From Big Brother Naija to Nollywood to Hollywood, the spotlight dims for women as they age. It’s time to smash the clock.
Last Sunday, the familiar, intoxicating chaos of a new Big Brother Naija season began. The housemates were introduced, alliances began to form, and across Nigeria, group chats and timelines lit up with hot takes. But amidst the usual commentary on strategy and personality, a tired, ugly narrative resurfaced. The target? A 37-year-old female housemate named Ivatar. The crime? Her age.
Almost immediately, the internet chorus began: “What is a 37-year-old woman doing in that house?” “She’s too old for this.” “She should be married with kids.” The comments were a stark, real-time-capsule of a deeply ingrained societal bias: the entertainment industry, and the audience it has conditioned, is profoundly unkind to women over 30.
This isn’t just about a reality TV show. The backlash against Ivatar is a symptom of a much larger disease, one that thrives on the toxic sentiment that a woman’s prime is in her twenties, and after that, she “ages like milk.” Meanwhile, her male counterparts are celebrated for aging like “fine wine,” gaining character, gravitas, and distinction with every passing year.
This double standard is the bedrock of the entertainment world. It’s an unspoken rule that a woman’s value is intrinsically tied to her youth and perceived sexual currency. Once she crosses an arbitrary threshold, her worthiness is questioned, her opportunities shrink, and her very presence is seen as an anomaly.
For years, the internet’s self-proclaimed arbiters of female value set this expiration date at 30. A woman turning 30 was supposedly on her last legs. But then, a funny thing happened. Women in their thirties started showing up and showing out. They were more confident, financially independent, and unapologetically vibrant. Faced with this undeniable evidence of women thriving, the goalposts had to be moved. The patriarchal collective, in a desperate attempt to maintain control, seems to have shifted the “expiration age” to 40.
Ageism in Nollywood
Nowhere is this more visible than in Nollywood. While we rightfully celebrate icons like Joke Silva and Sola Sobowale, they are often cast in very specific archetypes: the wise matriarch, the powerful mother, the queen. These are important roles, but where are the complex, central, romantic, or adventurous lead roles for women in their late 30s and 40s? Joke Silva has spoken candidly about ageism in the industry, recalling in an interview how, as she grew older, she was not only typecast into motherly roles but was often asked to play the mother of male actors who were, in reality, her seniors. The beloved actress Kate Henshaw, a paragon of fitness and vitality at 54, has had go to social media to call out trolls who use her age as an insult. The sheer fact that a woman of her stature and accomplishment must constantly defend her age is a damning indictment of our culture. She is not just living; she is thriving, yet she is forced to fight battles her male colleagues will never face. They are “zaddies”; she is “old.”
This isn’t a uniquely Nigerian problem. The Hollywood machine is even more notoriously brutal. The stories are legion:
- Maggie Gyllenhaal famously revealed that at 37—the same age as BBNaija’s Ivatar—she was told she was “too old” to play the lover of a 55-year-old leading man.
- Meryl Streep, arguably the greatest actress of her generation, confessed that after turning 40, she was offered three different witch roles in a single year, believing her career as a leading lady was over.
- Olivia Wilde, at 28, was told she was too “sophisticated” (a common euphemism for “old”) to play the wife of Leonardo DiCaprio’s character in The Wolf of Wall Street. The role went to the then 22-year-old Margot Robbie.
The message is clear: in the eyes of the industry, a woman’s experience, talent, and wisdom are liabilities, not assets. Her resumé grows, but her casting opportunities shrink.
The tide, however slowly, is beginning to turn.
It is not turning because the industry had a moral awakening, but because women are forcing the change themselves. The evidence against this outdated narrative is overwhelming, both at home and abroad. They are proving that a woman’s second, third, and fourth acts can be even more spectacular than her first.
In Nigeria, one needs to look no further than Funke Akindele. While she was a known actress in her 20s, she became a cultural juggernaut in her 30s and 40s. The TV series Jenifa’s Diary was a phenomenon, and her transition into a powerhouse director and producer has shattered Nollywood records with films like Omo Ghetto: The Saga and A Tribe Called Judah—all created when she was in her 40s. In that same vein, screen icon Genevieve Nnaji stepped behind the camera at age 39 to direct, write, and star in Lionheart, a film that made history as Nigeria’s first-ever Netflix Original and its inaugural submission to the Academy Awards. Similarly, director Kemi Adetiba was 36 when she directed the blockbuster The Wedding Party and 38 when she created the iconic King of Boys, solidifying her status as an industry titan. And media mogul Mo Abudu launched EbonyLife TV at 49, building a continental media empire at an age when many are told to slow down.
This defiance is mirrored globally.
Viola Davis won her first Emmy for How to Get Away with Murder at 50 and her Oscar at 51. Jessica Chastain didn’t have her breakout year until she was 34, and won her Best Actress Oscar at 45. Kathryn Bigelow became the first woman to win the Academy Award for Best Director at 58. Actresses like Reese Witherspoon (47) and Kerry Washington (46) grew tired of the lack of meaningful roles and founded their own production companies, creating the complex stories for women that they wanted to see. These women are the blueprint for a new reality.
The ageist comments about Ivatar on Big Brother Naija are a reminder that the old, toxic narratives are still alive and well. But they are also an opportunity. It’s a chance for us, the audience, to do better. To reject the notion that a woman has a “sell-by” date. To use our voices and our views to support women of all ages on our screens.
A woman’s life is not a countdown to irrelevance. It is an accumulation of strength, wisdom, and power. Her prime is not a fleeting moment in her twenties; it is whenever she declares it to be. The conversation shouldn’t be about whether a 37-year-old woman belongs in the spotlight. The only discussion we should be having is about what incredible things she, and millions like her, will do next.
