THIS year, I turned 30, and I felt proud of what I had built. But it also made me wonder: why does this milestone evoke dread for so many single women, instead of pride? Economic reasoning offers one way to understand and rethink this.
‘Prospect theory’, developed by Kahneman and Tversky, suggests that we evaluate our lives relative to social benchmarks rather than in absolute terms. In South Asia, where early marriage remains the dominant norm, that reference point is often fixed well before 30. Research using Pakistan Demographic and Health Surveys (Rasul et al., 2022) shows that age at first marriage varies systematically with education, region and socioeconomic characteristics, reflecting social norms around timing. The result is a quiet mismatch: lives that are objectively progressing are often experienced as falling short. Part of the answer lies in how slowly social norms adjust to changing realities. As Douglass North shows, social norms are often path-dependent and persist even as conditions change. In Pakistan, this lag is visible: while women’s education has increased over time, their labour force participation remains below 25 per cent, according to the Labour Force Survey 2024-25. This creates a disconnect — women’s lives are changing, but the timelines used to evaluate them are not.
This persistence is reinforced by what William Samuelson and Richard Zeckhauser describe as ‘status quo bias’: the tendency to prefer existing arrangements because they are familiar. In Pakistan, where the median age at first marriage for women is still just over 20, this default is set early and then reinforced. Early marriage continues to be seen as the natural path, because it’s what society is used to. Alternative trajectories are often met with discomfort because they deviate from this default.
The feeling of ‘falling behind’ is not just personal.
There’s also a deeper structural explanation. Deniz Kandiyoti’s concept of the ‘patriarchal bargain’ suggests that women are often rewarded for conforming to established roles in exchange for social security and legitimacy. In many South Asian contexts, early marriage remains central to this arrangement. Stepping outside this path through education or work can therefore carry a social cost. What appears as concern or sympathy is often a reflection of this underlying structure rather than an assessment of well-being. These expectations are not just external; over time, they become internalised too. Behavioural economics highlights how individuals absorb social norms and evaluate themselves through them. Evidence from Pakistan reflects this tension: an analysis of the Pakistan Social and Living Standards Measurement Survey (2019) data by Gallup Pakistan shows that women’s autonomy over major life decisions, including work, is limited. When the benchmark is repeatedly reinforced, it becomes internal. Hence, the feeling of ‘falling behind’ is not simply personal. It is learned.
But if these feelings are shaped by inherited norms, persistent institutions, and internalised benchmarks, then they tell us less about individual lives and more about the frameworks used to judge them. The more important question is: what is actually happening at 30? From an economic perspective, the 20s are not a period of delay, but of investment. In what economists following Gary Becker describe as ‘human capital’, individuals invest in education and skills that yield returns over time. By 30, those investments begin to pay off. What is often framed as ‘falling behind’ is, in fact, the result of years spent building something that only becomes visible over time.
A different way of evaluation comes from Amartya Sen’s ‘capability approach’. In this framework, development isn’t defined by meeting a particular milestone, but by ex-panding the ability to make meaningful choices. The ability to live alone, support oneself and make independent decisions are forms of capability. By the time a woman turns 30, much of this independence has already been built — often quietly, through small, everyday acts. Learning to drive. Navigating a city alone. These aren’t trivial milestones. They require effort, discomfort and persistence.
For any woman reading this, think about the first time you did something on your own: drove somewhere alone, made a decision without asking anyone, figured something out by yourself. It probably felt uncomfortable. But that discomfort is what builds independence. What people often call ‘being alone’ at 30 is, in many cases, the result of years of learning to rely on yourself. It isn’t a lack of something. It is the result of building confidence, capability and trust in yourself over time. The question, then, is not why turning 30 feels like loss, but why everything it represents is so rarely allowed to feel like an achievement.
The writer is an assistant professor of economics at St Olaf College.
Published in Dawn, April 17th, 2026
