Are middle-aged women really invisible? I see them everywhere – and not just in the mirror | Emma Beddington

Gillian Anderson, Rose Byrne, Melinda Gates: there’s no getting away from these passionate and prominent figures. Even I feel more exposed than I’d like to be, writes Emma Beddington

Am I, a middle-aged woman, invisible? There’s a picture of me near these words; can you see it, or am I a blur, like a perp on Traffic Cops who wouldn’t sign a release? Anecdotal evidence from last week is mixed: seeing a friend my age on Thursday night, we got served easily and the waiting staff were politely attentive, even though – or because – I was radiating heat-induced derangement. (At one point, I told a waiter, wild-eyed: “I’m dying – I’m from the north.”) The next morning, I had to dodge a massive sandbag thrown by a man in the gym who definitely didn’t see me, but he was so locked in I doubt he would have noticed Zendaya doing star jumps.

I’ve been wondering, because I recently read the cultural commentator Mireille Silcoff in the New York Times rebuffing the idea that, at 53, she is invisible. “I am not vanishing,” she wrote. “I even feel, quite regularly, that I am in some kind of prime.”

The invisible middle-aged woman trope is perennial – we recede into barren irrelevance, like Jane Austen’s Anne Elliot in Persuasion, our “bloom” vanished (although Elliot was 27!). Silcoff feels it’s more present than ever, citing recent reinforcements: Rachel Weisz (56) in Vladimir fearing that as an older woman she will “lose the ability to captivate”; an exchange between Rose Byrne (46) and Carla Gallo (51) on the comedy series Platonic (“We’re invisible. We’re middle-aged women”); and L’Oréal claiming 70% of women “believe they become invisible” as they age. The associated campaign is fronted by Gillian Anderson (57): “Women over 50 are disappearing,” she says. “You’re noticed, you’re needed, you’re whistled at, you’re even hit on, and then: poof! A few years later, you don’t exist.”

Predictably, it ends with a roar of dissent – Anderson has “never felt better” and tells the ageist, sexist patriarchy to “fuck off” – but this fightback is required, because: “It’s everywhere in our society.”

Is it? Anderson is everywhere, glowing with health and purpose, affirming women’s weird and wonderful sexuality, while Byrne co-founded a five-woman production company dedicated to promoting female storytelling. I feel that powerful women in their prime are prominent in public life, some of them very visibly talking about invisibility. My friend agreed: midlife women, she says, “have the money and the power and all look like they’re 30 now”. “I look like Ramses II!” I protested. “All the rich ones,” she replied.

“Rich” is part of the story: visibility is definitely easier when you have the cultural and financial capital that brings its own clout. But at least prominent midlifers give us hope of visibility trickle-down where it’s most needed. Sexism and ageism in the workplace is one area – actors are calling it out in their industry (where more talking animals and men called Chris starred in the UK’s biggest films in the past three years than women over 60, according to research by Age Without Limits) and, like Byrne, taking matters into their own hands.

Health is another. A recent New Yorker feature on a “concierge” (expensive) gynaecologist highlighted how wealthy, powerful women who aren’t used to being ignored are being galvanised into action by systematic under-researching and underfunding around women’s health issues, many of which emerge in midlife: Melinda Gates pouring $215 million into menopause research; another Silicon Valley one-percenter funding an ovarian cancer study.

I think there’s also been a realisation that courting middle-aged women makes good business sense, which is why the invisibility discourse is getting so much air. We’re relatively solvent consumers (at least compared with our kids’ generation), an under-exploited market. I suspect some companies and content creators use invisibility as rage bait to drive engagement or make us worry about skin elasticity (God forbid a neck should be allowed to wither in peace). L’Oréal thinks you’re worth it, even if the patriarchy doesn’t!

Well, good luck making me care about not being noticed, needed, whistled at, hit on. I enjoy moving through the world mostly unneeded, unnoticed and unmolested; I would dearly love it if no one ever saw me try to eat sushi on a moving train again. Actually, I find that kind of invisibility aspirational – rather than neck-smoothing creams and creatine, can someone sell me a potion for that?

• Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist

• Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here