Monday marked one month of being 25, which means from here on in, I am a hag. Despite being the challenge 25 rule’s worst enemy (being one of those people who looks both 12 and 42 at the same time because I barely see the sun therefore making me underripened), I understand that passing as a youngster can only get you so far. To most, I am now considered either “uncool” or “over the hill”, depending on how misogynistic you are.
A wise band named Ladytron once said: “They only want you when you’re seventeen. When you’re 21, you’re no fun.” well, it seems to get even worse when you’re 25, as you’re put in a proverbial meat grinder. Here are some examples of this:
- This is the last year of me being able to get discounted tickets at the Barbican, both Tates and the Royal Academy.
- As well as being able to apply to many creative programmes. Good thing I somehow snapped out of being entry level when I joined my current company and became midweight-going-on-unlabeled. That being said, we’re in the cossy livs – all of this is why Josie Long founded arts emergency.
- I’m also too young to apply to either Pop Idol or Popstars: The Rivals. It’s a good thing that I was nursery-age when all that blew over.
- There is no point getting a young person’s railcard because it will expire almost immediately and I’d be better off sticking it out for the 26-30 (which is shit if I go to Edinburgh next year).
- If I were to go to university, I’d be labeled both “mature” and “independent”, and my fresher’s feast would have to be tea and biscuits – provided I’m going to a physical university in the first place. I’d also have to take a rolling suitcase with me at all times for some reason.
- Now that I’m at the age where I’m supposed to settle down into a 2.4 children nuclear family unit, I’ve only got a decade to do so until I tempt the fate of geriatric pregnancy.
That being said, 25 is being kind to me so far. I’m now legally Lylani (that’s an essay for another day), I’m enjoying my time on the comedy course and I just got locked out of my house. I know tonight is the full moon but I have no idea if there’s a correlation.
Still, if you decide to embark on something successful at an earlier time in your life, you are “a bright young thing”. Then one day, you do this and be treated as a charity case, simultaneously old and infantile. It’s even worse when you’re disabled/neurodivergent and considered an “outsider” whose artistic practice is seen a miracle because you’re not allowed to do anything at all, poor thing…
Then they talk to you about Vera Wang designing her first dress at 40. You know that joke, “Bill Gates dropped out of Harvard, not BTEC hair and beauty”? Well, Vera Wang was hired as an editor at Vogue straight out of uni, so surely she knew a ton about fashion before she designed her first dress!
In the comedy world, I feel like 25 is a pretty normal age to get started. There are people both younger and older (by decades) in my class, all on the same wavelength. Even though I tell myself “Jo Brand was a nurse and Heidi from SNL was a hairdresser”, I then compare myself to Frankie Thompson, Leila Navabi, Leo Reich; a ton of comedians my age or younger who have already made massive splashes in the sphere. I feel if I work hard enough to do well in competitions, then that’ll boost my confidence. (Not to mention that if I did comedy earlier, I’d probably get into some deep shit.)
As well, another thing about being neurodivergent, specifically Autistic, is that it’s easy for us to rubbish the idea of social constructs, including the supposed timeline of life. Even though neurotypicals just think we’re big babies, we’re often babies, old souls and the actual age we are at the same time. So what if I’m still living with Mum? Again, we’re in cossy livs.
(Plus, according to astrology, I also have Saturn in my 10th house, which means that me and many other Leo risings born from Jun 9 to Oct 25 1998 and thereabouts won’t be famous until our first Saturn return – which begins in 2028! 30 flirty and thriving I guess x)
This is the least structured essay ever; moral of the story is we all live life at different paces and all that. x
