but steady runner, getting trophies in 5k races only because there are so few of us in my 70+ age group. Indeed, sometimes I’m the only female runner in the field. When I’m 80, in less than two years(!), just finishing the race without walking will be an accomplishment, and I will tell other runners about my new status as an octogenarian.
To me, even the word “octogenarian” sounds alluring. Octogenarians tell me that they are admired for doing the most ordinary things — driving at night, selling a house, maintaining a website. If I’m in good health, 90 will be even better, and if I live to be 100, I expect to be revered, at least by my progeny. I was sometimes jealous of how my sons attended to my mother, but now I see it as an excellent precedent and hope that when I’m really old, my granddaughters will flock around me.
To me, “old” should be an honorific, but if that’s asking too much, at the very least it should be a neutral word, simply designating those over 70. So of course, I’m an old woman — though not, I hope, an old lady. (Would an old lady paraglide off a mountainside or have her body painted in the nude or stand on the noses of dolphins?) In my reset, “old” would merely indicate a chronological category, instead of it being some sort of adjectival accusation signaling frailty and irrelevance.
To rehabilitate a word, you have use it. That’s why I think people should use the word “old” in describing themselves or others over 70. Old people like me have a special opportunity to lead by example and to own their old.
After all, the best way to take the stigma out of a pejorative is to use it oneself. It was a game-changer when LGBTQ people began using “queer” to describe themselves. “Hippie” was initially a term of opprobrium used by the mainstream media, but within a couple of years, long-haired self-proclaimed freaks were proudly using it. Similarly, people in the body positivity movement now refer to themselves as “fat” rather than “large” or “stocky” or “big.”
In the struggle against ageism, it’s important to use the word “old,” and to use it with attitude. I’ve lived a lot! I know a lot! I’m wiser than most people, and, yeah, I’m old!
I also like the word “elder,” which connotes a certain wisdom, as in “elder statesman.” As elders, old people have a special responsibility to future generations. Bill McKibben’s climate change organization, Third Act, is harnessing the idealism of old people to combat climate change. Now in its fourth year, it’s open to activists over 60 who want to stop fossil fuel production and use. Its motto is “Old and Bold.” Last summer, Third Act held several demonstrations against Citibank in which old people in handcuffs were led to police vehicles. Today, oldsters like myself make up a huge part of the Resistance crowds who are in the streets demonstrating against Trump. I’m proud of my Boomer generation!
The current trend of gray or white hair (or streaks) being popular among middle-aged and old women is a welcome sign that they are starting to accept their age. Half of my friends have let their hair grow gray; one was white-haired at age 45. (For a long time, I just assumed she was blond.) I see elegant women who let their hair go gray silently acknowledge each other on the streets of Manhattan.
If one is lucky and/or careful about health and finances — a big “if,” I know —being old can be a happy time. There’s a new field, critical gerontology, that places a new emphasis on the positive aspects of aging. There are fewer responsibilities, and there are new possibilities — and a greater sense of freedom. A 72-year-old of relatively modest means who I know skis at a nearby ski center on his senior discount pass every weekday, all season long. A 74-year-old travels 30 miles once a week to spend the day with her granddaughter. A 62-year-old man competes in duathlons abroad. Indeed, I don’t know anyone who’s bored in retirement. Some continue to do what they used to do, only now on a freelance basis (a financial writer, a software insurance consultant). Others reinvent themselves. A nanny has become a health coach. A cameraman has become a prize-winning sculptor. A public events impresario has become a highly regarded children’s book writer.
I mention these examples so middle-aged people can anticipate getting old with enthusiasm and not dread. Think of it as age positivity.
Then, perhaps, people won’t shy from the word “old.”
If any generation can change the taboo around that word, it’s my own. Say what you will (“OK boomer” is a compliment to me!), people born between 1946 and 1962 have an outsize influence on culture and politics simply because of their numbers. This “bulge in the snake” effect, a phrase coined by Landon Y. Jones, describes the way the baby boomer generation is moving through the ages like a mouse through a python.
We boomers still exert enough cultural heft to rehabilitate the word “old” and to view getting old as a privilege — not a punishment. Perhaps we can even change the culture around aging, so people middle-aged and younger can actually look forward to their “golden years” — and being old.
The first step is to use the word often — and with pride.
Catherine Hiller’s weekly Substack newsletter is The Pleasure Principle. Her pioneering book, “Just Say Yes: A Marijuana Memoir,” is being reissued on National Pot Day, April 20, 2025, in a 10th-anniversary edition. Her most recent novel, “Cybill Unbound,” is about the sexual adventures of an older woman. Hiller is also the author of a short story collection, “Skin,” which John Updike called “Good, brave, and joyful fiction,” and five other novels. Short pieces have appeared in the New York Times Sunday Review, AARP Magazine, Ms., the Girlfriend, NextTribe, the Westchester Review and the Antioch Review. She is co-producer of the documentary film “Paul Bowles: The Complete Outsider.”
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