This past New Year’s was a memorable one for me. I spent the last night of the year with my best friend, Shea, and her awesome cousin, Michelle, who helped us get right in the middle of Times Square to watch the ball drop. We danced along the cold city streets, sang along as we watched Taylor Swift perform and counted down the clock with Ryan Seacrest, only feet away. What made it better was that we got to hang out with Michelle and her fun coworkers after. Shea and I were chatting and thought we were hitting it off with this very handsome, very charming young man, until he paused and asked what grade we were in. Taken aback, we awkwardly explained we were sophomores in college. Struck with disappointment, we wondered do we really look that young? Did we give off less of an intriguing kind of young, and more of an I’m-still-in-middle-school-and-use-a-lunchbox-kind of young
Unfortunately, we determined it must have been the latter and we knew why. It was the fact that we both have baby face syndrome. We were always aware of the struggles this condition brought, but did not realize its severity until that very night. After much research we found there were others like us and they had their own tales to tell. Some college students just like us recounted embarrassing stories of being questioned while trying to get into bars and clubs because bouncers did not believe the authenticity of their legitimate IDs. Others had been harassed by hairdressers and manicurists when they did not want the cutesy bangs or flower designs because at 20 years old, these were not socially acceptable. Sure, apologies were given, but the sting never seemed to fade for them. Perhaps the worst case was a boy, who at 17, was asked if he wanted to order off the kids menu while eating out with his family. That was a tough blow I could imagine.
Shea and I could at least find comfort in knowing we were not alone and began to look at the bright side. While we may not appreciate this curse now, we discussed that in the future it will develop into a blessing. While people are crying over their 30th birthdays, we will at least be happy to know we will still look 24 when the age of 30 rolls around. We will appreciate getting carded when we are well over the age and we can lie to all our children’s friends and tell them we are 35, when we are much older. The best part is they will believe us.
So, in the end, can we really complain about our youthful genes and adolescent aura? For now, yes, but in a few years we will be laughing without those crow’s feet and wrinkles highlighting our happiness.
