I scorn the birth of Instagram and the fitness models who instigated the "health kick" trend by posting daily pictures of their sunken abs and KALE smoothies.
Look, I'm all for being moderately h-e-a-l-t-h-y. I don't smoke (cigarettes), I do cardio, and I eat my greens (most of the time).
But I also adore a plush glass of wine at an electric city bar. I like to stay out past my "bedtime" and engage in lively conversation with fascinating characters. I can't (nor would I ever want to) visualize a life without creamy Brie cheese recklessly slabbed onto crispy French bread, washed down with a cold glass of champagne.
I mean, what is life without an innocent lifestyle bloat and occasional sleepless night?
It seems like all of my young friends who are in the beautiful bloom of their youth are currently caught up in the throes of a crazy, radical HEALTH KICK. In fact, I struggle to even call it a HEALTH KICK because personally, I don't think there is anything healthy about incessant deprivation, subsisting on flaxseed and feeling the need to stay IN seven nights a week because you're so afraid of what "temptations" the world might present (health kick = recluse).
I think it's healthy to be a little ~bad~ sometimes.
Back in the day, I used to hang out with this sexy, platinum blonde doctor we used to all refer to as "Dr. Love." She was a total fox. One night, we were partying, and some f*ckboy in a snapback (gag) asked her how SHE, of all people, A DOCTOR, could be taking shots?!
She batted her long plush lashes right at the ignorant idiot-faced f*ckboy who asked her the dumb question, knocked back the rest of her shot, looked him dead in the eye and purred: "Everything in moderation. Including moderation."
She clicked her designer heels and left the f*ckboy choking in the dust of her fabulousness (and probably with a giant erection that tormented him the rest of the evening).
Words to live by. Oh baby, words to F*CKING live by.
Look, I'm all about covering the bases: Go to the gynecologist, don't ingest unidentified pills, don't snort the white powder, don't black out, don't drive drunk, and always, always keep a watchful eye on your drink (Never set a cocktail down at a sketch bar, ever.) -- but please, DO feel free to let that gorgeous hair down, ladies and gents.
You're too young to rock a stiff bun. You're in the prime of your life. Chances are you will never be this effortlessly hot again. Don't waste your youth in a barre class eating lettuce leaves. Get out there in the world! Flirt with danger. Go on Tinder dates. Say YES to every awesome event, even if it means occasionally showing up to the job with a bit of the ol' hangover. I mean come ON, how fragile are you that at a meek 24, you "can't function" the next day after three cocktails?
Drink some purified water, put on some red lipstick, and shush up about it. Your "hangover" woes bore me.
"I don't know, ever since I turned 24, I've become domestic. I just want to grocery shop and work out," a dear friend recently confessed. I had just asked her if she wanted to attend a promising party with me downtown, and THAT was her response. A whopping 24 years old and already throwing in the towel? I felt an unshakeable sadness creep through my bones.
"I would LOVE to go to dinner with you, but I'm on a 21-day juice cleanse," my actress friend vacantly droned to me with zero expression in her usually lively actress voice.
"I can't go out tonight. I have a 10 am yoga class in the morning," my other friend responded via text message at 5 pm on a Friday night. I had asked if she wanted to go for one measly drink, not to shoot heroin in a back alley.
I have a million stories like this. And the problem is only escalating. Seemingly overnight, it's become really "trendy" to NOT go out, to stay strictly indoors and cleanse and barre-class the weekend away.
Those group workout classes suck, and you know it.
I don't like this trend. I don't approve of this trend. And pardon my French, but I can't help but say "f*ck you" to this trend.
When I look back at pictures of my fab mother in her roaring 20s, she looks like she's having a BALL. Her hair is wild and loose; she's always clutching a tumbler of gin, clad in over-the-knee suede boots, a mini dress, laughing her face off and ~living life~ baby. (Same with my dad. Look at these total '70s rockstars):
When I was a little kid, I used to gaze at my mother's old pictures and think: "Someday that will be my life."
When I press my mother about her younger years, she tells me amazing tales of nights out in London and all the freaky retro fashion she wore. No one juice cleansed in the '70s baby; they were too busy living.
Why is our generation so fragile? Look, I get it: If you have a drug or drinking problem and need to be totally sober, I'm your biggest cheerleader. I'm not even talking about substance use. I have a ton of sober friends who are outrageous and wild.
I'm talking about this whole "I ate ONE slice of PIZZA and need to go on a 91-day Paleo diet" bullsh*t. The "I can't go out tonight because I'm going to the gym" bullsh*t. The "I'm spending my 20s being a total recluse because I don't want to be tempted by anything that could break my diet" bullsh*t.
Last I heard, no one dropped dead from eating a slice of pizza.
And herein lies the irony: Most of the girls I know who are perpetually on drastic "health kicks" are sick way more often than the beer-chugging, pasta-consuming, badass babes I know.
So I'm going to propose a controversial question that pops up in my brain every time someone tells me he or she is on a juice cleanse: What are you trying to cleanse away, babes?
It's almost like our generation is developing a fear of face-to-face contact and is hiding behind endless "health kicks" to get out of socializing. What's behind that regimented lifestyle?
And most importantly, what kind of pictures are you going to have for your future grandchildren? They won't care about seeing pictures of your perfect abs, I promise. They will want pictures that tell stories.
Don't deprive the future generation of stories. Don't stop living because you're on a "radical diet."
So yes, I'm currently mourning the loss of all my once vibrant friends who have traded in lipstick and faux fur for incessant workout wear before the age of 30. If this is your 25, what's your 45 going to look like?
We are letting down our great ancestors, Kittens. Andy Warhol didn't create the Silver Factory for you to stay at home in your tiny apartment watching Netflix. Studio 54 doesn't exist for you to spend the day burning calories at the gym. The great, wild, revolution of the '60s didn't happen for you to only post pictures of your kale f*cking salad. We are quickly becoming "Generation Boring."
Let's put an end to this whole charade before it puts an end to our souls. Look, if you can juice cleanse and still be fun, do it. I don't care what you eat or drink; it's deeper than that.
But friends, let's all get a little lost in the glitter of the party while we still can. Because before you know it, you will be at home nursing a baby in the suburbs of New Jersey, balancing a husband, a job and child-rearing -- and you won't have any time to play in glitter. Your glitterless youth will have flashed before your pretty eyes.
So cover yourself in some f*cking sparkles. Before it's too late.