I was scrolling through TikTok the other day (as you do at 1 a.m., questioning all your life choices), and a clip from the Law & Order reboot popped up. The actor playing Lyle Menendez was doing that intense, wide-eyed stare, and I had a sudden, visceral flashback to the grainy 1993 courtroom footage my mom used to watch obsessively. It hit me like a brick: those two guys, who were practically babies in my memory, are now closer to retirement age than I am. And that made me wonder, how the heck old are the Menendez brothers now?
Let’s be honest, we all have a weird, frozen snapshot in our heads of them as these fresh-faced, curly-haired kids in oversized blazers. The trial was such a cultural event—the bad haircuts, the dramatic sobbing, the allegations—that it feels like it happened in a weird time loop. But the calendar doesn't lie. Time is a merciless thief, even for convicted murderers. So, let’s do a bit of math that feels way too personal, shall we? (I promise, no pop quiz at the end, just some serious “time flies” anxiety).
The Quick, Painless Math (Grab Your Calculator)
If you were born in the ’80s, you remember them as kids. But the brothers have spent more than half their lives locked up, which is a fact that genuinely makes my brain itch. Erick (we all know him as Erik) was born in 1970, which makes him 54 right now. His big bro, Lyle, came into the world in 1968, making him 56 today.
Must Read
Yeah. Fifty-six. That’s the same age as your dad who complains about his back when he picks up a grocery bag. It’s wild to process, because the media machine sold us a story of youth and tragedy, not of men with mid-life crises and probable gray hair. (Do they allow hair dye in prison? I have so many questions.)
It’s also a trip to realize that they have now been incarcerated for longer than they were alive before the murders. That’s some heavy perspective for a Tuesday.
From Disneyland Kids to Cell Block D
Think about this: In 1989, they were 21 and 19, respectively—rich kids with too much time on their hands and a taste for Rolexes. Now, they’re men in their mid-50s who have spent over three decades navigating the very specific hell of the California prison system. I don’t know about you, but I can’t even commit to a skincare routine for three years, let alone survive that.
It’s strangely amusing to picture them in a communal TV room watching the world change outside. They missed the entire internet boom, the rise of smart phones, and the Kardashians (lucky them, honestly). Their whole identity is still that grainy VHS tape, while they’re out there dealing with the existential dread of turning 60. That’s a storyline Hollywood wouldn’t touch because it’s too depressing.
Here’s a fun side-thought for you: Lyle has gotten married (again!) and divorced while inside. Imagine trying to maintain a marriage when your entire dating life is monitored by guards and you can only make collect calls. The romance is truly dead, folks.
Notorious ax murderer released from prison early thanks Tim Walz law
Why We’re Still Obsessed With Their Age
I think we’re wired to anchor criminals to the moment of their crime. It’s the same reason we freak out when we see a photo of a serial killer with a walker. But with the Menendez brothers, it’s extra weird, because their defense was so tied to their immaturity—they claimed they were scared boys, which is a hard sell when you now have a receding hairline. The cognitive dissonance is real.
Plus, the last few years have seen a massive reboot of public interest. The Netflix documentary and the subsequent Monsters series (which was infuriatingly dramatic, but okay) had us all debating who they are now. Are they still the entitled brats? Or are they rehabbed, introspective men who regret everything? You can’t ask that question without checking the birth certificate.
Personally, I wonder if they even feel their age. In prison, you’re not celebrated for wisdom; you’re just another number. So maybe they don’t feel 54 and 56. Maybe they feel like they’ve been frozen in that courtroom, waiting for a verdict that never quite comes.
So, the next time you watch a true-crime doc and think “those kids,” force yourself to look up the date. They are contemporaries of your parents now, men who have spent more time in khaki uniforms than in designer jeans. It doesn’t excuse anything, but it does make you sit back and say, “Damn, life is short. And also, apparently, really, really long.”
Anyway, go hug your dad. Or call your grandpa. And maybe send a thought out to Lyle and Erik, who are probably just trying to get through the day without someone complaining about the porridge. Time is a flat circle, and it’s also really, really bad at stopping for anyone.