Correct me if I’m wrong, but an “adult” by definition is someone age 18 or over. It is that magical age when you move out of your parents’ house only to realize that the cost of living is more than just gas or shopping money. At 18 you can drive a car, vote for president, enlist in the army, buy cigarettes, get a tattoo, get a piercing to go with your tattoo, AND gamble away all $10.49 of your life savings if you so chose. If we can all agree that 18 is what legally defines you as an adult, then why are 20-somethings still #adulting?
Someone please explain to me what adulting even is. To the best of my knowledge, I’ve been doing it the last several years. I don’t understand why I need to constantly remind the world I’m out here…being an adult. The term “adulting” is used to describe the most menial tasks like doing laundry, washing dishes, or switching from Moscato to something red and bitter – all things I did well before I was a bonafide adult. It is a derogatory term used to imply the person doing the adulting is not quite a functional grown-up. By saying things like “I can’t adult today” we’re helping older generations see us as immature or less qualified just because we don’t subscribe to some vague, ancient notion that adults must wear suits and be in bed by 9pm.
Recently my boss was appalled to learn I think golf is the most boring sport on the planet. (It is.) She thus informed me that golf is yet another thing that Millennials are destroying. I jokingly told her to add it to my tab, but what I wanted to ask her is if redefining the notion of adulthood is really that terrible? If worrying about the DOW and reading the newspaper are what it takes to finally be considered a real adult then forget it. I’m pulling a Peter Pan and you can forward my mail to Neverland because honestly, I’m happy with my shambly lifestyle. I’m perfectly content to use dry shampoo more than three days in a row, I’ll never work a true 9-5 job, and as far as I’m concerned, microwaving counts as cooking. I can’t keep a succulent alive, my cat is the only “child” I plan on having for a VERY long time, and I may or may not have spent the night vomiting on the bathroom floor at least once this month.
But you know what else? I pay my rent on time, have managed to keep the same job the last three years, and I haven’t run away to become a band groupie yet. If that isn’t being a grown-up, then I don’t know what is. So I’m sorry, Judy, if I don’t separate the lights from the darks or know how to work an iron, but I’m a mothafuckin adult whether you like it or not. And maybe, just maybe, if we start acting like our way of #adulting is acceptable, we can trick everyone else into thinking so too..