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How Old Do I Look? Kat Rosenfield

This is a tale of three TikToks—a tragedy for the digital age. It begins with a woman wearing a raspberry-colored sweater, gazing shyly into her front-facing camera. She says, “I’m having a pretty good day today. So I thought, let’s ruin it by guessing my age.” There’s a pause, some nervous laughter. “How old do you think I am?”
In the next video, she’s still smiling, but shaken. “This has to be a joke, right?” she says. “There’s no way I look like I’m around fifty.”
In the video after that, her smile is gone, and her voice is quivering like she’s an inch away from crying. She’s gotten so many hateful comments, she says. She’s been up all night, thinking about it. And she’ll be getting a makeover and Botox, among other things, since apparently she looks 20 years older than her actual age.
The first comment on this last video reads, “Don’t waste all your money. A paper bag is much cheaper.”
Welcome to the TikTok craze known as the “How Old Do I Look” challenge, in which users film themselves asking the platform’s 1.92 billion members to guess how old they are. It’s the content mill equivalent of a dish that makes its own gravy; make one video like this, and the resulting comments are sure to give you material for several more, and that’s not even counting the requisite follow-up where you reveal your actual age. Thirty-eight, in the case of the woman in the raspberry sweater.
If this sounds masochistic to you, that’s because it is. Nothing good comes from inviting millions of internet strangers to rate your appearance, but it’s the predictable outcome of this exercise. It might even be the intended one, as evidenced by the “let’s ruin my day” framing that’s a consistent feature of these videos. On the one hand, nobody wants to be called a hag on the internet; on the other, how are you going to make a vulnerable, tearful viral video if nobody calls you a hag on the internet? Watching these videos, I couldn’t help thinking of that Samuel L. Jackson line from Pulp Fiction: “If my answers frighten you, Vincent, then you should cease asking scary questions.”
As of this writing, the “How Old Do I Look” trend seems to be on its last legs; those first earnest videos have been almost fully replaced by ironic parodies, the final stage in the life cycle of any TikTok fad. But beneath its surface lie more durable insights about how the internet is changing our notions of what it means to get older—and how millennials, the main progenitors of the “How Old Do I Look” challenge, are changing the face of middle age.
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In one sense, these videos reflect the strange unreality of trying to guess anyone’s age in a world of filters, injectables, “tweakments,” and cosmeceuticals.
In 2024, the uncanny valley is populated not just by AI characters who seem a little too real, but also by real people who seem a little too much like AI, whose eerie Instagrammified faces make them look like they’ve wandered into our world from a Roger Rabbit–style universe where people coexist alongside cartoon characters.
Indeed, it sometimes feels as if we’re approaching a singularity at which age becomes not a number but a vibe, and youth is no longer an ephemeral condition but an aesthetic. “Young” and “hot” have already become basically synonymous with each other, as evidenced by the particular cruelty of the “How Old Do I Look” challenge toward non-beautiful women, who are invariably pegged as fifty-plus no matter how unwrinkled and supple their skin.
The wildly contradictory criticisms leveled by commenters make it clear that whatever is being enforced here, it’s not the appearance of youth. Being overweight is aging, but so is being too thin, evidence of “Ozempic face.” Hooded eyes are “saggy,” hence old, but arched eyebrows look “Botoxed,” hence also old. Ultimately, the only way to win the “How Old Do I Look” challenge is to be an over-35 millennial with the ethereal teenage beauty of a Glossier model. The point is to look not just young and beautiful, but effortlessly so. If you are young but not pretty, you lose. If you are young but trying too hard to look pretty, you also lose.
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As such, you’d be forgiven for imagining that this TikTok trend was invented specifically by Gen Zs to torture the aging millennials with whom they have a peculiarly antagonistic relationship. But the most avid participants are people in their thirties and up. It makes sense, when you remember that we’ve been seeking attention and validation on the internet since before Gen Z was born. Younger people may be the face of TikTok culture, but millennials are its architects. “How Old Do I Look” could only have been invented by the generation that first cut its teeth on Hot or Not dot com.
And even in middle age, the narrative about millennials is what it’s always been: that we are trapped in permanent adolescence; that we are hopelessly late to achieve grown-up benchmarks like homeownership, marriage, and children, if we get there at all. That we’ve killed the entire concept of the midlife crisis by virtue of not being adult enough to have one. And yet, the online culture we’ve built betrays the terrifying truth that we’re aging, and we know it.
