They say that age is just a number. And it is. Just a number. A number that’s directly representative of how much time you’ve spent on the Earth and suggestive of how much time you’ll have before you cark it.
In a few days’ time I will be 24. This is a scary age for me because I haven’t yet produced a hilarious off-Broadway hit that lands me in an Office-esque writer’s room (Mindy Kaling at 24), made a Sundance-acclaimed mockumentary romcom playing a fictionalised version of myself alongside Michael Cera (Charlyne Yi at 24), or shot to international stardom and pissed off a Grazia editor by wearing a giant bow on my head at a Dior Couture show (Tavi Gevinson at 13)…so of course it’s time to stress.
That said, with each passing year there is an accumulated wisdom that assures me that my almost-quarter-century hasn’t been wasted. Some of the Rules of Life that I’ve discovered so far:
The lovely and hilarious lasses over at ManRepeller have started a weekly Writer’s Club, calling for 500 word submissions from their readers. I thought I’d start sharing my MRWC responses.
This week the topic was “Tell us the tale of your weirdo fan fiction”. Naturally, I inserted myself into the wonderful world of The Mindy Project…
Another day, another bop (yep, I still feel daft calling it that; like I should be wearing underoos and lindy-hopping). Wanting to do gory makeup and combat the high wind chill factor (ie. no scantily-claddedness for us!), my friends and I went dressed as zombie schoolgirls.
I do actually have friends, I promise. I’m just a bit clueless on the etiquette of posting photos of them on a public blog. Perhaps a notecard to Emily Post is in order…
Ah the costume party. Is there any greater pleasure? Besides fresh creamery butter and Hugh Jackman, I think not.
Every Halloween it seems like the same article gets trolled out, disparaging the girl who uses it as an excuse to dress in lingerie under the (literally) thinly-veiled pretence of being like, a woodland creature or emergency services worker.
Personally, I have no problem with that approach. As the inimitable Nora Ephron said: “Oh, how I regret not having worn a bikini for the entire year I was twenty-six. If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don’t take it off until you’re thirty-four.” Unless you’re Helen Mirren, chances are your body and enthusiasm for dressing up (ok, down) are only going to wane. So why not embrace the lace, say oui to PVC and flash some flesh? (Now there’s a cereal jingle in the making) Continue reading