In the “Sex and the City” episode “They Shoot Single People, Don’t They?” Carrie is mortified when a magazine cover brands her “Single and Fabulous?” The conversation pivots to aging, with Miranda asking, “What ever happened to aging gracefully?” and Carrie quipping, “It got old.”
Carrie’s quip — “It got old” — hits differently on a college campus, where anti-aging attitudes seep into dorm rooms, bathrooms and social media feeds. At its core, attitudes toward anti-aging don’t simply suggest staying young — they suggest that your natural self is wrong, even when that self is 18.
College is supposed to be the place where we grow physically, emotionally and intellectually. Yet, social media stigma increasingly urges college students to press pause on time, avoiding not only physical indications of aging but any sign that we’ve moved beyond the trends, aesthetics and milestones that define these so-called “prime” years.
Why are college students, supposedly at the beginning of our self-discovery, so scared of getting old? In an era where youth is treated as a commodity, all of this anti-aging talk has left its mark on daily life at Northeastern, warping how students perceive themselves and their future timelines.
We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that being a fourth- or fifth-year makes us too old to join a new campus club, sit front row in our Blackman Auditorium lecture hall, wear our convocation shirt or even show up at Two Saints Tavern (though maybe that last one has some truth to it).
Although these fears may sound superficial, they run deeper than we think. We’ve built a culture of agephobia that is not only ageist but also psychologically damaging. It’s corrupting our entire college experience; at a time when young people should feel free to grow, experiment and evolve, we’re instead telling ourselves that our value begins to decline the moment we turn 21.
Our fears of aging are most evident in how we look at physical beauty. The normalization of “preventative aging” is everywhere, and this type of influencer culture, accelerated specifically by TikTok, has made anti-aging efforts a rite of passage rather than a response to aging itself. The youth-targeted beauty market has transformed college campuses into beauty experimentation labs, where rituals of testing and comparison make appearance a constant point of evaluation.
But this isn’t just about skincare or retinol routines. It’s about the deeper fear that relevance itself lives in fraternity basements — that once we’re too old to be there, we’re no longer seen as part of the story.
Unspoken but deeply ingrained, some campus cultures subtly imply that college is the pinnacle of a person’s beauty and social value. That these four or five years at Northeastern are the best we’ll ever look, feel or be perceived.
The message is clear: Enjoy it while it lasts, because it’s all downhill from here.
I know this message better than anyone. This fall, I will be starting the first semester of my fifth year of college. But what really is the material difference between me now and me a few years ago?
I know I personally feel the pressure to “preserve” rather than experience. It often feels like I’m meant to freeze time instead of fully living in it. I feel guilty for spending a Friday night in because it feels like every moment in college must be a memory, a story or some kind of youthful fun to look back on.
The effects of this thinking are everywhere. We see it in the panic around turning 22, which I felt this July, and in the TikToks declaring you’re “basically elderly” at 25. And in the way some of us tiptoe through college or life, obsessing over what we’re already “too old” for.
Whether it’s wearing a certain outfit, starting a new passion or even just being visible on social media, age has become a limiting framework — even for the young.
To be clear, this isn’t an attack on anyone who gets Botox or filler, leans into the aesthetics that make them feel good or is over the idea of attending the club fair. People can do whatever makes them feel confident — and hey, I am someone who never goes outside without slathering on an SPF of at least 50.
What I’m questioning is the societal expectation we’ve set to do these things — the way it’s sold to us as the “default,” as if opting out is somehow unattractive or even irresponsible.
Most of all, this narrative doesn’t really reflect the reality of how humans live anymore. We live longer. We pursue nonlinear careers. We travel, return to school and start businesses in our 30s, 40s and beyond. I mean, Vera Wang started her bridal line at age 40. So, why do we still act like youth is the only chapter worth living?
I propose that we can rewrite the story, one where aging isn’t declining, but growing.
Honor Seares is a fifth-year history and economics combined major. She can be reached at [email protected].
If you would like to submit a letter to the editor in response to this piece, email [email protected] with your idea.
