Dorian Gray Syndrome

The bathroom light is the unkind kind, bright and white, the sort that finds every line you hoped had gone away. You lean toward the mirror and pull the skin at your temple back with two fingers, just to see. There she is, the face from eight years ago. You let go, and gravity restores the present. On the shelf behind you sit eleven small jars, each promising something with the word “renew” in it, and on your phone is an appointment you have not mentioned to anyone. You are not vain, you tell yourself. You are being proactive. Yet you have not let anyone photograph you from the left side in a year.

Popular culture has a name for this preoccupation: Dorian Gray syndrome, after the handsome young man in Oscar Wilde’s novel who stays beautiful while his portrait ages. It is a catchy label for a very real modern worry: the fear of looking older, and the lengths people go to in order to avoid it. Headlines apply it to celebrities, influencers and the neighbor with the suspiciously smooth forehead.

But what is it, clinically, and what is it not?

This article explains Dorian Gray syndrome: where the term comes from, what researchers and clinicians mean by it, how it overlaps with body dysmorphic disorder and narcissism, why fear of aging runs so deep, and what actually helps.

What is Dorian Gray syndrome, and is it a real diagnosis?

Dorian Gray syndrome is an informal term for an intense preoccupation with looking young, combined with difficulty accepting aging and, often, repeated use of cosmetic procedures or “anti-aging” products. It is not a recognized diagnosis in the DSM-5 or in the World Health Organization’s International Classification of Diseases. Clinicians use it as a descriptive label, not as a formal condition.

The term appears in clinical and popular writing from about the year 2000. A 2023 article that proposed the milder label “Dorian Gray trait” summarized the earlier characteristics attributed to the syndrome: excessive preoccupation with outward appearance; embarrassment and social withdrawal in response to imagined or minimal flaws; and a strong desire to preserve youthfulness in order not to grow older. The same article noted that no data on the prevalence of the syndrome are available, and it suggested that it may be considered a variant of body dysmorphic disorder because of the similarity in characteristics.

Other descriptions in the literature link the label with a triad of features: body dysmorphic symptoms, narcissistic personality traits, and difficulties with psychological maturation, often accompanied by heavy use of what are called “medical lifestyle” products and procedures. Those operational criteria have been proposed in niche clinical writing, but they have not been validated in large studies or adopted by the major diagnostic manuals, so they should be treated as hypotheses, not facts.

This matters because the term is easy to misuse. Plenty of people care about their appearance, dye their hair or have an occasional treatment without any psychological problem. Wanting to look healthy and well-groomed is normal. What marks a problem is intensity and cost: when concern about aging consumes hours, drains finances, harms relationships or produces significant distress.

The label also has a faintly judgmental ring. Dorian Gray was not simply a worried man; he became a murderer. Calling someone “a Dorian Gray” can slide into moral criticism of vanity. A kinder and more accurate view is that fear of aging is widespread, understandable and shaped by a culture that rewards youth.

Picture Elena, 49, who schedules a facial every month and checks her face in shop windows. She laughs about it with friends. But she also avoids photographs, has declined invitations to reunions and feels a spike of panic at the sight of gray in her partner’s hair. The humor is a thin cover.

The syndrome label says less about her than the details do: the distress, the avoidance, and the shrinking of life around a fear.

What did Oscar Wilde’s novel understand about vanity and denial?

A surprising amount. Oscar Wilde‘s novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, first published in a magazine in 1890 and as an expanded book in 1891, tells the story of a young man who wishes that his portrait would age in his place. The wish is granted. Dorian stays unlined and radiant while the painting records his years and, increasingly, his cruelty. It is a story about aging, but even more it is a story about denial and the cost of splitting the self.

The psychological insight is in the portrait. Dorian does not remove the consequences of his choices; he relocates them to an object that he hides in a locked room. Clinicians sometimes use the image as a metaphor for how people can keep a polished surface while pushing disliked parts of themselves out of sight. In Wilde’s telling, the hidden portrait does not make the problem go away; it makes it grow. Dorian’s face remains perfect, and his inner life becomes more and more frightening to him.

