Recently, I found myself accidentally (ahem) engrossed in Junior Apprentice – and had a horrific realisation. I wanted Tim Ankers to win, not due to his entrepreneurial prowess, but because I thought he was a massive fitty. That wasn’t the realisation, by the way, I know everyone is secretly that shallow really. But no, the panic set in when I realised that the person in question was seventeen. SEVENTEEN. Now at first glance, this might not seem too young. I thought it might be acceptable. But then I realised my younger brother and sister were also 17. And that he was still in sixth form - God, how long ago was that? – and I’ve almost finished my second year of university. Clearly incompatible. But it doesn’t stop there.
I mean, I still feel like the ‘Skins generation’. We were the same age as the characters when Skins first came out, and, although it may be nothing like real life, and quite frankly appalling in all senses of the word, I have to admit that I still watch it now. And I plan on watching the next series; or planned, at least. Because then I realised that I would be 21 when the next series came out, and they would be fresh-faced 16 year olds. How can I relate to that? I’m not even a teenager anymore. I’m a ‘twenty something’. I’ve crossed the boundary from child to young adult – and it scares the hell out of me. I fill out forms and surveys and I’m in the ‘20 – 25’ bracket – or worse, ‘20 – 30’. I’m in the same section as people who are married with children, and I still feel like a child myself.
It’s even worse with the flood of adolescent celebrities at the moment – Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber, anyone? The former is only 17 years old, and has already been voted 29th on Forbes 2009 Celebrity 100, with a total earning of $25 million. That’s a hell of a lot more than my student loan. And ‘Bieber fever’ has been taking over the world, with over 5 million albums sold worldwide – and he’s only 16. Whilst I may think my singing in the shower is something worth paying for, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t match that - especially when I was 16.
So what can I do? I suppose the fact that I spent the last paragraph essentially complaining about the ‘youth of today’ speaks for itself. I am getting older, and although those late nights at Willow mean I’m doing it not so gracefully, acceptance should be the first step. I may not be the next Miley Cyrus, but at least I got to have a childhood, instead of being propelled into the world of celebrity. Not that I would refuse $25 million, though – that might make up for it. And now my childhood is over, I have to realise that being a twenty-something can be fun; it may be scary, but I’m sure I can enjoy it – hell, the last year has been brilliant.
Still, come back to me in ten years and I may claim to be 25 – a little white lie never hurt anyone, right?
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