I don’t know why so many people seem to think that we are at our (physically) prettiest in our twenties. I disagree. I like to refer to the twenties as the years of baby-adult syndrome, because so many people often still look like teens while being and living the lives of adults.
Physically, so many of us in our twenties look like a mixture of girl and woman with a little more emphasis on girl, and personally, I find it aggravating. (I feel the same often goes for men in their twenties, appearing as a mixture of boy and man.)
I believe I am beautiful, but I want to look in a way that resembles how I feel, and I feel like a woman.
I am a woman.
I am not a girl. I am not a child. I do not wish to constantly be mistaken for an underage person, a high-school student, or a girl, because I am none of those things.
I am a woman. I work. I pay bills. I fill out my own medical forms. I can answer questions on my own without looking to someone else to answer, to be the adult for me. I am a fully knowledgeable sexual being. I have confidence in my abilities. I am thoroughly educated. I am strong. I have lived through countless trials and overcome.
I am a woman, but in my twenties, I still have the face and the body of someone who perhaps hasn’t fully graduated to woman yet. This is something that many of us deal with in our twenties. For many of us, the curves and the angles and the physical maturity that typically visually defines us as women instead of girls often doesn’t begin to shape our faces and our bodies until our thirties or even our forties.
We call it aging gracefully, and in a way, I suppose this is true.
The twenties, though, still feel so very formative. It is hard for me to consider these years to be those in which we are at our (physically) prettiest, when they are still so formative (physically and otherwise).
I think of the twenties as being the adult version of puberty. Puberty 2.0, if you will.