Aging Out Loud: What Gay Culture Taught Me About Desire, Rejection, and Growing Older

There are moments I scroll through hookup apps and feel like a ghost in a room I used to be welcomed into.

I’m still here. Still queer. Still alive in this beautiful, ridiculous, aching body of mine. Still hungry for connection. Still flirting. Still hopeful. But something has shifted—and it’s not just the algorithm. It’s how I’m seen. And maybe, too, how I see myself.

I don’t write this with bitterness. I write it with curiosity. With a little heartache. And with a lot of honesty.

Because as much as I feel hurt by the way gay culture sidelines older queer men, I also have to admit – I’ve done the sidelining too.

I Was Ageist Before I Aged

I used to filter people out by age without a second thought. I thought it was just preference. I’d scroll past men who reminded me too much of my father, or who didn’t fit my fantasy. I didn’t stop to think about what that felt like on the receiving end. I didn’t have to think about it.

Back then, I was what the culture rewarded: younger, thinner, newer. Now, I’m on the other side of that invisible line. And I feel it.

The messages come slower. Or not at all. Sometimes, when I do get responses, they come with qualifiers: “you’re hot for your age” or “I usually don’t go this old, but…” You learn quickly how conditional your desirability becomes.

It’s a strange thing, being both hurt by something and complicit in it.

Desire Isn’t a Crime—But Conditioning Is Real

I’m not here to shame anyone’s attraction. Desire is weird, layered, deeply personal. But it’s also shaped by culture, and our culture – gay culture, hookup culture, digital queer spaces – is soaked in ageism. Youth is not just fetishized; it’s framed as the ideal. Everything else is a compromise.

Even now, I catch myself gravitating toward younger men. Sometimes I’m chasing vitality. Sometimes I’m chasing the version of myself I used to be. Sometimes I just want to feel wanted by someone who represents possibility, not limitation.

But what am I reinforcing when I do that? What mirror am I holding up for others—and for myself?

The Cost of Invisibility

It’s hard to talk about this stuff without sounding fragile. But the truth is, there’s grief in this. Not just about not getting laid as easily (though, yeah, that too), but about the quiet ways we’re taught that our worth expires with our youth.

And I think what hurts the most is not the rejection itself—it’s the accumulation of being unseen. Of being looked through, not looked at. Especially when I know I’m still vibrant, still sexy, still full of spark and stories and tenderness.

I want to be desired not despite my age, but with it. Because of it.

How Can We Do Better?

I don’t have a blueprint. But I think it starts with asking better questions. Of each other. Of ourselves.

Why do we equate youth with value?
Why do we treat older bodies as either comic relief or invisible burdens?
Why are we so afraid to look in the mirror and see time?

I think we can celebrate queerness across every age. I think we can uplift the beauty of experience, the dignity of survival, the sexiness of someone who knows their body and their mind.

And I think we can make space for intergenerational friendships, for mentorship, for flirtation that isn’t transactional, for community that isn’t just curated around desirability.

How Can I Do Better?

I can start by offering grace. To others, and to myself.

I can notice when I’m seeking youth as validation and pause.
I can stop ghosting people just because they’re older than my fantasy self.
I can consider my choice of models and seek out older representation in my art.
I can show up as fully myself, without apology. And trust that I’m not “less than” – just more lived-in.

I can remember that queerness isn’t a trend I’m aging out of. It’s a lifelong becoming.

So here I am, still swiping sometimes. Still showing up. Still believing in the possibility of being seen, felt, held. Not because I’m clinging to youth, but because I’m not done growing.

And maybe that’s what aging with pride really means.

Let’s Talk

Have you felt this too? Whether you’re 23 or 63, how has age shaped your experience of queer community and connection?

Drop a comment or share your story, I’d love to hear from you. Let’s talk about how we’re aging, desiring, and becoming… together.

Note: I used AI to make final edits to my ramblings and online journaling, including some formatting and organization to be more blog-friendly.