I'll Never Be 26 Again. Thank F*ck.

In a youth-obsessed culture, not everyone wants it.

Welcome to Cheaper Than Therapy, a newsletter for 80s babies by Shani Silver.

*Do to a technical glitch, this post published a few months ago, and was immediately removed, my apologies to anyone for whom this looks familiar. Shit happens.

The ironic part about a society that considers women over 30 old and expired is the fact that every year before then sucks ass. We treat youth as if it’s a prize lost, rather than a punishment survived and I’m so sick of idolizing young people just because they’ve got a better metabolism. You’re telling me that’s what I’m supposed to want to be? A moron again? Nah. The more I age, the less I want to be young, and you can strap me to a lie detector if you’d like. I’ll sail through.

Looking back at how I used to be, and what I used to settle for, that shit makes my soul squirm. The people-pleasing nature of youthful ignorance and a twentysomething woman’s tendency to flay herself for any man who texts back—I don’t miss it, not even if it comes with hair I don’t have to dye and skin that doesn’t feel like its playing tug-o-war with gravity itself. There is nothing romantic about youth for me, because I’d rather be older and smarter than still be a shell of myself, but cuter. I’m 42 years old, every time I stand up my knees snap like fingers, and I still wouldn’t be 26 again if you paid me cash.