A young male writer turned 60 recently and complained about getting old. Please, I thought, I’ve unwound nine-tenths of my mortal coil, don’t tell me about getting old, young whippersnapper.
One glaring difference in the two decades that stand between us is underlined by the fact a 60-year-old male probably hasn’t experienced ageism yet. A fit man at that age is not far off his social and cultural peak; dress him in a suit and he could be a minister of the crown or a hot-shot CEO. A woman – and in most cases, a man nearing his 80s – is more than likely just the furniture of the street; only her peer group really sees her as an equal.
