as I write this, I’m hours away from hitting the big 4-0. I’ll officially be over the hill, an old crone who hoards cats and old receipts and Christmas cards from decades ago from people I don’t even talk to anymore (what I would give for a sarcasm font right about now).
or will I be all that?
cat hoarder? possibly. *ignores piles of receipts and Christmas cards…and birthday cards….and anniversary cards…*
but honestly…it’s not that big of a deal. I’ve been mostly looking forward to turning forty.
I freaked out over turning thirty—I remember one night (probably a week or so before my birthday) while in the midst of planning my wedding, I had a meltdown. here I was, on the verge of thirty, and what had I accomplished with my life? I was a retail drone, an unpublished writer who was taking on college for the third freaking time to get that piece of paper that would hopefully catapult me into a better situation.
looking back on the last decade, I have to say that my thirties were pretty fucking awesome. where I had spent most of my life with a severe lack of self-esteem, this was the decade where I finally began to feel comfortable in the skin I’m in. this was the decade where I accepted that I’m a late bloomer, and that there was nothing wrong with that. sure, a lot of my friends had taken the traditional route and had a college degree, a good job, and a family…but were they happy? I don’t think all of them were. I’ve known people who got their degree and ended up working in a field that has nothing to do with their college education. people get let go from their jobs, relationships end and begin anew…it’s all part of being an adult. and I don’t need to tell anyone that even on a good day, this adulting crap is for the birds.
getting to the original point of this post: over the last year or so I’ve seen a few articles that friends have posted on facebook regarding how women should dress after they hit a certain age or what items they should toss in the trash the moment they hit thirty. while there are a few items I would agree with (and I say this in regards to myself, NOT the whole of the female population), my first thought tends to be: the only thing that needs to be tossed in the trash is your stankass attitude.
listen: this one-size-fits-all, dress-your-age attitude…it’s kinda nonsensical. just because I’m turning forty does not mean I’m going to turn in my Pearl Jam shirts and Converse sneakers for polo shirts and loafers. I’m still going to wear my Iron Fist stiletto heels and have some fun color in my hair (usually pink). my body has changed over the years and I’m not the stick figure I used to be back in the day. I find what styles look good on me and I work it: fit-and-flare dresses, long flowy cardigans and skirts…and of course, the aforementioned Pearl Jam shirts and pink hair.
as for the general female population—we are not all built the same. where I wouldn’t ever wear another pair of super low-rise jeans, I’m not going to fault the ladies who are my age (or…gasp, older than me!) who can pull off that style and look fabulous. same thing with crop tops; I wore those at the beginning of puberty and have no desire to go back there.
ladies, my point is this: if you’re confident and can rock it, do it and screw the columnists who tell you that you have to stop wearing yoga pants and costume jewelry because you’re “not young” anymore. age is a number and nothing more…don’t let that number dictate what you wear.
until next time…rock on, my friends.