Who's the Fairest of Them All?

I'm turning 30 this year. I accept this and it's fine--really. The only obstacle I had to overcome was accepting that the reality of 30 will not look anything like I once imagined it to be. Other than that, I'm excited for my 30s. I think they'll be great--I mean, my 20s were a huge improvement over my teens, and particularly the end of my 20s has been...underwhelming. So 30s, I'm coming for you. 

For a couple years now, my close friends have been Dealing with Thirty. I can't tell you how many of them have talked about turning 30 as when you become old. But you know what? I'm contesting that. By calling 30 old, we're doing ourselves a huge disservice. Thirty is not old. Seriously. I've come up with an analogy I'd like to share with you. I'm calling it the Mirror, Mirror Effect. 

In our youth--our teens and 20s--we're Snow White. 

We're innocent and fresh-faced and look at all those chipmunks we befriend. Pure of heart and all that bullshit. All kinds of dudes lining up for you. (But really they're going to use you and let you cook them dinner and clean up after them. Yes, men in your 20s, I'm calling you the Seven Dwarfs.) 

And then our thirtieth birthday looms ahead and we panic. We're taught that our youth is fading and the end of the world is approaching. We feel like the old hag is handing us a poisoned apple--but instead of an apple, she's handing us her haggard face and warty nose. Everything sucks, right? 

Farewell, youth and beauty! 

I'm calling bullshit. This is a gross exaggeration, and it's totally overlooking a very important phase in our lives! Yes, one day we'll be Old and we'll start wearing ill-fitting gowns and we'll worry less about eyeliner because who cares and we'll be miserable old witches who poison our young, lovely neighbors out of jealousy and spite. Sure, that will happen. 

BUT NOT YET. Before that, we have what I'm willing to bet is the best phase of our lives. 

Evil Queen. 

Yes. Look at her. She is flawless. Her eyebrow game is strong. She is rocking that red lipstick. She's a powerful woman and she knows it. She gives no fucks. She can't be bothered. She doesn't apologize for anything she does--she goes after what she wants and she knows how to get it done. You think she'd cook dinner for those dwarfs and let them get away with their behavior? Hell no. Those dwarfs would be cooking her dinner. Because she's a bitch--and bitches get stuff done. She doesn't care what you think...it's the hallmark of a good villain. She's in some pretty great company, too. 

Look at them. You think they call themselves old? No. They call themselves fabulous. (I'm not sure what this image was meant to do, so Jafar's presence is a little baffling to me? Whatever. He doesn't give a fuck either.) 

We're looking at 30 years of doing what we want, the way we want. We're not in Hagsville yet. Just as long as we don't let hubris or long-winded monologues drag us down--because come on, we all know how that ends. 

Who's the fairest of them all? Doesn't matter. I know it's me.