Aging Out of the Spotlight

I’m still trying to comprehend that I’m 50. My age is a touchy subject. I’m still processing it, so proceed with caution. My goal is to one day fully accept it, but right now, I’m not interested in being anyone’s “daddy” or “unc.” It all happened so fast. So, enjoy your youth. Enjoy early adulthood. Enjoy your “morning wood.” I still get “morning wood,” especially when I’m drinking my spinach and cayenne pepper juice regularly; blood flow is a blessing, but this is the reality of being an aging man. Trust me, it’ll happen to you, too. Don’t take it for granted because age didn’t just creep up on me; it dropped out of the sky and landed in my lap like a damn meteorite.

Despite being blessed to see 50—because I know many of us didn’t make it—I still find myself walking around the gayborhood wondering what happened to the years I thought would last. Not forever, but certainly a little longer. R&B singer Aaliyah once sang, “Age Ain’t Nothing but a Number,” which was also the name of her debut album. See, I’m already aging myself. They say you’re only as old as you feel; 50 is the new 30, and you get better with time like fine wine. Sure, I’d like to believe all that, but I started noticing a shift around 45, and nowhere did that invisibility feel more blatant than in our swipe-happy world of online dating.

Simply put, I became even more invisible than I already was. That invisibility is part of why I’ve always felt disconnected from the LGBTQ+ community because it’s never truly been inclusive. I’ve never wrapped myself in rainbow flags or marched down pride parade routes pretending that I, or other queer people of color, have been fully embraced in the broader queer political agenda. Our fight, our struggle, has never been the same. But I digress.

In a short time, online dating completely reshaped my sense of self-worth and desirability. Not that I believe I’m undesirable. All men my age are not created equal, and I would like to thank my mom for her ageless, flawless Puerto Rican genes. However, the messages that used to start with “sup?” or the constant “woofs” slowly faded. The engagement dropped to nearly nothing—except for the occasional older gentleman offering money for sex (because, again, my looks don’t match my age) or the random white man looking to objectify me, seeing only one thing. There will always be those men.

For a while, I thought the shift had to do with my move to Dallas, Texas, and, to be fair, that has played a part. But when I traveled back to L.A., where I lived for nearly two decades, and to NYC, where I’m from and have always been on the “menu,” I noticed the same thing. It’s been like going from prom king to having your crown snatched, not because of anything you did wrong, but because time decided it was someone else’s turn.

There’s been an age chasm in the gay community that’s existed for decades. I remember being out at the bars in my 20s, seeing older guys nursing drinks alone or surrounded by visibly older friends, and thinking how sad—maybe even a little pathetic—it was. It looked like time had slipped away from them without kids and a partner. They were old and alone. It terrified me. Deep down, I was afraid that that could be me one day.

Cut to 25 years later, and the very thing I was terrified of is slowly becoming my reality. I’m single, have no kids, and am still trying to figure out why finding a decent date feels harder than getting a human on the phone at Bank of America. I like to say I’m single by choice, but my trust level in today’s digital dating scene is at a solid 0.5 out of 10. No one can be trusted to be faithful when everyone’s constantly looking over their shoulder—or down at their phone—scrolling for the next best, biggest, hottest thing. Dating’s never been more vapid. Men don’t seem to want to be men anymore, not in the way that means showing up, being present, taking accountability for their actions, or emotional maturity or availability.

At the heart of it, I believe everyone, regardless of age, wants connection and love. Older gay men are struggling, especially those of us who are men of color. I’ve had the conversations. We’re not imagining it; the dating pool has gotten smaller, and the options feel fewer with each passing year. Many of us had trouble finding love, even in our so-called prime, in a community that never saw us as desirable. And now? It’s a sobering reality. Love feels like it’s slipping through our fingers, like maybe “the one” got away twenty years ago, and all we’re left with is the echo of that choice buried deep in our souls.

Whatever age you are, I hope you find your great love. And if I leave this earth without having another relationship, I’ll leave knowing I’ve experienced deep love. I’ve been in love with all the beauty and heartbreak that comes with it. I don’t know what comes next or how it all turns out. But what I can say is: it’s okay. If you’re 40-plus, it’s okay to be out in the gay streets, alone or with friends. It’s more than alright and necessary to keep living your life in the messiness of middle age. Celebrate all of it because we made it, scars and all. And that’s something worth honoring and worth loving. Starting with yourself. And don’t forget to straighten your crown on the way out.