For most of my life I have felt older than I actually am – and neurotic that I am doing things that I am too old for. When I got my belly button pierced at 19 and my tattoo whenever the hell that was, all I thought really was “I am too old to be doing this.”
And then I had kids and I really knew what it was to feel old and fat and wheezy, to be ground down with care and woe, to feel tired all the time, to have to deal with nothing but piss and shit and puke and crying for years at a time.
But then my kids grew up a bit and I suddenly feel younger than I ever have – younger than I did before, younger than I did when I was actually young. This is compounded because I had my kids earlier than other people. I wasn’t young, at 30, to have my kids -but relatively, I was young.
Now, with 40 not all that far away, I find myself continuing a course of slightly mental too-young behaviour like getting extra ear piercings, dying my hair, getting as thin as I possibly can, substituting my kids’ toddler marker pens for eyeliner, listening to ridiculous music and calling everyone “pal”.
This is a well-trodden path, of course. I am as much of a cliche as the emo teen or a 27 year old girl with A Life Plan.
But I can’t stop. And I don’t want to. The relief of having hit certain life markers at vaguely the right age has sent me bonkers with relief and I am careering down this tunnel as if I was at the start of a massive, fast waterslide. I honestly can’t say that I a) give a shit or b) plan to stop any time soon.
So it was with complete and total nonchalance that I went onto the Brandy Melville website, recommended to me by our 15 year old dreamboat babysitter Alice, and bought at pair of blue cords.
Brandy Melville is completely hilarious in every single regard. The typical Brandy Melville girl, from what I can see, is the hopelessly slutty yet secretly ambitious 3rd child of a large Californian family with a washboard stomach, 10,000 friends and rotting cotton bracelets all the way up to mid-forearm.
But the absolutely nightmarish thing about BM, which made me laugh out loud, is that there are no sizes. It’s one size, from what I can see. I mean what the ACTUAL FUCK LADIES? I mean, personally I just saw this as a challenge.
Anyway, I will report back.