And other clichés . . .

louSo on Saturday, I surprised Supergirl after her muddy soccer game and took her to Hair Police in Uptown for some colored extensions. She’s been begging since last summer when one of her swim coaches showed up with purple and green streaks and I promised her she could get them for her kindergarten graduation. (I was pretty sure they wouldn’t be considered kosher uniform policy). As we scurried through the rain, up the stairs to the destroyed, warehousy salon, I had to chuckle at Supergirl for being so excited about doing something that she perceives to be edgy and subversive. But I was also chuckling at myself, for taking my camera, and for so predictably playing the part of the quote unquote cool mom, who is so hip that she honors her girl’s wishes for colored hair and surprises her with an appointment the day after school ends. As I watched Supergirl chat with the beautiful, dread-locked Satya, I rifled through a magazine and put it down, sighing to myself: I am a walking cliché.

I am a grup. I am a grown up who is pretending she is not grown up. I am in love with youth culture because that’s where all the color and emotion and good seem to live. My take away from the state of the world right now: at best, adults are boring; at worst, they are corrupt or inept. I don’t dress my age. I don’t act my age. But somehow, I feel like I can get away with it because I am aware of my little charade, my little schtick. I’m totally on to myself. Self-awareness excuses anything, right?

Obviously, per the article on grups linked above, clinging to the stuff of youth – music, cool clothes, cool toys – is a bit of an epidemic among thirty and forty somethings. But maybe this is the new age appropriate way to act. Forty is the new thirty and so on. Maybe we stay current with music and fashion because, in and of themselves, they are beautiful things. Why would we give up our claim to the things we have always loved just because we may be getting a bit long in the tooth? Whoever says we should is just bullshit. And if you’re going to look oldish, isn’t it better to look good oldish than simply old oldish? That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I may be a walking cliché, but my daughter looks kick-ass. And judging from the bevy of girls and mamas crowding around her at the pool today, I think we may just have started something. Satya’s not going to know what hit her when they all start showing up for their little piece of cool summer color. Makes me smile just thinking about it.satya

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