The book also anticipates a theme that psychologists would study decades later: what happens when a person’s worth becomes tied to how they appear. Dorian is introduced to the idea by Lord Henry, who tells him that youth and beauty are the only things worth having and that they are fleeting. Dorian takes the idea to heart. His panic about losing his looks drives the wish, and the wish drives him to protect it at any cost.

Wilde was writing about Victorian society, a world with particular views on beauty, morality and appearance. The story is not a case study and should not be read as one. Literary characters are not patients, and describing someone as “having Dorian Gray syndrome” simply because they like cosmetic treatments is a stretch of the metaphor.

Yet the novel’s staying power suggests that the fears it dramatizes are old. The terror of decline, the temptation to avoid its signs and the suspicion that the cost of avoidance will be paid somewhere else are not new inventions of social media. What is new is the scale of the industry that offers to help, and the number of mirrors, lenses and filters that make the comparison constant.

Consider how many people still cite the book when they talk about aging. It endures because it asks an uncomfortable question: if you could stop the visible signs of time, what would you be willing to give up?

What are the signs of Dorian Gray syndrome or the “Dorian Gray trait”?

There is no official checklist, but clinicians and researchers describe a recognizable pattern: preoccupation with looking young, distress about signs of aging, and behaviors aimed at hiding or reversing them. The signs matter most when they are persistent and disrupt daily life, not when they are occasional or mild.

• Preoccupation with appearance: spending large amounts of time thinking about, checking or discussing one’s face or body, with a focus on lines, gray hair, skin texture or body shape.
• Distress at ordinary aging: strong anxiety, sadness or shame when noticing wrinkles, birthdays or comments about age.
• Frequent cosmetic procedures or products: repeated treatments, injections, surgeries or supplements, sometimes at financial or medical risk, with dissatisfaction that returns soon after.
• Avoidance: skipping photographs, social events, video calls or mirrors; hiding one’s age; avoiding people who seem older or younger.
• Reluctance to take on age-typical roles: for example, resisting responsibilities or relationships that “make you feel old,” or dressing and behaving in ways meant to deny age.
• Self-worth tied to looks: a belief that value, love or success depend on seeming young.

Researchers who proposed the term “Dorian Gray trait” described it as an obsession with a youthful appearance and a compulsive use of aesthetic and lifestyle trends to mute or mask signs of aging, with a quick-fix attitude and neglect of healthier long-term habits. They suggested that the underlying fear is of looking old, not necessarily of growing old. That distinction is useful: someone can be physically active, curious and socially engaged and still be consumed by the fear of a visible line.

The trait is not confined to women or to any age. Men use cosmetic procedures, hair treatments and supplements too, and younger adults in their twenties and thirties increasingly pursue “preventive” treatments, encouraged by social media. Cultures vary in how much they prize youth, and some celebrate age and experience.

It is worth noting what is not on the list: enjoying skincare, caring about style, or being a person who simply likes looking good. Many people take pleasure in appearance without distress. The signal is suffering and restriction, not interest.

A rule of thumb many clinicians use: ask whether the behavior serves your life or whether your life is serving the behavior. If you have canceled plans, taken on debt or risked your health to avoid an age-related change, the second may be true.

Imagine Rafael, 52, a sales manager who now schedules work trips around treatment recovery and dreads the arrival of each new colleague in their twenties. He is not unwell. He is tired, and increasingly afraid.

Is it body dysmorphic disorder, narcissism or something else?

It overlaps with both, but it is neither on its own. Most descriptions place the syndrome near body dysmorphic disorder (BDD) and narcissistic traits, which is why clinicians tend to assess for those conditions first. The difference lies in the focus: the Dorian Gray pattern centers on signs of aging and the preservation of youth, while BDD centers on perceived flaws in appearance of any kind.

