I’m in the post-25 years of age stage of my life. And while most of the time I’m oblivious to this harrowing fact, I do come face to face with it sometimes. Here are just 2 reasons I know I’m not 16 any more:
1) I stare with unabashed curiousity at the carefully casual, scrupulously bohemian teenagers thronging Barista. Coffee is just an excuse for being there. My coolness quotient plunges and I feel distinctly dinosauresque. But the overriding sentiment is: who cares?? Frumpy clothes, a cosmetic-less countenance, a cell phone which belongs in the science & tech museum. That’s me. But since I’ve hit the quarter century mark, who cares?
2) A fashion statement best left unspoken. That’s what I think of the panty peeping from under jeans get-up. In the beginning of this atrocious trend, it was almost excusable… it was the era of the dicreet derriere. Grandmas thought the young ladies baring their bottoms didn’t know that they were! But even they’ve had to reconcile to the fact that exposing one’s undies is considered desirable in under-25 circles.