Let’s get one thing straight: a woman’s value does not come with an expiration date.
But for generations, society has told us otherwise. In whispered warnings, in family conversations, in magazine covers and TV dramas, women—especially Arab women—have been told that their time is ticking. That there’s a deadline for being beautiful, for being wanted, for being successful. That if you haven’t married, built a family, achieved it all by a certain age, then… maybe you missed your chance.
Let me tell you: that is a lie. And it’s time we burn it.
The Silent Pressure: Age as a Deadline
In Saudi society, the pressure doesn’t always shout—it whispers. “You’re almost 30… when will you get married?” “You have two degrees—don’t intimidate the men.” “She’s over 35 and still single?”
These comments aren’t just casual—they shape our inner narratives. They make brilliant, educated, talented women question their worth just because the number on their ID increased. They make us rush decisions. Settle for less. Shrink ourselves so we can fit into timelines we never agreed to.
We’re not aging. We’re evolving.
🕰️ The Daily Language of Expiration
It’s not just what people say—it’s how they say it. In everyday conversations, in salons, family dinners, group chats—age is used like a measuring stick to judge whether you still “have time” or if your moment has passed.
Let’s talk about the phrases that carry expiration energy:
- “خلص قطار الزواج.”
(“The marriage train has left the station.”)
As if love has a boarding time and you missed it. No—it’s not a train. It’s your life, and you drive it. - “أهم شي تلحقي تتزوجي قبل الثلاثين.”
(“The important thing is to get married before 30.”)
As if after 30, you turn invisible or unworthy of love and partnership. - “كبّري عقلك.”
(“Grow up” or “Be realistic.”)
Usually said when a woman dares to dream big after a certain age—start a business, change careers, or live differently. - “بعد الأربعين خلاص.”
(“After 40 your done.”)
As if that’s all that’s left. No new goals. No ambition. Just… fade into motherhood and invisibility.
And then there are the lifestyle cues that reinforce it:
- Being told to “dress your age”—code for “hide yourself now.”
- The absence of older women in beauty ads, TV shows, or brand campaigns.
- The over-glorification of “anti-aging” instead of pro-aging or age-celebration.
- The way women whisper their age like it’s a confession, not a badge of honor.
These things add up. They sink in. And they teach us—without ever saying it directly—that we should be afraid of time.
Who Wrote the Script That Says We Expire?
Let’s call it what it is: a system designed to keep women small.
It benefits the billion-dollar beauty and anti-aging industry that thrives on insecurity. It helps patriarchal mindsets that don’t want women in leadership roles past a “certain age.” It supports companies that push older women out of the workforce to make space for younger, cheaper talent.
And in our culture? It’s wrapped in language about reputation, tradition, and the so-called “perfect timing.” But behind the politeness is the same tired narrative: be young, be pretty, be quiet—and when you’re not anymore, disappear.
Aging in Arab Culture: Beauty, Modesty, and the Double Standard
In our region, the obsession with youth is layered with expectations about modesty, behavior, and image. Women are taught to preserve a version of themselves that’s forever 25—smooth-skinned, humble, feminine, quiet, and marriage-ready.
We see it in how older, single women are viewed with pity. How divorced or widowed women face judgment if they choose to remarry. How a gray-haired man is called “wise,” while a gray-haired woman is told to color her roots.
But the reality is this: we are not just bodies—we are brilliance, creativity, leadership, and power.
The New Narrative: We’re Just Getting Started
I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Saudi women over 30, 40, even 50 launching businesses, leading design studios, mentoring others, and finding love on their own terms. They’re changing the narrative not just by talking—but by livingit.
They’re not asking permission to be visible. They’re not apologizing for their age. They’re not shrinking to fit someone else’s timeline.
They are walking into rooms like they own them—because they do.
My Message to Every Woman Reading This
You are not too late. You are not too old. You are not expired.
Whether you’re 28 and feeling rushed, or 48 and just beginning again—your timeline is your own. You don’t owe society your silence, your youth, or your constant effort to “stay relevant.” You already are.
Let’s unlearn the expiration myth and replace it with truth: You’re not running out of time—you’re right on time.
– Lulu