That is what midlife panic has always, actually, been about: not the fantasy of being young again, but the reality of being too old to start over, which perhaps carries a special sort of horror for the generation that invented not just the personal brand, but the personal rebrand. Or maybe this isn’t a midlife crisis so much as an identity crisis, spurred by our displacement as society’s misunderstood youth. For 20 years millennials have enjoyed the paradoxical comfort of being society’s scapegoats, the kids who never grew up. Take that away, and who are we?
Whether we like it or not, we’re executive-level managers, PTA members, caretakers for elderly parents who have gone from being the butt of “okay Boomer” jokes to being just straight-up, break-your-hip old. We are, in short, entrenched in middle age, no matter how powerless and adolescent we may feel, or, yes, how hot we still look.
Kat Rosenfield is a columnist at UnHerd and co-host of the Feminine Chaos podcast. Follow her on X @katrosenfield.
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Things Worth Remembering: ‘A Game Most Like Life’ Charles Lane

It feels like only yesterday I called up my friend Douglas Murray with a strange idea: What if you wrote a column for us about poetry?
We had no idea if anyone would be interested in it. I still wasn’t sure many people would be interested in The Free Press itself. But I knew I didn’t want this institution we were building to focus solely on what was wrong with the world. As I wrote at the time: “If ours is an era of building and rebuilding, what things are worth saving?”
In the two years since this column began, the world has changed so much. We have a new president. One war has started—and perhaps is now ending. Another still rages.
The Free Press has covered it all. And so has Douglas himself, reporting from Israel and Ukraine, and speaking across the globe. Meantime, he has written nearly 100 editions of Things Worth Remembering—an unbelievable feat. Somehow he also found time to write a forthcoming book about the future of the West.
Given how much is on his plate, for the time being Douglas is stepping back from this incredible column he’s helped to build. He’ll continue to be a beloved contributor to, and friend of, The Free Press. And fear not: Things Worth Remembering will carry on every Sunday.
Over the years, fans of this column have said to me: “If I had to choose one thing worth remembering, it’d be. . . . ” It made me realize most writers have a poem they return to when they feel lost, a song they replay, or a snippet of some great book that materializes again and again. So we are expanding the column to bring in new voices and choices. I think you’ll love what they have to say.
Today, on Super Bowl Sunday, we start with our deputy editor, Charles Lane, who knows exactly what Americans should remember on this important date: a speech given multiple times, in the late ’60s, by the greatest football coach in the world, Vince Lombardi. It touches on a lot of things we care a lot about at The Free Press: courage, hard work, and excellence. I hope you like it as much as I do—don’t forget to leave your thoughts in the comments.
Happy Super Bowl Sunday, everyone!
—BW
“I sometimes wonder whether those of us who love football fully appreciate its great lessons,” said Vince Lombardi, in what friends and family called “the speech.”
The greatest professional football coach of the twentieth century, Lombardi tried and tested various versions of this talk as an in-demand public speaker during the late ’60s. The text quoted here is from “a representative version” of the speech, which his son Vince Jr. compiled and published in 2001. Lombardi’s words are undeniably magnificent, even to those who might have no interest in tonight’s Super Bowl.
Lombardi acknowledged that his was “a violent game,” suggesting that it would be “imbecilic” to play it otherwise. But this “game like war,” he believed, was also “a game most like life—for it teaches that work, sacrifice, perseverance, competitive drive, selflessness, and respect for authority are the price one pays to achieve worthwhile goals.”
Lombardi’s is not quite the household name it was—time does that to fame. To the extent he is remembered today it is often as the originator of a ruthless coaching doctrine—“Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing”—that someone else actually coined.
Still, every year the Super Bowl restores him, at least for a moment, to popular awareness: The winning team tonight will take home the Vince Lombardi Trophy, a brilliant 20.75-inch–high, seven-pound prize made out of pure sterling by Tiffany silversmiths.
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February 8, 2025 Heather Cox Richardson
Yesterday the National Institutes of Health under the Trump administration announced a new policy that will dramatically change the way the United States funds medical research. Now, when a researcher working at a university receives a federal grant for research, that money includes funds to maintain equipment and facilities and to pay support staff that keep labs functioning. That indirect funding is built into university budgets for funding expensive research labs, and last year reached about 26% of the grant money distributed. Going forward, the administration says it will cap the permitted amount of indirect funding at 15%.
NIH is the nation’s primary agency for research in medicine, health, and behavior. NIH grants are fiercely competitive; only about 20% of applications succeed. When a researcher applies for one, their proposal is evaluated first by a panel of their scholarly peers and then, if it passes that level, an advisory council, which might ask for more information before awarding a grant. Once awarded and accepted, an NIH grant carries strict requirements for reporting and auditing, as well as record retention.