Psychiatrist Katharine A. Phillips, one of the leading researchers on BDD, described it in her book The Broken Mirror as a preoccupation with perceived defects in appearance that others do not see or see as slight, accompanied by repetitive behaviors such as mirror checking, skin picking, reassurance seeking or comparison, and by marked distress or impairment. Large population studies in Western countries find that BDD affects about 1.7 to 2.9 percent of people, and the rate is much higher among people seeking cosmetic care: about 13 to 15 percent in cosmetic surgery settings and around 20 percent among those seeking rhinoplasty, according to estimates compiled by the International OCD Foundation. A systematic review of studies on BDD found wide variation in prevalence by setting and screening method, which makes precise numbers hard to pin down.

That last point is important for anyone considering cosmetic treatment. If appearance concerns are driven by BDD, procedures often do not relieve distress; people may remain dissatisfied or shift their preoccupation to another feature. Surgeons and mental health clinicians increasingly recommend screening for BDD before elective procedures, and BDD is associated with high rates of depression, social avoidance and suicidal thoughts, so recognizing it matters.

Narcissistic features can play a part. A person whose self-worth rests heavily on admiration may find aging threatening because it undermines the main source of validation. But many people who fear aging are not narcissistic; they may be anxious, insecure or reacting to realistic pressures such as workplace ageism. The reverse is also true: not everyone with narcissistic traits obsesses about aging.

Diagnosis requires a clinician. If appearance concerns occupy more than an hour a day, lead to compulsive behaviors, interfere with work or relationships, or are accompanied by hopelessness, an assessment by a psychologist or psychiatrist is worthwhile. If you are having thoughts of harming yourself, contact local emergency services or a crisis line right away.

Picture Camille, 44, who has had four procedures in two years and is convinced that her jawline is collapsing. Friends see nothing. Each treatment lowers her anxiety for a week. A dermatologist, noticing the pattern, gently suggests a conversation with a psychologist. It is the first time anyone has asked what she feels when she looks in the mirror.

Where does the fear of aging come from? Ageism and cultural messages

A large part of it is cultural. Fear of aging is learned from a world that often treats older age as decline, and that bias has a name: ageism. Gerontologist Robert N. Butler coined the term in 1969 in an article in The Gerontologist titled “Age-ism: Another form of bigotry,” describing prejudice by one age group against others and, in particular, a systematic stereotyping of and discrimination against people because they are old, as racism and sexism do with skin color and gender.

Butler argued that ageism allows younger generations to see older people as different from themselves, which makes it easier to avoid thinking about their own aging. That insight is directly relevant here. If older age is associated with uselessness, ugliness or irrelevance, then looking old is a social risk, and the wish to avoid it is rational in a limited sense. People who fear being passed over at work, dismissed by a partner or invisible in public are responding to real patterns.

The messages are everywhere. Advertisements promote “anti-aging” creams, not “healthy aging” support. Films cast women in their fifties as grandmothers and men in their fifties as romantic leads. Language uses “senior moment” as a joke. Workplaces, particularly in appearance-driven industries, can penalize age. Some cultures venerate older people and associate age with wisdom; others celebrate youth. The experience of aging, and the fear of it, is shaped by which messages a person grows up with.

Ageism can be internalized. People absorb negative stereotypes of older age early in life, and by the time they become old themselves, they apply them to their own bodies and futures. That internalization can fuel dread, avoidance and the drive to hide signs of age, and, as the next sections show, it may also affect health.

It is also fair to say that some concerns are justified. Aging does bring changes in energy, health and appearance, and loss of looks can affect treatment in a society that prizes them. Pretending otherwise is unhelpful. The challenge is to distinguish a realistic response (staying healthy, maintaining relationships, planning financially) from an obsessive one.

Think of Teodor, 58, a designer who has been told in meetings that he should “bring in some fresh blood.” He starts dyeing his hair and hides his age on professional profiles. The prejudice is real; the secrecy also costs him, because he stops mentioning his decades of experience.

What would change if you replaced “how do I look younger?” with “how do I want to be seen at sixty-five?”

