Image by Anastasia Zhenina on Unsplash.
I Know This Post Will Get Me in Trouble—And That’s OK
I’ve been watching stand-up comedians on YouTube lately—specifically those who riff on growing old. One in particular claims to be in his early 70s, but jokes like someone in his mid-80s. He’s hilarious, sure. Great timing. Exquisite setups and punchlines. But still, I find myself asking: Is it really funny?
You probably know what I’m going to say.
When “Funny” Reinforces Harm
These jokes usually rely on stereotypes: forgetting things, shuffling slowly, losing hearing, misplacing your pants and your wallet. It’s a guaranteed laugh line. But the cost? It reinforces a narrow, distorted view of aging.
Not everyone in their 70s or 80s is forgetful. Not everyone wants to settle down quietly and fade out. When I see young people laugh at these bits, I wonder: What do they picture when they interview a job candidate over 50—or even 45? Do they see someone competent and energetic? Or do they see a walking stereotype in orthopedic shoes?
Aging Isn’t Always a Joke
Not everyone finds these jokes funny, and not just because we “can’t take a joke.” For some of us, physical changes feel more like grief than comedy. I mourn the body I used to have—energetic, agile, optimistic. I used to do every move in my exercise class. Now? One instructor recently dubbed me the “queen of modifications.” Technically accurate, but it didn’t feel like a compliment.
Then there’s the humor about nursing homes. Supposedly lighthearted, but for many of us, the idea of living in one is closer to a nightmare than a punchline. Even with a private room, there’s no privacy, no purpose, and no control over your life. There’s lots of abuse. In my book, I cite studies showing a 40% abuse rate. That’s not funny. It’s terrifying. We need more outrage, not more jokes.
“Sweetheart,” I’m Not Laughing
It’s not funny when airport staff ask if I need a wheelchair, just because they see my age. It’s not funny when clients hesitate to hire me, or when I know I’ll never land a “real” job again. It’s infuriating when strangers and even medical professionals call me “sweetheart,” as if aging erases your name and dignity.
I don’t want to laugh. I want to live fully and break these stereotypes wide open. I want to die in my sneakers, preferably in my favorite workout clothes (which is mostly what I wear anyway).
Aging Isn’t the Problem. The Stigma Is.
The book I wrote is funny—but with a serious undertone. It’s not about aging itself. It’s about pushing back against the cultural baggage that comes with it. Like the comedy I’ve performed, it attacks stereotypes.
If I get my way, they’ll play clips of my comedy at my Celebration of Life party. That’s how I want to be remembered: laughing at the stereotypes, not with them.
Here’s the truth: people aren’t afraid of aging because they fear death. In fact, many people become less afraid of dying as they get older. What they fear is being dismissed, isolated, patronized, or laughed at.
Like the time someone offered to help me while I stood at a bus stop. I was tempted to say, “Can you make the bus come faster?” What kind of help do they think someone at a bus stop needs, exactly? Living in Philadelphia, many of us don’t even have drivers’ licenses, let alone cars. We take trains and buses.
We Don’t Buy Shoes by Age
People generalize constantly. A well-meaning podiatrist once told me, “You should try these shoes. They’re great for older people. My mom wore them.” Since when do we choose shoes based on our birth year instead of our foot shape?
A stranger who offered help said, “You look old. Older people always need help. Take my mother, for instance…” As if one person represents a whole demographic.
Stereotypes Aren’t Harmless
This isn’t just a matter of taste. Research shows that when people believe stereotypes about aging, they perform worse—on cognitive tests, physical tests, everything. I include examples in my book.
Harvard psychologist Ellen Langer’s research is clear: aging is, to a large extent, a mindset. When you define yourself by your age, your performance changes. When you stop doing that, your energy—and capability—often increase.
It’s one reason I’m grateful I never had children. I can easily imagine a daughter saying, “Mom, you’re too old for these exercise classes. You shouldn’t travel alone. You need to rest.”
And if I bought into that? I’d have missed half the adventures I’m having now.
Want More Like This?
If this post resonated—or made you uncomfortable—you’re not alone. That discomfort is part of the point. It’s time to talk back to ageism, one stereotype (and one punchline) at a time.