In 2023, NIH distributed about $35 billion through about 50,000 grants to over 300,000 researchers at universities, medical schools, and other research institutions. Every dollar of NIH funding generated about $2.46 in economic activity. For every $100 million of funding, research supported by NIH generates 76 patents, which produce 20% more economic value than other U.S. patents and create opportunities for about $600 million in future research and development.
As Christina Jewett and Sheryl Gay Stolberg of the New York Times explained, the authors of Project 2025 called for the cuts outlined in the new policy, claiming those cuts would “reduce federal taxpayer subsidization of leftist agendas.” Dr. David A. Baltrus of the University of Arizona told Jewett and Stolberg that the new policy is “going to destroy research universities in the short term, and I don’t know after that. They rely on the money. They budget for the money. The universities were making decisions expecting the money to be there.”
Although Baltrus works in agricultural research, focusing on keeping E. coli bacteria out of crops like sprouts and lettuce, cancer research is the top area in which NIH grants are awarded.
Anthropologist Erin Kane figured out what the new NIH policy would mean for states by looking at institutions that received more than $10 million in grants in 2024 and figuring out what percentage of their indirect costs would not be eligible for grant money under the new formula. Six schools in New York won $2.4 billion, including $953 million for indirect costs. The new indirect rate would allow only $220 million for overhead, a loss of $723 million.
States across the country will experience significant losses. Eight Florida schools received about $673 million, $231 million for indirect costs. The new indirect rate would limit that funding to $66 million, a loss of $165 million. Six schools in Ohio received a total of about $700 million; they would lose $194 million. Four schools in Missouri received a total of about $830 million; they would lose $212 million.
Lawmakers from Republican-dominated states are now acknowledging what those of us who study the federal budget have pointed out for decades: the same Republican-dominated states that complain bitterly about the government’s tax policies are also the same states that take most federal tax money. Dana Nickel of Politico reported yesterday that Republican leaders in the states claim to be enthusiastic about the cuts made by the Department of Government Efficiency but are mobilizing to make sure those cuts won’t hurt their own state programs that depend on federal money. Oklahoma governor Kevin Stitt told Nickel that governors can provide advice about what cuts will be most effective. “Instead of just across the board cutting, we thought, man, they need some help from the governors to say, ‘We can be more efficient in this area or this area, or if you allow block grants in this area, you can reduce our expenditures by 10 percent.’ And so that’s our goal.”
Yesterday, Tim Carpenter of the Kansas Reflector reported that Senator Jerry Moran (R-KS) is concerned about the Trump administration’s freeze on food distributions through the United States Agency for International Development (USAID). USAID buys about $2 billion in U.S. agricultural products a year, and farmers are already struggling with rising costs, low prices, and concern with tariffs.
Their spokespeople urge the continuation of USAID: the senior director of government affairs at the American Farm Bureau Federation said that “USAID plays a critical role in reducing hunger around the world while sourcing markets for the surplus foods America’s farmers and ranchers grow.” Moran added: “Food stability is essential to political stability, and our food aid programs help feed the hungry, bolster our national security and provide an important market for our farmers, especially when commodity prices are low.”
Meanwhile, federal employees are telling the stories of the work they’ve done for the country. Yesterday, a public letter whose author claimed to be an employee of the Federal Bureau of Investigation whose job is at risk in Trump’s purge of the agency wrote an amalgamation of the FBI agents being purged: “I am the coach of your child’s soccer team,” the letter read. “I sit next to you on occasion in religious devotion. I am a member of the PTA. With friends, you celebrated my birthday. I collected your mail and took out your trash while you were away from home. I played a round of golf with you. I am a veteran. I am the average neighbor in your community.”
But there is another side to that person, the author wrote. “I orchestrated a clandestine operation to secure the release of an allied soldier held captive by the Taliban. I prevented an ISIS terrorist from boarding a commercial aircraft. I spent 3 months listening to phone intercepts in real time to gather evidence needed to dismantle a violent drug gang. I recruited a source to provide critical intelligence on Russian military activities in Africa. I rescued a citizen being tortured to near death by members of an Outlaw Motorcycle Gang. I interceded and stopped a juvenile planning to conduct a school shooting. I spent multiple years monitoring the activities of deep cover foreign intelligence officers, leading to their arrest and deportation. I endured extensive hardship to infiltrate a global child trafficking organization. I have been shot in the line of duty.”
“[W]hen I am gone,” they wrote, “who will do the quiet work that is behind the facade of your average neighbor?”
