I was walking down the street the other day (I may or may not have been on my way to get an apple cider donut), nonchalantly walking and listening to music. (I’ve been non-stop listening to Fashion by The Royal Concept because it’s so damn catchy, and because I imagine my life to be like some kind of sitcom where you laugh at the ridiculous situations the anti-heroine gets herself into). As I walked down the street, I quickly noticed that a thirteen year old girl and her boyfriend were headed my way, and then as I walked, the thirteen year old girl suddenly stopped in her place.
“OH MY GOD, HI CHRISSEY. WHAT THE HECK.”
I stood there, in silence, as she proceeded to freak out. I tried to scan my brain, analyzing every nook and cranny, trying to determine how I knew her.
And then it hit me, I mentored this girl when I was a fifteen year old girl. She is about three or four years younger than me. In the time that had passed (aka, six years), she had somehow managed to stay exactly the same size. As I scanned her outfit, picking up every aspect- crop top, super micro denim shorts, flannel top, super thick eyeliner, hypebeast girl Nikes, I thought to myself, “Is this what kids these days are wearing?”
And then, as I noticed her face of shock and quasi-disgust, the way that I look at Crocs and Coldwater Creek, I knew what she was thinking.
Chrissey is old.
I admit that I do not wear crop tops as casual, regular attire, and I admit that I don’t own any denim shorts. The only shorts I really wear are my colorful J.Crew Chino shorts with a tasteful blouse. She scanned my outfit, taking in my cuffed dark denim jeans, my 3/4 sleeve floral top, and my thick t-strap sandals, and lastly, my fauxchamp.
I mean, I’m twenty one, I’m getting at the age where I buy pieces that are nicer quality and investments for my wardrobe… I mean, I’m graduating from undergrad and going to graduate school soon, booty shorts aren’t really part of my personal uniform.
“Oh my gosh, you’re like, in your twenties now! You’re like, an adult!”
I know I’m still young, I’m damn young. But I’m not Vines, #Don’tJudgeChallenge, Abercrombie and Fitch young. It started to become more and more obvious when I started caring about my credit score, having to Google every slang term that came up (I was the person who didn’t know what Netflix and Chill or stanning was!), and the nail in the coffin was the last first day of my undergrad, when I was waiting in line at Dunkin.
A freshman came up to me, and said, “You’re hot but you’re old.”
HOT BUT OLD.
After chatting and catching up with the super perky, super youthful, and super hyped mentee in the flannel shirt, I called my (childhood) best friend Ashley to recap what had happened.
Ashley: Oh my god, she’s a freshman in college now?!
Me: Yup, and she and her boyfriend were headed to the nearest frat party, probably.
Ashley: HER? AT A FRAT PARTY? Isn’t she like eleven years old?!
Me: NO, she’s like seventeen now!
Ashley: Oh my god.
Me: Are we old?
Ashley: Oh my god. ARE WE?
Me: I DON’T KNOW I’M ASKING YOU.
Ashley: OH MY GOD. WE’RE OLD.
Me: We go to bars, you have a kid, I’m going to grad school and I work an adult lady job. We’re old.
Ashley: Oh my god you’re right.
Me: I haven’t worn denim short shorts since like, my sophomore year of college, at like a frat party or something.
Ashley: Ew frat parties. UGH WE’RE OLD.
Me: I KNOW WE’RE OLD. You didn’t even see her or talk to her–THAT made me feel old!
Ashley: Are we old now?
Me: Yes. Are we old and not hot anymore?
Ashley: Like, is she the new hottie on the block? Are we old and washed up? NO, we’re still hot. Just old.
Me: Remember when that kid called me hot but old?
Ashley: No…we’re still hot. Just old. We’ll be hot and not old when we’re Linda and Regina’s age.
Me: You right. They’re older than us.
Ashley: Yeah, they’re like super old. They’re like twenty eight or something now.
***This is a funny, lighthearted post. I do not think that I am super old, and I do not think that twenty eight is super old. Neither does Ashley.
Me: You know, they probably look at us and think, “Damn, we old.”
Ashley: Just like we’re looking at Hillary and thinking, “Damn, we’re old?”
Me: Exactly. This is so funny.