On the one hand, I think some part of me always knew I would end up dating older men (or maybe that’s just what happens when you have whatever kind of undiagnosed neurodivergence makes a sixth grader hyper-fixate on 19th-century novels about teenage governesses marrying their age gap employers). On the other hand, I can pinpoint the exact moment I chose this path with near-perfect clarity.
I was about to turn 21 and had just been dumped for the second and final time by my college boyfriend. When my older cousin attempted to console me by saying, “Guys that age just don’t know what they want yet,” I don’t think she meant to suggest that I should simply find an older man who did know what he wanted—but that’s exactly what I decided to do. I jacked up my age maximum on Tinder and never looked back.
Eight years later, I’ve now spent almost the entirety of my 20s dating older men—the youngest of whom had a mere nine years on me while my most significant age gaps have spanned nearly three decades. Did I manage to find a man who knows what he wants? Of course not. Mostly, I’ve just found that men never really seem to know what they want regardless of age, but they do know it sure as hell ain’t me.
Still, while I may not have had much better luck with older men in terms of locking one down, I have generally found them to be more fulfilling matches when it comes to mental and emotional maturity. (This is not to imply that men my own age are stupid or immature, just that most of them are too stupid and immature for me.)
The point is, my decision to position myself as the “younger woman” in my dating life was and continues to be an active one. Which is to say, age is not “just a number” to me, and neither is an age gap. I may have gravitated toward these dynamics instinctively, but I’ve chosen them intentionally. I don’t find age negligible; I am attracted to these men and have entered relationships with them because of their age and its distance from mine. I am not an age-blind age gap dater, and I’m not sure anyone should be.
I bring this up, of course, in reference to Age of Attraction, the latest dating show/social experiment from the mad scientists over at Netflix. In an age-centric spin on Love Is Blind, the reality series dares “age-blind” singles to couple up without knowing the age of their potential partners. The purpose of this human experiment is ostensibly to determine whether age “really matters” in relationships—and per the nearly 20-year age gap between married hosts Nick Viall and Natalie Joy, the show’s thesis seems to be that no, it doesn’t.
In theory, this “age is just a number” mentality represents a supposedly less ageist, more open-minded one that positions age as a superficial construct (akin to physical appearance, à la Love Is Blind) that shouldn’t get in the way of true love. Ultimately, however, I find myself wary of this age-blind approach to dating. Not just because it’s unrealistic—as many Age of Attraction viewers have noted, it’s fairly easy to tell which characters are significantly older or younger than their matches—but because it attempts to dismiss the entire point of age gap relationships: i.e., the power imbalance that makes them alluring to some, abhorrent to others, and controversial either way.
Age of Attraction seems interested in trying to resolve this controversy by simply eliminating age from the equation, but you can’t take the age out of an age gap. Attempting to do so is willfully ignorant and perhaps even dangerously so—particularly as the realization that our society is one that ignores and enables the exploitation of girls and young women at the hands of powerful older men continues to unfold on a global stage.
To be fair, as a woman nearing 30 in that same ageist, sexist, and exploitative society, I do see the subversive potential—or at least the appeal—of decentering age on an individual level. But I fear that to extend the “age is just a number” mentality to romantic relationships (especially heterosexual ones) ignores the very real and potentially harmful power dynamic at the heart of an age gap, particularly in relationships between a significantly older man and younger woman.
Of course, given my own proclivity for May-December romance, I am obviously not of the opinion that this power imbalance between romantic partners on opposite ends of an age gap is necessarily problematic or inherently exploitative. Ultimately, Age of Attraction and I agree that age gap relationships can work. But I’d argue that age awareness, not age blindness, is the key. The couples who can successfully navigate an age discrepancy are not the ones who believe age doesn’t matter, but the ones who understand how much it does matter and are prepared to acknowledge its influence rather than downplay it.
Like any intoxicating substance, the power dynamic electrifying the years between an age gap couple carries risk. To write those high voltage years off as “just a number” is to turn a blind eye to that reality—and that’s a risk I can’t recommend taking.
