I can answer that: 31!
By time I hit that age, it was long past the era when everyone thought 30 equals death.
For me, it was clearly a new beginning, a period of comfort, when I felt I’d hit my stride careerwise and could relax into my job and life.
Things were starting to get exciting and fun (despite some of the horrible traumas that were hitting the scene), and I felt more secure than usual.
Most importantly, my looks were tip-top. A combination of good genes, clean living, and Vitamin E made for a lovely visage, even as many of my friends started aging like Dorian Gray’s portait.
I vividly remember thinking, “I wish I could stay at this age forever!” I desperately wished I could bottle myself and just stay put, secure from the rigors of aging and the hideous march of time. I’d close my eyes and try to do that every now and then, but five seconds later I always seemed to be five seconds older!
Ah, well. I’m perfectly happy being the age of [mumble mumble] right now.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on April 4, 2013