On my thirtieth birthday, I pretended to be carefree while celebrating with friends, but in reality, I was secretly traumatized…there was nothing ahead of me except old, older, and painfully old. That’s why it was incredibly annoying to recently learn from the pundits that “the thirties are the new twenties.” Honestly, couldn’t someone have made this declaration before my thirtieth birthday? It would have made the day so much more relaxed and entertaining to know that in a way, I was turning twenty.
I usually have a great deal of skepticism toward the pronouncements of self-styled cultural gurus. On this one, however, I am choosing to selectively embrace it. After all, if the thirties are the new twenties, then it stands to reason that the forties are the new thirties; the fifties are the new forties; the sixties are the new fifties; the seventies are the new sixties; and so on. If the talking heads want to give us permission to recalibrate our age and think of ourselves as 10 years younger, then I, for one, say we should run with it.
And if you think about it, there is a certain amount of legitimacy to this way of thinking. Life expectancy two hundred years ago stood at age 35; an unmarried woman of 25 was considered an old maid; and 50 was seen as elderly. Things have clearly changed regarding age perceptions during that time and it would hardly be surprising if further changes have occurred in the past 25 years.
Of course, stating that “the thirties are the new twenties” could just be another way of saying that we are more immature than previous generations. More people are doing things in their thirties that our parents or grandparents did in their twenties – establishing careers, getting married, buying a home, having kids. Who is to say, however, that previous generations wouldn’t have been doing the same thing, if the option of growing up later had been available to them. I have a feeling quite a few people would have chosen to do so. Maybe the thirties have always been the twenties, but people previously matured unnaturally early (with strong encouragement from parents, societal expectations, and a lack of good birth control options).
In any case, I fully support the movement to think of ourselves as 10 years younger. Really, we sometimes need a little delusion in our lives. Plus, it’s cheaper than Botox and you don’t lose your facial expression. And why stop here? Let’s stay ahead of the trend curve and anticipate future silly pronouncements from the pundits. How about “size 14 is the new size 8?” Now, that’s a thought that I can enthusiastically champion.