Modern Hussy’s Etiquette

By the Modern Hussy

Remember when we were in our late teens and early twenties and every time we went out there was the one creepy dude who would hang at the end of the bar and perv at all the young girls?

Gross. That dude was at least 31.

Having attended an indie show the other day, I looked around and realized just how much the cross section of partiers has changed.

It seems that these days if you still hang out in bars or clubs, you will find yourself in the company of people between the ages of 18 and 36.

It’s kind of weird.

You glance up at a guy in skinny pants, suspenders and a James Dean t-shirt and the only reason you can approximate his age is the graying hair in his beard and a slightly receding hairline. There is a 21 year old two meters over wearing an identical outfit. With a full grown beard.

It’s the same for girls. They are all wearing some kind of layered, UK inspired get up with chunky ankle boots, their hair is ombré and they have nails inspired by nylon magazine.

Ten years ago, there was only two kinds of women over thirty and they did not resemble their twenty something counterparts.

The first kind were the soccer moms who, after marrying their university boyfriends, moved to the suburbs to pop out babies, buy flower pattern couches at discount box stores, and generally die a little bit each day, until their depressing end.

The second type were the single ones, who only went to sports bars to try and pick up ballers. They wore sky high heels and peacocked themselves to the max to attract the opposite sex (you know, big hair, super red lipstick, push up bra). They were cougars and identified with Carrie and Samantha from Sex and the City.  Their existence was mildly depressing as they died a little with each one night stand, while hoping that one of these investment bankers would eventually wife them, so that they could become woman type 1.

Oh, how times have changed.

We take our time to get married, as we watch all the marriages of people who did it in their 20s fall apart. We are taking our time to ‘figure out what we want to do’ with our lives, constantly busy yet unhappy and searching for life’s meaning.

Science is allowing us to make babies into our 40s and where babies cannot be had (or where we choose not to have then) a pair of Boston terrier dogs will take their place.

We often rent instead of owning, and have more disposable income for things like travel and going back to school for another design or sociology degree (so that we can finally get that brand consultant job). We are petrified to make decisions about our partners since our generation has so audibly announced that there is no ‘the one’.

Is it just me or have we become ultimately self absorbed people?

I blame the Internet.

It has allowed us to become the heroes and heroines in the well documented story of our lives. Never before have people had an audience when announcing what they had for breakfast or that ‘it’s raining’.  A virtual world full of admirers makes us feel extra important and significant. Our inability to make decisions is strengthened by the fact that social networking will help us make them.

Ya, I spent my entire morning commute instagramming and writing this blog post. And now I’m checking who liked on my Instagram photos.

Case & point.

Ok, reading this back, I realize that I have gone on a huge tangent from my initial statement and am clearly having a bit of an existential crisis these days.

I think that it is good that we are still going out well into our 30s.  Becoming an adult should not make you dead inside, and reduce you to formal dinner parties in your adult house, with your couple friends.

At the same time, I have reason to believe that the kidult backlash will eventually fuck us over.  You can still be fun and have fun while living like a responsible adult.

So get a savings account, tell the person you have been casually banging that you want to get serious, get off the internet, learn to make your own decisions, and aim for a job that pays for all your concert tickets.

Love, M.H. (a struggling grown up)

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