I am 42.
Many of us have read Tom Junod’s Esquire article, “In Praise of 42-Year-Old Women.” In it, the author declares that 42 is the most alluring age of women this year.
He proves this by juxtaposing the 42-year-old women of today his wet dreams with a single 42-year-old fictional woman in a movie from almost 50 years ago, the infamous Mrs. Robinson. That comparison is so ridiculous, I don’t even know where to start. Yet somehow, this throwaway article has caused a brouhaha (here, and here, and here) in the blogosphere with ripostes almost as silly as the original. In honor of the wonderfully funny Amy Poehler, whom the author name drops as he cycles through his list of 42-year-old celebrity hotties, I have decided to borrow her Saturday Night Live skit, “Really?!?”
Really, Esquire? You waited until July to tell me that this is my most alluring year? Really?
Really, people? Really? Is this what we’re all talking about? Did you know there are a couple of wars going on in the Middle East right now? Did you know you’ve probably each spent at least a penny’s worth of electricity reading these articles, which is more than what all their thoughts are worth put together? Really? We all know that the Internet is a bizarro world where traffic is a good thing, and you just handed the I-405 to Esquire by linking to this asinine article. Really?
Really, Facebook? You’ve written algorithms that can make people happy or sad at your whim, but you can’t filter out bullshit articles? Really?
Really, Tom? Really? Did you just basically say that feminist chicks are hot? Your compliments have a pretty strong backhand. Still, not stronger than Serena Williams’.
Really, historically marginalized sub-groups? You’re offended that this article didn’t objectify you? Really?
Really, trigger warnings? You couldn’t have warned us before reading this drivel: “Extreme preposterousness may cause compulsive sharing”? Really?
Really, “Alluring”? Is this all just some clever ploy to become the word of the year? You’re not going to beat out “selfie,” so stop trying!
Really, summer dresses? I asked you to cover my gorgeous 42-year-old frame and now I find out you’ve actually been unclothing me? Really?
Really, 1971-1972? You had to curse an entire year’s worth of women with cicada-like sexiness? Really? How long do we need to hibernate until we’re sexy again?
Really, absurd theater of men trying to get into my pants? Did someone fart in the theater? Where are you guys? I’m getting tired of this one-man show.
No, not really.
You know what being 42 years old means to me? Absolutely nothing. I think that no matter what age I am, I would recognize this article as meaningless. I just couldn’t muster the outrage at something I simply can’t take seriously. I’ve had my laughs at this article’s expense, and now it’s time to move on. After all, I only have a few months left of being 42! Really.