The uncomfortable truth every woman over 40 saw in THAT White Lotus pool scene.

There's a moment in every woman's life when she catches sight of herself through other people's eyes. And it's a jolt.

That moment happened to Jaclyn Lemon in episode 4 of The White Lotus, and oh, was this scene a rich text.

If you're not watching The White Lotus — and not everyone is, of course — let me sketch you a quick outline.

Among the groups of characters who have checked into a luxurious Thailand hotel are three long-time girlfriends — Jaclyn, who lives in Hollywood and is "on TV", Kate, who lives in Austin, Texas and is married to a rich man, and Laurie, who lives in New York and has a corporate job. Jaclyn is paying for everyone, and Kate's husband thinks this is a "mid-life crisis" trip.

It's not specified how old these three school friends are exactly, but let's land at later-mid-40s. And my, these are some stunning, groomed, toned, plumped and smoothed mid-40s friends. Even Laurie, who can't relate to Jaclyn and Kate's "who's your doctor?" tweakment talk, is slim, shiny and stylish.

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There's a whole other conversation to be had about being the Laurie in a friend-group of Jaclyns and Kates — who will tell you that you look "amazing" while hinting at your bravery and relatability — but we'll get to that another day.

The creator of The White Lotus, Mike White, has captured a perfect thin-slice in these three characters. This is what the "new 40s" looks like, and it's nothing like old 40s. Nothing like "middle age". Aspirationally "still hot". These are not your mother's foreheads. And this is not your mother's resortwear.

Still, when Jaclyn asks their young hotel butler if he can direct them to a "vibey" place for cocktails, she runs perfect-face-first into the realisation that even Hollywood-40-something is not, in fact, 20-something.

This brings us to the pool. Jaclyn — whose confidence is already shaky, because her younger actor husband has been mysteriously hard to reach while she's been away — realises that the other people at this supposedly "vibey" cocktail spot are old.

Like, proper old. Not in numbers (although theirs are doubtless higher than hers), but in body. In face. In vibe.

First she notices the women.

Their kaftans and playsuits might be the same swirling Camilla-y prints as hers, but the skin inside them is crepey. Underarms wobble. Bulges peak out from under swimsuit straps. Their chins are soft, their jawlines loose. There's… grey hair. Wrinkles.

Then she sees the men. Weathered. Untoned. White-haired. Sleazy.

If my words are harsh, so is the camera, because we're seeing these people through Jaclyn's eyes. Ageing — visible, physical ageing — is her worst nightmare. It's something she spends copious amounts of money and time avoiding. These people — real people — are not who she's prepared to drink with. Being thrown into a sea of "bargain-basement retirees" is a literal horror story for her.

But then the realisation. The jolt of recognition. Hot butler sent them here. He thought they'd fit in. He thought they'd enjoy it. He thought they belonged.

As glamorous and lineless as Jaclyn, Kate and Laurie may be, through the eyes of a man in his 20s, they are in the same broad bucket as these ordinary mortals. Over 40 = old.

This is the moment of uncomfortable truth for all of us, at some point. The moment we confront our own age. And our own ageism.

Watch: The White Lotus' Jaclyn realises she's been sent to an 'budget hotel for retirees'. Post continues below.

I have an ugly memory of being in a taxi queue many years ago, somewhere in north Sydney, late at night. An obnoxious drunk man was going down the line, pointing at the women and guessing their ages. I have no idea why, and let's not waste brain cells on that, but I imagine he was aiming to humiliate us in that super-adorable way drunk men sometimes do.

"18!" He'd say, leering at a young woman who'd rather be anywhere else. "26!" "21!"

He came to me, and tried to focus on my face for a long, beery-smelling moment. I, like every other woman in that queue, looked at the ground, silently willing him away. "Firty-five!" he shouted. "35! Too old to be out!"

Reader, I was thirty-five.

And I was mortified, as the men in the queue giggled. Because I didn't think I looked 35. And I didn't think I was too old to be out. But this man saw me, and my age. Saw through me, even. A decree had been delivered, and because of hundreds or thousands of years of conditioning, this drunk man's opinion of me felt like it had validity. Weight. And my age was an embarrassment.

Now, of course, I believe 35-year-olds to be babies, certainly still permitted to be out drinking cocktails and getting cabs home. And I believe smooth-faced Jaclyn to be a baby, too, but she just got age-shamed by someone she thought understood who she was. And who she was — and is — is not an old person.

This isn't me, she's thinking. Not yet, it's not, nor will it be. Don't put me here, with these people who are closer to their end than the beginning. Who look like it, too.

Don't put me here with a window seat to the next act, too close to facing the very thing that I'm fighting, that I've convinced myself will never happen, if I just try hard enough to resist it. Pay. Pray. Work at it.

We — and when I say we, I mean The Culture — say all the right words about embracing ageing, and the beauty of a lived-in face, and how lines tell stories and that there's a welcome softening to a wise, older woman. But do we believe them, when we're facing the reality ourselves? That it's OUR faces and bodies that are going to be the horror story to the hot young butler.

What Jaclyn is thinking as she's running away screaming — as she grabs her purse; ditches her drink; and ushers her friends away from the visibly aged as if they are an infection she might catch — is They're Not Like Us. We Will Never Be Them. I Am Alive. I Am Still Young.

And to the man whose eyes saw her age before her beauty, she's saying HOW DARE YOU call me old, even without words.

It's still the very worst thing that any woman can be.

Featured image: HBO / The White Lotus.