Is fear of death hiding behind the fear of wrinkles?

For some people, yes. According to terror management theory, awareness of mortality creates a basic anxiety that people manage by investing in cultural worldviews and self-esteem. Psychologists Jeff Greenberg, Tom Pyszczynski and Sheldon Solomon proposed the theory in 1986 in a chapter on the causes and consequences of a need for self-esteem. It holds that humans, unlike other animals, know that they will die, and that this knowledge would be paralyzing without psychological defenses.

Applied to aging, the theory suggests that visible signs of aging are reminders of mortality. Wrinkles, gray hair and slower recovery are not just cosmetic; they are evidence that time is passing. A culture that glorifies youth offers a way to ward off the reminder: if you look young, you can feel further from death. Experiments inspired by terror management theory have found that reminding people of death can increase attention to bodily attractiveness and reliance on appearance-based self-worth in some groups, though results vary by study and context.

The theory has generated hundreds of studies and also faces criticism. Some researchers question whether death-related anxiety is as fundamental as the theory claims, and replication efforts for individual effects have been mixed. Alternative accounts emphasize other motives such as uncertainty, social belonging or meaning-making. The framework is best seen as one lens among several, not a complete explanation of why people dislike aging.

What the lens does offer is a way to see why the fear can feel out of proportion to the actual change in appearance. If a fine line triggers dread, it may be because the line stands for something larger: finitude, loss, a limited number of years. This can be uncomfortable to face, but naming it often reduces its grip.

Culture, religion, philosophy and relationships offer other ways of managing awareness of death, such as a sense of legacy, a belief in something larger than oneself or deep connection with others. Studies suggest that people with a strong sense of meaning and purpose tend to report less death anxiety, though the relationship is complicated.

Imagine Hamid, 61, who finds himself unusually distressed by a milestone birthday. When asked what bothers him, he does not mention his face. He says: “It’s the number. It’s closer to the end than the beginning.” That was the real subject all along.

A therapist can help people explore these fears, rather than treating them solely through appearance.

Is a midlife crisis the same thing as Dorian Gray syndrome?

No, but the two can overlap. A midlife crisis is a period of questioning and distress around the middle years of life, often triggered by awareness of aging and mortality, while the Dorian Gray pattern is a specific fixation on preserving youthful appearance. A person in a midlife crisis may or may not become preoccupied with looks.

The term “midlife crisis” goes back to psychoanalyst Elliott Jaques, who used it in a 1965 paper titled “Death and the mid-life crisis” in the International Journal of Psycho-Analysis. Jaques argued, drawing on observations of creative artists and clinical work, that around age 35 many people confront the reality of their own mortality, and that this confrontation can lead to depression, a loss of creativity or, in the most constructive cases, a deeper and more realistic creative maturity. His idea has had a lasting cultural influence, though research on how common a distinct crisis is has produced mixed results: many studies find that most people do not experience a dramatic crisis in midlife, although transitions and stress at this stage are common.

The link to Dorian Gray thinking is the denial route. A person facing midlife can respond by accepting change and revising goals, or by trying to deny it through a rush to look and act younger: new wardrobe, new body, new partner, new gadget. Occasionally the rush is playful, even healthy. In other cases it expresses a refusal to grieve what is passing. The distinction lies in flexibility: can the person tolerate sadness about aging, or does any reminder trigger panic?

Developmental psychologists emphasize that aging also brings gains. Many studies report that emotional well-being tends to be stable or improve into later adulthood, that emotional regulation often gets better, and that people become more focused on meaningful goals. These findings do not erase losses, but they challenge the story that aging is only decline.

The “maturation” element mentioned in some descriptions of the syndrome refers to avoiding age-typical roles and responsibilities. That is a hypothesis, not a settled finding. In practice, many people who dread aging are fully engaged with work and family; others hold back. Readers who recognize themselves should not assume the worst, only notice patterns.

It may help to treat midlife as a time of transition. Questions like “What do I want the next thirty years to contain?” are more productive than “How do I look twenty-five again?”

