Posted On: 04/03/2017
By: Zoe Yak & Scouse Bird
Your twenties are your selfish years; the decade you change careers at the drop of a hat, date different men and women, go to Thailand for a fortnight and ‘find yourself’ – all that shite. We’re not like our ma’s generation where they ended up married and burdened with 3 kids by the age of 25. Nah, we’re free to do whatever the hell we want. Sure, loads of us are living in our parent’s box rooms as we can’t afford houses and we’re all precious little snowflakes but our twenties are boss.
However, that’s not to say something new and shite doesn’t happen with each birthday as a millennial. Here’s everything you’ll have been through as the years rolled on and what you have to look forward to if you haven’t left your teens yet.
The big two one – key to the door and all that. You’re finally an adult.
But hold up. With a key to the door comes paying keep. If you’ve managed to blag a few adult years living at home rent free, 21 is normally the age your mum and dad get a bit tired of you spending all your doe on nights out and brunch and decide to have the gall to charge you 50 quid a week. Cheeky bastards. Your mum doesn’t even make bacon butties on a Sunday anymore these days. They’re getting a shite review on Trip Advisor.
Things are still pretty much okay though. It’s fifty quid a week and you still don’t have to worry about mundane things like council tax and remembering to buy toilet roll.
Taylor Swift may sing about the joys of being 22 but she’s a ming who’s never right. What’s so good about 22? It’s such a meh age. If you’ve been at university than the real world blues post graduation really start kicking in as you realise your degree is worth fuck all and the economy is shite for getting a well paying job right now. If you’ve spent the last few years, not knowing what to do for the rest of your life, now the questions start rolling in. No longer can you say “Oh I don’t know what I want to do career wise tbh, I just know I didn’t want to waste money at uni so it’s better to be earning while I think about what I want to do”. Nope, it doesn’t cut it anymore. Overnight you suddenly need a detailed career plan. Be arsed.
I dunno about you but I’m feeling 22 and it’s fucking shit.
Pretty similar to 22 but hangovers start needing more than a nap and a takeaway to get over. They’re not unbearable yet but two day benders become a bit harder.
This is the year that weddings and babies that were actually planned start to make an appearance. You and your mates may still be swiping left at every sex case on Tinder but there’s always one in every group that has to get married early. You’ll start attending mates weddings and feel weird – you should be at the kid’s table with the other teens – not maid of honour and having to carry out adult duties. Madness.
Your metabolism finally fucks off for good. You now have to start thinking about different food groups and become the wanker that has to be like ‘Oh wheat doesn’t agree with me’ even though it was only a few years ago you were eating Rustlers that you hadn’t even cooked for the recommended 90 seconds because you were pissed and impatient.
The age you deactivate Facebook as it’s now got more baby and wedding news than your local newspaper’s announcement page. Probably will decide on a career change too that makes absolutely no sense. Basically you’re now in the wrong half of your twenties, hurtling fast towards the big three-uh oh and you still don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on with your life. Welcome to your quarter life crisis.
Chin hairs. Loads of them. Everywhere. You pluck one and three more appear. Like the Hydra (ancient Greek monster… it was in Disney’s Hercules ok?). This is the age when the ‘forever young’ rock stars die; Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix… is it really so bad to stay 27 forever? Can’t be coping with a full on beard by thirty two.
Hangovers now require a sit down shower, a valium and a 3 hour chat with the Samaritans. Ninety five per cent of your friends are in long term relationships, engaged, married or have at least one child. You don’t even have your own Netflix account.
“No, no babies yet” – something you say on repeat at every family function. You start panicking that actually you’ve only done about five things on the thirty things to do before you’re thirty list and start planning a manic year out travelling round Australia, which you can’t actually afford because you’re paying £800 for a cool loft apartment in the city.
According to every celeb that’s ever turned 30 you find peace, love yourself and your body and you’ll be ecstatic that you’ve left the insecurities of your twenties behind blah blah. At the very least, you’ll hopefully have the disposable income to keep you in botox appointments and looking like you’re in your twenties still.
Read more of Zoe’s blogs here
Follow Scouse Bird on Instagram