Let’s All Become Old Crones And Drink In The Woods After Age 25
WARNING: If you’re [over 25 and] reading this, it’s too late.
It has been revealed that Leonardo DiCaprio only dates women between the ages of 20 and 25. At first glance, it may seem that is proof he is an awful womanizer who has some nerve, because, excuse you, but hasn’t he been vaguely flabby for approximately two years now? At 41, he is officially middle-aged and courting people who still qualify for their parents’ health insurance. That seems wrong. That seems like the kind of thing Jack Nicholson would do before realizing how wrong he is in a movie written and directed by Nancy Myers. But, according to science, Leo is getting his love life just right.
Based on data from OKCupid, men’s favorite ages for women are 20, 21, 22, and 23. Actually, after 21 it’s all down hill, like the slope of the graph charting your weight gain as you descend into middle age, except in the opposite direction. In fact, women consider themselves “over the hill” after age 29, or so says a study conducted by a funeral home. Basically, according to everyone, if you are of legal drinking age the end is near if not very far gone.
Anyway, the point of all this is: let’s just give up. I’m turning 25 in February and I am more than ready to go cold turkey on the host of societally-prescribed norms that dictate the ways I should groom and generally despise my imperfect female form. If Leo and all the men are effectively done with us when we turn 26, why continue to bother? It is time for us to come together as women to quit society and become crones that live together and drink wine in the woods.
At 26, you have approximately 47.5 years left to live, you know, give or take a kale smoothie. The bad news is that we are dead to men, but the good news is that it is not yet time to die. Also, speaking of kale smoothies, forget it! Unless you genuinely like them, in which case, good for you. But if you’re watching your weight, well, this crone coven is really going to shake things up. We will be active, of course; our rituals in the honor of Mother Moon are big calorie burners. There will be no dieting, though. None at all. Leave the flat stomachs to those youngsters under the age of 25.
Let me just tell you, fellow women: we are going to eat so much bread. Shit, do you remember BREAD? After a little while, we might even forget the word for carbs because it’s become so destigmatized that it has lost all meaning. Ugh, and pasta. Think of the pasta. There will be trays and trays of baked ziti. We’ll have feasts of lasagna with a side of more lasagna. And you won’t have to be concerned about a “girlish figure,” because you have a nice pot belly now, and it’s not so bad, really. If nothing else, it keeps you from being effing freezing all the time.
Also, all your hopes and dreams? Consider them achieved, bitches! Do you realize how much free time we are going to have now that we don’t have to apply makeup and do our hair and compile an outfit each day that both appeals to the male gaze and is not too seductive to distract men from achieving things? If applying makeup makes you feel beautiful, you will be more than welcome to do you. But if it doesn’t? Well, get ready to interact with others totally barefaced, without anyone asking you if you are sick. We’ll save hours and hours each day, we’ll write books and poetry, make movies and music, we’ll have our whole own culture that won’t feature a single film starring Bradley Cooper. Plus, we’ll have a stockpile of cash saved up from buying the things “society” convinces us we need. We won’t waste money on overpriced razors, because we won’t be shaving our goddamned legs. Unless you want to. But probably we’ll be too busy drinking the gallons of wine we buy with our Pink Tax rebate, sitting ‘round the fire, having intellectual conversations about what went wrong back in the world where we stopped being attractive at the age of 25.
Update: Hey, ladies. I’ve been in the forest for a few weeks now and I’m wondering if any of you are coming? I’m writing this message on a leaf in Nutella, because my computer died, so hopefully someone will see it. If anyone old enough to rent a car has managed to find love on OKCupid or even if, like, Leo dated some ancient crypt keeper like 30-year-old Lana Del Rey, I feel like maybe we can make some compromises and give patriarchal civilization another shot. OK, let me know!