Think of Marta, 45, who buys a motorbike, enrolls in a language class and starts a degree. For her the changes are expansions. Her colleague Pedro, 46, makes similar purchases but cannot stop comparing himself to younger men and has stopped seeing old friends. Same decade, different directions.

How do social media, filters and “selfie dysmorphia” feed the fear?

They intensify it by providing constant, curated comparison and by making a flawless, altered face look normal. Social media did not create the fear of aging, but it offers an endless supply of faces that appear to have defeated it, and tools to make your own face look the same.

Psychologist Barbara L. Fredrickson and Tomi-Ann Roberts proposed objectification theory in 1997 in the journal Psychology of Women Quarterly. They argued that in cultures that sexually objectify women’s bodies, girls and women learn to view themselves from an observer’s perspective, a process called self-objectification, which can lead to body shame, appearance anxiety and reduced awareness of internal body states. The theory was developed for women, and later research found similar processes in men, though the evidence for gender differences continues to be debated.

Feeds multiply the observer’s gaze. Every photo or video invites self-monitoring: How do I look? How old do I seem? How many likes did I get? Filters smooth skin and lift features, and users become accustomed to a version of themselves that does not exist outside the screen. Clinicians have described patients who bring edited selfies to consultations and ask to look like the filtered image, a pattern sometimes called “selfie dysmorphia,” although it is not a formal diagnosis.

The process of comparing yourself with others is explained by Leon Festinger‘s 1954 theory of social comparison, which proposed that people evaluate their abilities and attributes by comparing themselves with others. Upward comparison with those who appear younger or better looking tends to lower self-evaluation. When the comparison group is curated, filtered and selected for appearance, the standard becomes unrealistic.

Research on social media and body image generally finds that more time on appearance-focused platforms is associated with greater body dissatisfaction, particularly among young women, and that the associations are modest and often correlational. The effects on fear of aging specifically are less studied. It is reasonable to infer that the same mechanisms apply, though that is an extrapolation.

The aesthetic industry adds another layer. Advertising for “preventive” injectables and skincare encourages younger and younger people to worry about lines that have barely formed. The marketing language, “fixing,” “reversing” and “defying,” frames aging as a defect to be corrected.

Picture Zara, 26, who begins “preventive” treatments after seeing a stream of videos on lines she had never noticed. A friend suggests unfollowing the accounts for a month. By week three, Zara notices that the lines do not bother her unless she looks for them.

What does it cost, and can a healthier view of aging protect you?

The costs can be financial, physical and psychological, and the evidence suggests that how you think about aging also matters for health. Obsessive pursuit of youth can drain money and time, expose people to the risks of repeated procedures, and narrow life. A more accepting view of aging, by contrast, is associated with better outcomes.

Psychologist Becca R. Levy and colleagues published a notable study in 2002 in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. They followed 660 men and women in Ohio, aged 50 to 94, for 22 years and found that people with more positive self-perceptions of aging lived on average 7.5 years longer than those with more negative perceptions. The effect remained after adjusting for age, gender, socioeconomic status, loneliness and functional health, and was larger than the survival advantages associated with lower blood pressure or cholesterol, exercise or not smoking. Levy has since extended this research, proposing that internalized age stereotypes influence health through psychological, behavioral and physiological pathways.

This is observational research, so it cannot prove that attitudes caused the longer life. People who feel healthier may hold more positive views of aging, and unmeasured differences could play a role. Even so, the finding has been replicated in various forms, and it suggests that the stance one takes toward aging is not a trivial matter. Dread of aging is not just unpleasant; it may be a risk factor.

The costs of the Dorian Gray pattern fall in several domains:

Money spent on procedures and products, sometimes borrowed. Physical risks from repeated surgery, injectables or unregulated supplements. Missed experiences because of avoidance. Strain on relationships when appearance dominates conversation. And emotional costs: shame, anxiety and the exhausting sense of being on guard.

