Things You Only Know If You Look Older Than You Actually Are
The Debrief: When I was a teenager, small boys on bikes constantly asked me to buy them beer and fags. Constantly.
Recently Margot Robbie revealed how people often think she’s 10 years older than she actually is. This is something that can be both a blessing and a curse. As someone who has consistently looked 25 since the age of 15, allow me to lead you through the path of looking way more mature for your age. It’s a path that doesn’t require ID.
You will never need ID
In fact, I’ve only just started getting ID’d in Tesco now I’m 27, which I put down solely to my recent investment in Estee Lauder Advanced Night Repair (if the serum keeps working like this, soon I’ll have the head of an actual baby). It’s quite annoying, considering I was always the one who had to get the drinks in at bars.
When I was 15, dressed as a fairy and trying to snaffle vodka shots (cheapest way to get drunk) at Band Night in the local recreational centre, I was usually successful. It meant we didn’t have to make creepy 19-year-olds get them for us. Creepy because what 19-year-old hangs around with 15-year-olds at a recreational centre on a Friday night?
The only down side of my ability to get the booze in was that young boys on bikes smoking cigarettes would consistently ask me to go in and get beer/fags for them. Couldn’t really go anywhere without this happening.
Men will think you’re older…
… And try and sleep with you before you understand what that even means. Some girls lose their virginity when they’re still at school and feel great about it, and Godspeed to them. I was not one of those girls. I had massive boobs, was five foot ten, had the face of a seasoned pro but didn’t kiss a boy until I was 17. When people stared at my boobs I would just feel horribly uncomfortable and wonder why I wasn’t enjoying it.
By the time I had the confidence to tell the arseholes to fuck off, I was in my mid-twenties and 16-year-olds outside petrol stations were no longer interested in me. What a shame.
You’ll become obsessed with anti-ageing
See my flippant mention of ageing serum in the opening paragraph – yeah, I know we should all embrace the ageing process because it’s a crime what the media/adverts/fashion/blah blah have done to the image of a woman growing older, but unfortunately my brain doesn’t understand that. All my brain understands is that I look older than I am, and I don’t want to look 40 when I’m 30.
I think I’ve sort of plateaued now because the other day somebody said, ‘Oh I didn’t think you were 27 you look more 25’ which I’m hoping means I will look 25 forever. Even when I’m 80. I doubt this will happen, though, and a lifetime of looking older than I am means I have a cabinet full of preventative and anti-ageing products. I’m sorry everyone. I’m not strong enough to resist.
People will be intimidated at parties
If you look older, you look more mature. When you look mature, you look like you goddamn know things. I am very tall and have an old face so up until this point in my life, people have been intimidated by my presence, mistaking me for some wise sage. Or, more likely, an older person at a party. If you’re surrounded by 22-year-olds and you look more late-twenties, then you look like someone who has a job and a mortgage and has seen the streets a bit.
This can work to your favour – you can pretend to be very enigmatic and give people lots of advice until they find out you’re sitting your GCSEs. It can, however, backfire. I once snogged a guy at a house party who said he wanted me to teach him things in bed. He was one year older than me. I was 21 and had slept with two people. Badly. I said I was going to the loo and left the party.
There are lots of clothes you can’t wear
Pigtails. Dungarees. Anything frilly. I look like someone’s mum attempting to look ‘funky’. Part of the reason I look older is also because I have a big build with sturdy shoulders, thighs like an ox if the ox has chunky woman-thighs, and DD boobs. This means if I wear a logo T-shirt, ra-ra skirt and Converse, it becomes borderline creepy. Same goes for onesies or pyjamas with the Cookie Monster on them.
In saying that, though, I’m a real campaigner for wearing whatever the fuck you want to wear, so don’t let me dissuade you from wearing pigtails with frilly dungarees covered in the Cookie Monster. I have a dog jumper I wear quite often. It’s a free country.
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