He has a profound respect for old age. Especially when it's bottled.

We worship age, just not on people

There's a clever truth hiding in this joke about whiskey and respect. Most of us genuinely do revere the idea of aging—we talk about vintage wines, aged cheese, antique furniture—as if time automatically adds value and wisdom. But Fowler catches us in the act of selective reverence. We don't actually respect old age when it shows up as wrinkles, stiffness, or someone repeating the same story for the hundredth time. We respect it when it's been filtered, refined, and turned into something we want to consume.

This split in how we think reveals something about ourselves. We're drawn to the aesthetics and exclusivity of aged things without necessarily embracing the messier reality of aging itself. A hundred-year-old bottle commands attention and premium prices; a hundred-year-old person might just be told they're moving too slowly in the grocery store line. The joke works because it exposes this hypocrisy gently—pointing out that our respect for history and maturity is often more about luxury and status than genuine appreciation.

Maybe the real insight is recognizing when we're guilty of this kind of selective respect in other areas too. We might admire "experience" in theory while cutting off people who actually have it.