Protective factors include a broad sense of identity beyond looks, close relationships, meaningful activities, regular exercise and sleep, and exposure to positive role models of aging. Interventions that challenge ageist stereotypes and promote intergenerational contact show promise in early studies, though larger trials are needed.

Notice the contrast between “anti-aging” and “healthy aging.” The first treats time as an enemy, the second as a context. Choosing health behaviors for how they make life better today, not to stop the clock, tends to be more sustainable and less shame-driven.

Imagine Gloria, 66, who began walking with a neighbor to “keep up appearances” and kept going because she loved the company. Her skin has not changed much. Her sense of herself has.

What helps if the fear of aging is taking over your life?

Start by naming the fear, widening your sense of self and, if distress is significant, getting professional help. Treatment depends on what lies underneath: BDD, anxiety, depression or an overwhelming dread of mortality all call for different emphases. There is no standard protocol for “Dorian Gray syndrome” itself.

1. Notice the pattern. For two weeks, record how often you check your appearance, research treatments or compare yourself with others, and how you feel afterward. Awareness often reduces compulsive behavior.
2. Delay before procedures. If you are considering a cosmetic treatment, wait a few months, talk it through with someone you trust, and ask yourself what feeling you hope it will change. Choose a qualified, licensed practitioner and ask about psychological screening.
3. Challenge the thoughts. Using techniques from cognitive behavioral therapy, write down the belief (“If I look old, I’ll be worthless”), examine the evidence for and against, and develop a more balanced statement.
4. Reduce the triggers. Unfollow accounts that make you feel worse, limit filter use and mirror checking, and avoid before-and-after comparisons.
5. Broaden your sources of worth. Invest in skills, relationships, creativity, service and physical activity that have nothing to do with how you look.
6. Seek older role models. Spend time with people who are enjoying later life, and listen to how they describe it.

For BDD, the best-supported treatments are cognitive behavioral therapy with exposure and response prevention, and serotonin reuptake inhibitor medication prescribed by a psychiatrist or doctor. For death anxiety or existential distress, approaches such as acceptance and commitment therapy, existential therapy and meaning-centered work may help. A primary care doctor can provide referrals and rule out medical contributors to low mood or anxiety.

When should you seek help? If thoughts about appearance take up an hour or more a day, if you feel unable to stop checking or treating, if the worry leads you to avoid work or relationships, if you have had repeated procedures without satisfaction, or if you feel hopeless, talk to a mental health professional. If you are having thoughts of suicide or self-harm, contact local emergency services or a crisis line immediately.

Be patient with yourself. Fear of aging is a deeply human response to a hard fact, and it is shaped by powerful cultural forces. The goal is not to love every wrinkle, only to make sure that fear is not running your life.

Consider Anjali, 54, who after a few sessions of therapy realized that her treatment schedule had become her main social life. She kept some of the treatments, dropped others and signed up for a choir. She says the lines on her face have not changed. The way she feels about them has.

FAQs about Dorian Gray Syndrome

What is Dorian Gray syndrome?

It is an informal term for an intense preoccupation with looking young, along with difficulty accepting aging and often repeated use of cosmetic procedures or anti-aging products. It takes its name from Oscar Wilde’s novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, in which a young man stays beautiful while his portrait ages. The term appeared in clinical and popular writing around the year 2000 but is not a recognized diagnosis. It is used descriptively, usually to refer to a combination of body image concerns, fear of aging and, sometimes, narcissistic traits.

Is Dorian Gray syndrome an official mental disorder?

No. It is not listed in the DSM-5 or the International Classification of Diseases. Researchers have proposed descriptions and criteria, and a 2023 article suggested the milder label Dorian Gray trait, but these have not been validated in large studies. Clinicians usually assess for recognized conditions such as body dysmorphic disorder, anxiety, depression and narcissistic personality traits when someone presents with these concerns. The label is best seen as a way of describing a pattern, not as a diagnosis.

What are the signs of Dorian Gray syndrome?

