Now I’m finally out of that boy-crazed, perpetually in heat stage, I’ve noticed a few changes in myself, which I can only assume have come with age. As a woman in my late twenties this is what I feel:
Women, I’m your biggest fan. I want to spend all my time with other women. I’m inspired by them, their stories, their strength and beauty. I want to share my thoughts with them and hear what they have to say in return. There’s something unifying, as we all, collectively start to hear the ticking of the biological clock; as though it’s pitched at a frequency that only we, selectively, can hear. We’re in this together, part of a shared experience. I’m nearing those big life decisions and it feels more important now than ever before to have my ladies by my side. This all seems to be coinciding with what’s happening on a global scale within the women’s rights movement. There’s a push for sisterhood and solidarity in the face of pussy grabbing adversity. It’s empowering, liberating and so damn infectious.
I’ve no time for school yard cattiness. This relates to the above, I’m now at an age where mean girls-esque you can’t sit with us bullshit, actually seems ludicrous. Tearing another woman down, slut shaming, bitching; is just not my vibe. Sure, there are still girls that grind my gears, but nowadays I have a much more unperturbed approach; girl, you do you (just maybe do it over there – away from me). It takes so much energy to hate. If I don’t like people now, they’re not in my life. Simple.
Underarm hair, stubbly legs, you’re OK. I used to shave my underarms and legs every day before I realised a little stubble won’t deter a man, actually pretty much nothing will. Including that occasional unplucked nipple hair (too real?). Men, bless them, don’t sweat the small stuff by which we’re obsessed. So stop worrying - we had them at titties.
Dressing up; I do it less but relish it more. I used to dress to impress every day, spend my time carefully curating outfits to dazzle anyone and everyone; boys, friends, colleagues. These days, my ensembles are mashed together with whatever is clean and comfortable. Usually jeans, jellies and a basic tee. I save my energy and patience for the special occasions, where I go all out. False eyelashes, costume jewellery, platform heels, bring it on. I proudly sport outlandish outfits, ten notches above the dress code - outfits which I could never have afforded in my mi-goreng rich uni days.
Similarly, winged eyeliner is no longer an everyday affair; now I see that a carefully crafted cat eye as little more than a colossal time suck. Don’t get me wrong, I love a classic Amy Winehouse fleek, but cbf every day. I've perfected my basic bitch routine- start to finish in less then 15; a BB base, muchos mascara, slight shadow on the brow and pink lips. Done.
Vageen, you are queen. I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with my vagina; a temperamental young yoni who experimented with UTI’s, thrush and phantom periods. I think it took me a little while to get in tune and register her needs, being; cranberry, water (shit tones) and air - I’m constantly commando at home. Now we’ve truly hit our stride, we’re harmonious, balanced, and I couldn’t be more proud of my vivacious little vah-yine-yah.
Sharing is caring. I have a burning desire to share this, and everything else I’ve learned with other (younger) girls. Not in a patronising back in my day way, I want to level with them, empower them. I want to let them know they don’t need to get biscuits for meetings when asked by men (yes I did that), I want to let them know perfection is unrealistic and boring, I want to let them know there’s a world of women out there rooting for them. We have your back and always will.
Shit, I can’t wait to see what female life in my thirties brings...