It's Hassan Hassan's birthday! Another year, another existential crisis.
On Thursday night, right before I was about to pass out watching Masterchef Australia, I got an email from Topman telling me my order had been shipped. Oh yay! I can’t wait! Wait… Topman? Wait, I didn’t even like anything on Topman? I ordered six iPhone cases form Amazon (that are being shipped separately, so I am now receiving updates on Marc Jacobs cartoon dogs and Vogue knuckle dusters literally every five minutes) and Urban Outfitters, but never Topman… Wait? What did I order? Fuck, basically exactly the same t-shirt I got from UO (it’s so annoying to type, fuck off) and a pair of jeans that don’t even fit me. When did this happen? Was I drunk? Is this Alzheimer’s? Is blacking out and shopping online going to be my disease in my old age?
The two things – age and shopping – are related because I had spent hours, nay days, trying to buy myself a birthday present. Ok, ok, like a week. Whatever, I’ve basically been looking for a birthday gift for myself since June. I considered sneakers. I considered wallets. I considered electronic appliances. I considered tattoos. I considered jeans. I considered everything. This wasn’t just any gift. This was a gift that would make me happy. It would give me a sense of accomplishment. It would make 29 ok.
So I ended up with six iPhone covers, two identical t-shirts, $6 sunglasses and jeans that don’t fit. But I spent a grand total of $120 and that was the exact budget I had set aside for my birthday breakdown. Because that’s what happens when you get older - you start to budget breakdowns. My online shopping ordeal solidified my adulthood. I’m officially not a young adult. I’m a proper, fully-fledged adult. And adults don’t click CHECK OUT on sneakers for $2,000. I would have immediately purchased Balmain sneakers at 22 (because someone else was picking up the credit card bill) with no more justification than ‘they’re perfect for that party.’ At 28, my internal dialogue is like ‘where would you even wear these fucking sneakers? The office?’ and ‘Do you know what else you can do with €458?’ I could literally restock my closet. I could order Foool Tank for years. That’s thousands of bottles of beers, about 150 Hardee’s combos and like three years at a gym.
When had I become so responsible? When did things like budgets become part of my internal dialogue? When did things like sleeping at 10:30pm become the norm? WHO AM I? It’s like all of these things that suddenly happened and you’re Googling solutions to back problems and other bullshit you expected to happen when you were 50. Have I forgotten things other than Topman orders? Must remember to Google early onset Alzheimer’s. WHAT IF I FORGET?!
All of the above made me on-the-verge-of-word-and-real-vomit almost daily. Then, because I am an adult, I did what adults do best: I got a grip. I might have had a lot of fun when I was 16, but I was also really fucking stupid. My skin might have been great when I was 22, but I was also a royal fuck up. I might not be able to drink/go out/talk to people like I used to, but people suck and at least I know what I like. And that is hands down the best thing about growing up. Things aren’t as uncertain, you know what you like and what you don’t. You know for a fact that you’re going to be annoyed as fuck in a club with Deep House or whatever the fuck it is the kids are listening to. You know you would rather stay home and watch Masterchef. You’re also finally ok with this. You have nothing to prove. What everyone thinks doesn’t matter all that much; your skin might not look as good, but at least it’s thicker.
Essentially, my life might suck, but at this point I have no one to blame but myself. This is both relieving and frightening. I might be a shitty adult, but I’m my own shitty adult. I might not be married/live in my own house/know how to drive/have my dream job or any of the other shit all of my Facebook friends seem to have, but isn’t that what your 30s are for? And I have a whole year to worry about that. And I have early onset Alzheimer’s so I probably won’t even remember.