Commonly described signs include a strong preoccupation with appearance, distress about normal signs of aging, repeated cosmetic procedures or products, avoidance of photographs or social situations, reluctance to take on age-typical roles and self-worth tied to looking young. Occasional interest in skincare or style is not a sign of a problem. The concern arises when the preoccupation is persistent and causes significant distress, drains money or health, or interferes with relationships and work.

Is Dorian Gray syndrome the same as body dysmorphic disorder?

No, but they overlap. Body dysmorphic disorder is an official diagnosis involving preoccupation with perceived flaws in appearance that others do not see or see as slight, along with repetitive behaviors and distress. It affects about 1.7 to 2.9 percent of the general population and is much more common among people seeking cosmetic procedures. The Dorian Gray pattern focuses on aging and the preservation of youth. Some researchers consider it a variant of BDD, while others see it as a distinct pattern shaped by fear of aging and narcissistic traits.

Why are some people so afraid of getting older?

Several factors contribute. Cultural ageism associates older age with decline and irrelevance, and the term ageism was coined by Robert Butler in 1969. Terror management theory suggests that signs of aging remind people of mortality. Social media and advertising add constant comparison with youthful faces. Personal factors such as low self-esteem, perfectionism, a history of being valued for looks and life transitions can also matter. For many people, the fear is partly realistic, since age discrimination exists, which is why distinguishing realistic concern from obsession is helpful.

Can cosmetic procedures make the problem worse?

They can, if the underlying issue is psychological. For people with body dysmorphic disorder, cosmetic procedures often fail to relieve distress and may shift preoccupation to another feature. Repeated procedures also carry medical risks and financial costs. This does not mean that all cosmetic treatment is harmful; many people have procedures without problems. It is wise to wait before deciding, choose a qualified practitioner and be honest with yourself and the professional about your motives. Screening for body image disturbance before elective procedures is increasingly recommended.

Does attitude toward aging affect health?

Evidence suggests it may. A well-known 2002 study by Becca Levy and colleagues followed 660 adults in Ohio, aged 50 to 94, for 22 years and found that those with more positive self-perceptions of aging lived on average 7.5 years longer than those with more negative perceptions, after accounting for several health and social factors. The study is observational, so it cannot prove cause, but similar findings have been reported elsewhere. It suggests that challenging negative age stereotypes may be good for both mood and health.

How can I stop being afraid of aging?

Start by noticing when the fear flares and what triggers it, such as mirrors, photographs, social media or birthdays. Challenge catastrophic thoughts, reduce exposure to appearance-focused content and invest in sources of worth that do not depend on looks, such as relationships, skills and service. Spend time with people who are enjoying later life. If the worry takes up hours a day or leads you to avoid life, a therapist can help, particularly with cognitive behavioral approaches. If body dysmorphic disorder is suspected, seek an assessment from a psychologist or psychiatrist.

Bibliography

• Butler, R. N. (1969). Age-ism: Another form of bigotry. The Gerontologist, 9(4, Part 1), 243-246.
• Festinger, L. (1954). A theory of social comparison processes. Human Relations, 7(2), 117-140.
• Fredrickson, B. L., & Roberts, T.-A. (1997). Objectification theory: Toward understanding women’s lived experiences and mental health risks. Psychology of Women Quarterly, 21(2), 173-206.
• Greenberg, J., Pyszczynski, T., & Solomon, S. (1986). The causes and consequences of a need for self-esteem: A terror management theory. In R. F. Baumeister (Ed.), Public self and private self (pp. 189-212). Springer-Verlag.
• Jaques, E. (1965). Death and the mid-life crisis. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 46, 502-514.
• Levy, B. R., Slade, M. D., Kunkel, S. R., & Kasl, S. V. (2002). Longevity increased by positive self-perceptions of aging. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 83(2), 261-270.
• Phillips, K. A. (2005). The broken mirror: Understanding and treating body dysmorphic disorder (Rev. ed.). Oxford University Press.
• Wilde, O. (1891). The picture of Dorian Gray. Ward, Lock and Company.