Since turning 30, I’ve had the odd internal argument with myself about whether I’m too old to have weird hair, or to not own a pair of high heels, or to wear jeans 99% of the time. I worry about becoming part of the background, of not being able to experiment with clothing or makeup as I age. Today those worries vaporized after chatting with a white-haired woman in her mid to late sixties – she had an undercut, stretched ears, a black and white striped, button front onesie, a red cardigan, a kickass leather aprony-fannypack-thing with pockets, and bright red lipstick. 

Nah, I’m not too old.