By Konye Chelsea Nwabogor
There’s a special kind of panic that hits you the first time someone calls you “ma.” You could be standing at a café, minding your business, when a 19-year-old waiter smiles politely and says, “Yes, ma.” In that split second, your whole skincare journey flashes before your eyes. You start wondering if your SPF betrayed you, if your concealer isn’t concealing those lines, or if time itself has finally stopped negotiating.
Ageing — that thing everyone prays for but no one wants to show signs of. We say “Long life and prosperity” with conviction, yet treat wrinkles like a personal failure. It’s the great Nigerian paradox: everyone wants to live long, but nobody wants to look like they’ve lived.
In Nigeria, ageing isn’t just a biological process; it’s a political one. Men grow grey and become “distinguished.” Women grow grey, and people start asking who their hairstylist is, because surely something can be done. A man with wrinkles is called “seasoned”; a woman with wrinkles is told to try anti-ageing serum and prayer. When a man’s belly expands, he’s “enjoying life.” When a woman’s body changes, she’s “letting herself go.” The double standard is alive and well, neatly packaged with a bow of cultural expectation. We celebrate men for experience and women for preservation. Every compliment to a woman comes with an age disclaimer: “You look so good for your age.” As though time is an opponent she’s somehow managing to defeat. Ageing gracefully has been replaced by ageing quietly. You can turn 45, just don’t let anyone find out.
This is the land of “Forever 29.” We invented it before Instagram turned it into a hashtag. There are aunties who have been turning 35 for ten straight years, and uncles who are “just 40” even though their children are in NYSC. We laugh about it, but it says something deeper: that we’ve turned age into a scandal to be covered up. Birthdays have become performance art. You can’t just turn 40 anymore; you must “clock 40 like 25.” There’ll be a photoshoot, a video, and a caption about “God’s faithfulness and fine wine ageing.” All beautiful sentiments, but it’s also exhausting. Because behind the filters and captions is a fear that people will treat you differently once they know the number.
Social media has made things worse. Everyone is glowing, no one is ageing. Even the “no filter” movement is suspicious — you’ll see a caption that says #nofilter, but the picture is smoother than glass. It’s no longer enough to be beautiful; you must also be ageless. And that’s where the beauty industry thrives — in our collective panic. There’s a serum for every insecurity, a cream for every crease, and a promise in every jar. Every product is “anti-ageing” — as though ageing were a disease we must cure instead of a privilege we should celebrate. Nobody’s selling “Confidence Cream” or “Contentment Lotion,” because those don’t sell. Fear does.
Walk into any spa in Lekki and you’ll overhear whispers about collagen facials, fillers, and laser treatments. “Just a small touch-up,” someone will say. “Preventive Botox,” another will add, at 28. But maybe it’s not vanity; maybe it’s survival. Maybe it’s the quiet realisation that in this world, especially for women, ageing in public feels like rebellion. You can’t even grow older in peace. By 30, the questions start. By 40, the comparisons. By 50, the invisibility. The older a woman gets, the less society wants to look at her — unless she’s fighting time. That’s why women who age audaciously are so magnetic. Ireti Doyle, Shaffy Bello, Kate Henshaw, these women don’t hide behind filters. They’ve made ageing look like luxury. Their glow doesn’t come from youth; it comes from peace.
Because the truth is, nothing looks better than confidence. The kind that doesn’t need permission or applause. When a woman stops chasing youth, she starts radiating something else — assurance. Her beauty stops shouting; it starts speaking softly but with authority. That’s what time gives you. You stop dressing to prove, and start dressing to please yourself. You stop chasing trends and start investing in timelessness — in your wardrobe, your energy, your circle. You no longer attend every event; you choose rest over relevance. You no longer explain your choices; you simply make them. It’s not “giving up.” It’s evolution.
The double standard between men and women is still loud, though. A man dating a younger woman is “lucky.” A woman dating a younger man is often labelled as “desperate.” It’s an impossible game. However, these days, women are winning. They’re rewriting what middle age looks like, redefining it on their own terms. Gone are the days when turning 50 meant disappearing into a wrapper and resignation. Now, 50-year-olds are launching businesses, dancing on Instagram, starting new careers, and living louder than ever before.
The real glow-up is peace. That moment when you stop performing for youth and start living for yourself. You realise that not every comment deserves a response, not every invite deserves attendance, and not every trend needs your participation. You start choosing peace like it’s skincare — daily, consistently, unapologetically. You understand that silence is a power move. You stop chasing speed and start enjoying stability. Your glow becomes quieter but more powerful — the kind that can’t be captured in pictures but radiates in presence.
Ageing is not a tragedy; it’s a privilege. Every line on your face is a story, every scar a survival badge, every silver strand a testimony. Time doesn’t steal beauty; it redefines it. Sure, your knees may now make sound effects and your hangovers last longer, but your sense of self? Sharper than ever. You learn discernment. You learn boundaries. You learn that no is a full sentence. You learn that the people who matter will love you at any age, and the ones who don’t — well, they can keep chasing youth on Instagram.
When next you hear someone say, “You’re ageing well,” don’t downplay it. Smile and say, “I should be — I’ve worked hard for this peace.” Because that’s what it really is — not a fight against time, but a friendship with it.
