I turn 20 on Tuesday. For any of you older than 20 who are reading this, that may not seem like that big of a deal to you, but in 48 hours, I enter a really crazy, packed decade. I feel like some of the most important things in life happen in your third decade. I mean, every decade has significance (1st decade, you're born, pretty important. 2nd decade, you graduate from high school and become an adult), but everyone talks about your twenties. You (hopefully) graduate from college, consider grad school, (hopefully) find a job and (hopefully) find a husband. Lot of hopefullys. Yikes. All of the things mom and dad have been talking about since you were little are suddenly in clearer view. The question 'what do you want to do when you grow up' turns into a more complex, 'what are you going to do with your college degree?' 'What industry do you see yourself in?' My dual art history and social anthropology degree probably makes my parents a little bit nervous about my answers. For now, I can say 'I'll be able to have great dinner party conversations!'
My sophomore year in high school, I came home and told my dad that I wanted to be an artist, and attend art school. His reply? No, you can major in math. Haha..... I haven't done math since high school, and I don't see it re-entering my curriculum any time soon. Art history and social anthropology aren't much better, and are often made fun of as degrees in 'MRS', i.e. I'm only at college to find a husband... Awkward considering I don't even have a boyfriend.
My goal is to eventually work at Condé Nast in New York. I love the publishing industry, and want to end up in marketing and advertising at a magazine. But my endless re-runs of 'The September Issue' (for any of you fashion/vogue/magazine/Anna Wintour lovers who haven't seen it, you've got to rent it on iTunes. It's a brilliantly-directed glimpse into the wild world of working at Vogue), aren't getting me any closer to Anna Wintour's coveted position as the editor-in-chief of Vogue. Great. So what will? Applying for internships, dressing as though I know what I'm doing in the morning, and mentioning the magazine and her name on this blog? Probably not. Especially since the five friends of mine who actually read this blog probably aren't at a blog-sharing level of friendship with her either. So I don't really know anyone who can call her up and let her know I love her and want to replace her... She probably shouldn't know that last part though, shhh...
So during my last 48 hours of comfortable teenager years, I'm revelling in the fact that my biggest concerns are still finishing my essay (which I am currently procrastinating for by writing this post), getting dressed up for a student-run fashion show at school and deciding which animal onesie to buy on urbanoutfitters.co.uk (check them out, they look super cozy, I'm thinking I like the monkey or the cow).
Stay tuned, as I will (here's that word again) hopefully be a wiser, more with-it, productive and successful 20 year old next time I post. But let's face it, that's not how it works. When you turned 8 you didn't suddenly feel more like an 8 year old than a 7 year old, and I don't think this is much different. I have one friend who's 24 who, when she was 20, told me she still didn't feel any older than 17. Uh oh.
Keep wandering,
Ps. Here are some pics from the fashion show I mentioned (called 'Sitara'), it was really fun!
Our dinner/pregame:
Really dark, but I'm on the left, and my friend Emily is on the right:
Lexie, myself, and Emily:
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