More Than Auntie: Reclaiming Sensuality, Visibility & Power in our 40s and Beyond

As I was scrolling through Facebook this morning, I saw a post about Mary J Blige not wanting to be called auntie. I’ve seen this conversation in the past, as Oprah, Gayle King, and Ava DuVernay have also expressed similar thoughts. The post goes on to explain the dark history behind the auntie term. 

As a woman of a certain age, I realize that this conversation now includes me. I had to ask myself based on my own experiences as a black woman who has lived, loved, been through hell and still shows up in beauty, creativity, and feminine power – as has Mary, Oprah, and Gayle – are we just mentors and matriarchs or are we more than that? Are we also muses, lovers, innovators, and queens in our own right? The obvious answer – yes. 

So, the question then becomes, is “auntie” always empowering – or is it sometimes a subtle form of erasure? 

Historically, black women have been denied the dignity of “Ms.” or “Miss,” and instead been called “auntie” or “mammy” - terms tied to servitude and de-sexualization. Those roles made black women nurturing but invisible in terms of beauty, desire, and sensuality. 

The “auntie” term today can be a term of affection – but it can also be society’s way of putting older black women in our place. This shows up repeatedly throughout pop culture. We’ve watched as younger pop stars who were once desired and sexualized be told to go sit down, cover up, and have some babies. We’ve heard from famous men such as Marques Houston and Shannon Sharpe about older black women not being as desirable as younger black women or women of other races. At some point in our lives, we stop being desirable. It’s time to go put on our housecoats and slippers and fry up some chicken – according to society. 

I grew up under the thumb of respectability politics. I was taught that men were allowed to roam and be sexually liberated because they couldn’t get pregnant, which meant they couldn’t bring babies home. Men got off the hook. As I didn’t know my father, grandfather, or great-grandfather, I couldn’t say it wasn’t true. As I grew up watching the Maury show, watching man after man deny child after child while the mothers were paraded as hoes, I bought into the respectability trope as well. “Well, if she didn’t have sex, she wouldn’t be in this situation. That’s what she gets. I’m going to be a good girl and not sleep around so I can be seen as respectful and worthy.” Let me tell you – all those thoughts aged horribly.

Respectability politics doesn’t take away the fact that we are living beings, existing in bodies that are designed for pleasure – and that pleasure is not reserved exclusively for 20-year-olds. We see repeatedly in the media how women over 35 lose desirability while older men are described as being in their sexual prime. As I get older, I appreciate shows like The Golden Girls that show older women who have lived, loved, and lost, going on dates and having sex. Older women still get horny, and we lose a lot of the eww and ick that we had when we were in our teens and 20s.

Women of all ages are allowed to be sensual, magnetic, powerful, and wise. Being older can bring a deeper, richer kind of beauty and allure that youth can’t dare to touch. There is a sacredness to aging, visibility, and embodied sensuality.

When I think about my personal experience, I don’t feel erased by the “auntie” label, but I can understand women who have felt this way and respect their position. My desirability is ingrained in me, and anyone who sees me as an auntie isn’t someone I’d want in the first place. But the conversation that this topic invokes makes me want to ask, how do we tap into our sensuality, creativity, and power as we age? Do we choose to be Florida Evans from Good Times or Sandra Clark from 227? Why are women like Tracee Ellis Ross being shamed for wanting younger men, but not Cher or Madonna, who have been actively dating men young enough to be their grandsons? 

To all older women reading this, I want you to know that you are not past your prime – you are stepping into it. You are not just an auntie. You are art. You are fire. You are divine.

Have you experienced feeling erased as an older woman? How do you remain connected with your sensuality?