Can Looking Young Get Old?

I have to say, as I approach 40, it feels good when people think I'm in my 20s. I always give credit to my eye cream, which I've been using for decades. But in the professional aren a, I find it frustrating as I feel that I'm often not given all the responsibility I know I can handle because I may have a youthful look or personality. I'm curious if men have the same issue?

Have you ever felt professionally underestimated because you look younger than you do? Or have you ever been the one to underestimate another? Thoughts??

The below article comes from a posting on Forbes.com, and you can click here to read the commentary on it.


9/21/2011
Youth In The Office: A Blessing Or Curse?
Jenna Goudreau, Forbes Staff

As a journalist, I’m paid to observe others and communicate their challenges and successes, but sometimes the story hits closer to home. At 25-years-old and a reporter at a major-media company, my age seems constantly a topic of conversation. That’s why, when my editor tasked me with writing a series about youth in the office, I knew I wouldn’t need to look far. This is my story.

When I was near 5-years-old, the only child of a single, working mother, I was bored and dying to start school. However, the way the Florida education system was set up, you had to be age 5 by September 1. I begged my mom to let me go, who in turn begged the school to take me, but I was a month and half too young.

The school board told my mother it was a blessing. The older children usually had an advantage, they said. They may have been right. I loved learning and made an A in every class all the way up through college, except ninth-grade health (skipped too much), 10th-grade woodshop (talked too much) and 11th-grade yoga (still not sure what happened there). When I decided I wanted to accomplish something, I usually did. I became used to succeeding among my peers.

In my first full-time internship at a well-known magazine, still in college at age 20, I expected I’d be fetching coffee. I also promised myself that I’d try to make a mark. I got in early, read multiple newspapers a day, spoke up and pitched stories. I surprised myself when I pulled off multi-page print features and well-received online pieces. One longtime staff writer wasn’t as pleased. “In my day, interns didn’t do this kind of work,” she told me. You skipped the line, her eyes said.

I landed my first salaried magazine job the day after I graduated and started work the following week. I was lucky, people told me. I was 22. Invariably lost in the building the first few weeks, people would smile sympathetically in the halls and ask if I was an intern. I’d assumed my age would be an issue, so wore a rotation of blasé collared shirts and dress pants. But you can’t hide your face.

A month or so in, one of my female bosses called me to her office to tell me specifically to stop looking like an intern. She suggested I cut my hair. I felt it was more mean-girl than mentor but decided she had a point. I cut my hair. I continued building a closet of professional clothes and remained even-keeled. I wasn’t happy, but I had a job to do and was doing it well. I continued about my business.

I’ve put on a few more years since, but basically look the same. It would be hard not to look young being 5’2”, round-faced and non-committal when it comes to heels. At a recent soccer game, in a T-shirt and light makeup, I was pegged at 17. When I put on my big-girl pants and eyeliner, I pass more vaguely as a 20-something—not necessarily a term of endearment. As a group we’ve been called spoiled, entitled, stuck, lost, emerging, narcissistic and addicted to tech.

Yet, my mother calls my young face one of those “good problems.” And at times it has worked to my advantage. Bosses affectionately call me “kid,” “kiddo” and “young lady,” and take the time to offer encouragement and advice. One told me point-blank that when she looked at me she saw her daughter; she promoted me a few months later. When I show up for TV segments, the producers seem pleased by my “fresh face,” and the other reporters lean close, brows furled in wonderment. You’re so young, they say. I can approach almost anyone under the guise of mentorship. They want to help.

Outside the industry, subjects and sources often feel the need to point out their age in comparison to mine. Maybe I make them feel old. One subject tried to use my age to discredit me, so I knew I was getting to her. Others open up, let their guard down, say too much. In my reporting, if my not being intimidating helps, hey, I’ll take it.

“Never let them tell you your age is a problem,” one seasoned reporter told me last year. I know now that there’s something every generation has to offer—to a story, to a team, to a workplace. If I’ve managed to be successful despite my age or in light of it, it doesn’t matter. I am one of the lucky ones.