Am I So Five Minutes Ago?
I love grey.
A classic. A staple.
A neutral so perfect, it could solve world peace.
But apparently, grey is out now—
too cold, too lifeless,
too much like the colour of the sky
when your life is slipping through your fingers.
Beige is in.
Warm. Inviting.
The colour of a sunset.
Or an oat milk latte.
Or the slow march toward death.
But I will keep my grey.
My grey walls. My grey couch.
My grey hoodie that I bought in 2013
when my knees still worked properly.
Trends can try to take everything from me,
but they will never take my greys.
(Including the ones on my head. Those are permanent now.)
And the hair?
Look, I have spent years mastering this side part.
It has been through things.
It has framed my face through every bad decision
from peplum tops to questionable boyfriends.
And now, I’m just supposed to move it to the middle?
Like I’m a teenage boy from the Renaissance?
I don’t think so.
And don’t even get me started on socks.
For decades, we hid them.
We wanted them gone.
No-show. Invisible.
It was a stealth mission.
Now? Now they are a statement.
Chunky. High. Pulled up with pride.
It’s madness.
I will keep my low-cut socks,
hiding in my sneakers like a dirty little secret.
But it’s not just the fashion.
It’s everything.
Somewhere between learning about interest rates
(that will ruin me)
and figuring out why my hip hurts for no reason,
I blinked—
and all my heroes got old.
Dave Grohl? Fifty-six.
Tom DeLonge is still searching for aliens,
but now he’s doing it with a mortgage.
Blink-182 released a new album,
and I thought, That’s cute! Some kids must have taken up the name.
No.
It’s still them.
And Travis Barker is married to a Kardashian.
Everything I once knew has crumbled.
I heard a teenager say,
“I love classic Taylor Swift,”
and she was talking about 1989.
A part of me died that day.
I referenced Gilmore Girls once,
and someone said, Oh, I think my mom watched that.
Their mom.
And suddenly, I was lying awake at night,
whispering to the ceiling,
How has it been 25 years?
I could have sworn it was five minutes ago.
Wait.
Am I so five minutes ago?
Am I… a relic?
Do people look at me the way I looked at people
who owned DVD box sets of MASH*?
Is my very existence giving off old energy?
I thought I was still young.
But I also thought my knees would always work,
and here we are.
The world has moved on.
I don’t understand TikTok anymore.
The font is too small.
I squint at my phone.
I groan when I stand up.
Why does everything hurt?
But honestly?
It’s fine.
I will take my grey home, my side part,
and my invisible socks,
and age gracefully.
(Which mostly means complaining about my back.)
Because one day,
the youth of today will wake up,
realize their cool music is being played in grocery stores,
and whisper—
Wait… are we so five minutes ago?
And on that day,
I will chuckle.
I will nod.
I will take my multivitamins.
And I will continue on my slow,
creaky,
dignified descent into the void.
