You know when you've found something juicy to write about when you have to tear yourself away from the screen to write it.
I have come to the conclusion that I and everyone else has been drip fed the notion that everyone after 30 ceases to be beautiful and youthful. I can remember countless jokes on TV where the much older male character would be dismissive of any woman over 25, as if their use ended the day they had their next birthday. I've spent countless hours obsessing over turning thirty and why it was a terrible thing, and finally, I’ve decided that everything I know about ageing and beauty is complete bullshit, and here's why.
In the UK shops are set to reopen on June 15th, and like a lot of us, I am desperate to piece myself back together, the urge to run to shops to buy fast fashion, hair dye, and buy the things that make me feel like me is strong. But then I started to think about how much of my identity is different, cue The Internal Shift.
Over the past week, I have been closely looking at my community and the inherent offence that comes with it. Why are people in my community so desperate to prove that they were not a racist before this? Why are they so desperate to prove that they aren't one now? What do they do past posting inspirational quotes? Social media is practically buzzing with defensiveness, faces behind computer screens getting redder and redder, desperate to rid themselves of any guilt by sharing countless slogans, participating in #blackouttuesday, and weeping for the black community.