When I picked up Brooke Shields Is Not Allowed to Get Old, I did so because I remembered a book about her from the ‘80s.
Back then, when we were both navigating college at roughly the same time, I read On Your Own. I remember thinking it was surprisingly practical. Shields, the supposed author, offered advice about everything from makeup to surviving cafeteria food, but when I looked at the book jacket for Not Allowed to Get Old, there’s no mention of it. Instead, she mentions her memoir about her alcoholic mother, There Was a Little Girl, and her memoir on postpartum depression, Down Came the Rain.
Near the end of this memoir, I finally got my answer.
“In my defense,” she writes, “I was asked to write a book about the transition to adulthood, and after turning my first chapter, the publisher told me I was going too deep, and it would be best if I stuck to topics like how best to wear leg warmers or choose what to eat at a deli salad bar.”
That one paragraph explained a mystery. She didn’t write On Your Own. The publisher just used her fame to sell books to chumps like me.
Fortunately, Brooke Shields Is Not Allowed to Get Old: Thoughts on Aging as a Woman is a deeper book about a “coming of age” time in life: middle age.
It sucks to get old. Even for Brooke Shields. (Though we can all agree it beats the alternative.) But she makes a case for the upsides of maturity. I liked it. And if that makes me a chump, well, so be it.
Rather than dispensing beauty tips, Shields reflects on what it means to grow older in an industry that has long treated youth as currency. She writes about standing up for herself, redefining beauty, raising daughters, becoming an empty nester, embracing new careers, and learning to value authenticity over perfection. None of these topics are especially groundbreaking, and the book isn’t filled with startling revelations. If you’ve read other memoirs about aging gracefully, much of the advice will sound familiar.
Still, what separates this memoir from many celebrity books is its humanity.
Reading it reminded me just how much Brooke Shields has lived through—not simply as a beautiful woman or a famous actress, but as a person. Her childhood, career, relationships, motherhood and constant public scrutiny have given her experiences that most of us can’t imagine. She doesn’t ask for sympathy, but she does invite readers to see the person behind the famous face.
Shields also mentions the documentary Pretty Baby: Brooke Shields, of which she is clearly proud. I watched it after reading the book, and I would recommend doing the same. The documentary serves as a comprehensive retrospective of her career, allowing the memoir to focus less on chronology and more on reflection. The two complement each other nicely.
In the acknowledgments, Shields thanks Rachel Bertsche for “understanding my voice often before I did,” suggesting Bertsche played a significant role in shaping the manuscript. That caught my attention because I loved Bertsche’s memoir MWF Seeking BFF: My Yearlong Search for a New Best Friend—it’s one of the few memoirs that has survived repeated culling of bookshelves. Whether Bertsche officially served as a ghostwriter or collaborator isn’t really the point. The voice throughout this book feels warm, conversational and genuine.
This isn’t a memoir that will change the way you think about aging. It isn’t preachy, nor is it packed with life-changing wisdom. But it succeeds at something quieter. By the final chapter, I felt like I understood Brooke Shields a little better. Not the icon. Not the model. Not the celebrity. Just the woman.
And in a memoir, that’s often enough.
Monica Lee 