Less publicly, Joseph Grzymkowski expressed on Facebook his pride in 38 years of service “with utmost dedication, integrity, and passion. I was not waste, fraud, and abuse,” he wrote. “Nor was I the “Deep State…. We are the faces of your Government: ordinary and diverse Americans, your friends and neighbors, working behind the scenes in the interest of the people we serve. We are not the enemy.”
Wth his statement, Grzymkowski posted a magazine clipping from 1996, when he was a Marine Analyst working in the Marine Navigation Department for the National Imagery and Mapping Agency (NIMA), located in Bethesda, Maryland—now known as the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA) in Springfield, Virginia. That office provides maritime intelligence for navigation, international obligations, and joint military operations.
On January 6, 1996, a historic blizzard dumped snowfalls of 19 to 31 inches on the East Coast. Stranded alone in the station when his relief couldn’t get through the snow to work, Grzymkowsky stayed at the radio. “I realized there were mariners who needed navigation safety messages delivered, and I wasn’t about to jeopardize the safety of life or cargo at sea simply because we were experiencing a blizzard,” he told a journalist. “One doesn’t leave a watch on a ship until properly relieved, and I felt my responsibility at the watch desk as keenly as I would have felt my responsibility for the navigation on the bridge of a ship.”
For 33 hours, he stayed at his desk and sent out navigation safety messages. “I had a job to do and I did it,” he recalled. “There were ships at sea relying on me, and I wasn’t going to let them down. It’s nothing that any other member of this department wouldn’t do.”
—
Notes:
https://grants.nih.gov/grants-process
https://crsreports.congress.gov/product/pdf/R/R43341/45
https://report.nih.gov/nihdatabook/report/20
https://www.nih.gov/about-nih/what-we-do/budget
https://www.unitedformedicalresearch.org/nih-in-your-state/alabama
https://www.nytimes.com/2025/02/07/us/politics/medical-research-funding-cuts-university-budgets.html
https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2025/02/06/trump-usaid-money-american-farms/
https://www.politico.com/news/2025/02/07/republican-state-doge-budget-013596
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12HuhGA67_QPIibLa6nB32BtepQR3zQE_DvDTDGrZ5dU/edit
Grzymkowski article is from a 5th Anniversary Special Edition (1996–2001) of NIMA’s Edge magazine, an authorized, internal information publication published for the National Imagery and Mapping Agency personnel and its customers.
https://msi.nga.mil/
Bluesky:
dianamonkey.bsky.social/post/3lhocfav66s2p
X:
By_CJewett/status/1888208159866544526
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The Pot of Gold at America’s Western Edge A.M. Hickman

The boughs of the pomegranate bush clattered in the morning wind, branches drooping with heavy, frost-bruised fruits. The bush lilted her morning greeting to the rows of olive and grapefruit and palm, nodding to the yerba santa and the blue oaks. My own eyes seemed to be covered in a golden gauze as I rose to survey the variegated domain of fertile hills sprawling out before me. Everything was yellow with the spicy nicotine and ocher diamonds of the impossible California skies.
For those who have never been to California before, picture this: a heady sabbatical in Tuscany with Dr. Seuss. Everything in this westernmost state seems to ebb and flow in brief fits and starts through manicured vineyards, blossoming pastures, ranch roads, and hazardous gravel switchbacks slung high above dusty, half-filled reservoirs. It is America’s shimmering Eden, her promised land, the trophy of our young Republic that stands proudly as proof that every ounce of westerly motion was worth it.
To the pioneers, it was the end of the road. It was as far as a wagoneer could travel, cresting high over the infamous Donner Pass, if they had not yet succumbed to madness or scrofula, nor to hunger, smallpox, or cannibalism. Catching sight of the Pacific Ocean, the good earth bowed for the pioneers and did her curtsy. God Himself was the conductor of this symphony of holy life and sun-kissed valleys and endless deep-green ridgelines—and at the end of His great rhapsody, a frontiersman would build his fence lines and furrows and aqueducts.
In some sense, California is the mother of the very particular, feverishly intense, and unstoppable optimism that makes the United States what it is. All Americans are Californians at heart. We are, at our best, a fanatically optimistic sort of people—who might push for a half-year’s time across rough country just to see if the rumors of gold might be half true.
And in the case of California, the rumors were true: There was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. From the earliest “salad days” of these western farmers to the oil booms, the mining frenzies, the rise of Los Angeles and San Francisco, and later, the heady madness of Silicon Valley’s technological revolution. The incredible winnings of California’s early settlers course through the blood of Americans the whole country over, whether they have each seen California for themselves or not.
It all began the first moment that the pioneers caught sight of the poppies along the Sacramento River.
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