We are a city with Peter Pan syndrome, and we thank our lucky stars for that. While our friends in the Midwest and, like, Texas, are busy...having babies and stuff, we're in perpetual arrested development. New York is better than ever these days, and that's partly due to the fact that we won't grow up—and don’t have to. Here are all the things New Yorkers do way after 30 that no one else does. (Be jealous, everywhere else.)
Making out with strangers
Oh, hello, lovely-looking person I only just swiped right on two hours ago. Now we find ourselves in this bar together and what's that? Oh, it's your tongue, down my throat. Do I mind? Why would I mind? Because I'm not 25? Who cares! Everyone is 25 in New York forever and ever.
Going to crazy parties until 4 a.m.—then eating!
While our counterparts are tucked safely in their beds and getting ready to wake up and mow the lawn (people do that, right?), we're shooting as many pickle backs as possible before last call, then heading down the street to Artichoke for a drunken curbside slice while recapping the night with our equally sloshed friend, mascara running down both of our faces. (“Ohmygaaaa, the bartender was sooooo cute.”) Then it's time to hop in an Uber just as the sun is coming up and calling it a night. Perfect.
Never making dinner, ever
Seamless, Caviar, DoorDash—these are our best friends. Why bother learning to cook (ew) when all that means is having to do dishes afterward. It's not like we have to worry about cooking a nutritious meal for our kids. In fact, sometimes it's Cup o' Noodles and Netflix, and we have zero shame about that.
We didn't say they were all good things, you guys! But yeah—if smoking is supposed to be that thing most people did because it was cool and then they got older and realized it was kind of gross and bad for you, New York never got that memo. We've got the cough and huffing up the subway stairs to prove just how much we like to bum a smoke. (This is the one we're hoping maybe we do outgrow.)
Freelancing like it's our job
Well, because it is. Raise your hand if you're over 30 and cobble together an existence with five different freelance gigs trying to make the rent on your extremely small, extremely expensive closet you call an apartment. Yeah, that's what we thought. Back to work!
Living with roommates
Your college roommate moved back to Ohio after school. He lives with his wife (high school sweetheart, obvi) in a four-bedroom house on 3 acres of land and a garage that houses his brand-new Prius. You? You're a 34-year-old living with a 37-year-old you met on Craigslist in a two-bedroom walkup. You're pretty sure he keeps eating your yogurt, though you can't prove it. You will, though. Oh, you will.
Eating on your bed
It's not that you don't have a dining room table (you totally do—it's a folding table your mom gave you that you cover with a sheet instead of a tablecloth). It's just that it's covered in all the clean laundry you keep meaning to fold. So why not kick back on your bed, eat some takeout and watch 12 uninterrupted hours of SVU.
Online-dating. Like, a lot.
Misery in dating does not (unfortunately) end at 29 in our fair city. No, many of us spending countless fruitless hours swiping are well over 30. That means ghosting, unsolicited dick pics, messages from people who INEXPLICABLY capitalize random words in the middle of sentences (why do people do this???) and all the other joys of Tinder, Bumble and OkCupid do not age-discriminate. (We sort of wish they would.) Luckily, there's no shortage of dating apps to help us on our quest (to remain perpetually single).
Getting financial help from your parents
People in their 30s everywhere else in the country are grown-ups. They go to work, bring home a paycheck and support their families, just like in the movies. In our world, the dirty little secret that nobody talks about openly is that many of our families still support us. They have to! How else would we afford the windowless studio in a sixth-floor walk-up we call home? (Thanks, Mom and Dad!)
Piercing, tattooing and dyeing every damn part of our body
First nose ring at 32? Why not. Neck tat at 35? You know it! While those poor souls in the flyover states need to button it up to cover up that ill-conceived Tweety bird arm tat for their job in an office park somewhere, here in the creative capital of the world we're busy treating our bods like canvases for way longer—and showing them off. (Plus, we've got some of the best tattoo artists around, so why wouldn't we? We are LITERAL works of art.)