Pamela Redmond Satran thinks I’m old. According to her blog, How Not To Act Old, and her bestselling book of the same title (which got a shout out today on Fox’s Good Day New York), even older people who manage to look young, betray their real age by acting old.

Some of Satran’s tell-tale signs that I'm long in the tooth: Do I like burgers and beers? Yes. Do I want to keep some things to myself? Yup. Did I cry for Susan Boyle? Teared up. Do I hate the stars of High School Musical 3 on principle? Certainly. Am I afraid of dying? Um, who isn't? Am I afraid of Twitter? Terrified. Do I prefer direct confrontation? Sure do. Do I like to make plans? Love to. I also listen to Bruce Springsteen, live in Greenwich Village, and I’m a bossy, cynical, chicken who enjoys dinner parties (where I will sometimes discuss things as embarrassing as digestion). I even, on occasion, bash men.

My real age, as measured in things more concrete than Satran's index: 25. (OK, almost 26.) But, by Satran’s standards, is anyone over the age of 15 not already over the hill? And are her rules actually a reflection of societal standards of youth, or just a good way to get on TV?

Photograph by Getty Images.

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The great genius of How Not to Act Old is that it simultaneously taps into our anxieties and deflates them. Most of the time, it’s hard to tell whether Pamela Redmond Satran is making fun of the youth or the old folks. Like Julia, I find myself nervously going through her checklists.  Phew, I hate Bruce Springsteen, always have. Shoot, I do love my salty fries. Does that make my real age 26 or 53? European women have mastered the art of aging fabulously. I just got back from France, where women in their forties, fifties, sixties, and beyond manage to look simultaneously beautiful and age-appropriate. Here, not so much. We have to get Botoxed and lifted and pretend to just adore Twitter. Or else we have to go dowdy and get our hair done in a style my friend calls the “mom,” which used to be called “butch-dyke.” Sigh.

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Hanna, I also flipped through How Not to Act Old in a state of mild confusion—I love to text and Twitter (young!), but I prefer high-waisted pants and concerts that end at a decent hour (ancient!). I suspect these minuses and pluses all even out and leave me at ... my actual age. Oh, well, at least that's easy to remember.

However, I must take issue with one thing you said: The "dowdy" "mom" coiffure is the same as the "butch dyke" 'do (hereafter the BDD)? Rilly? I've sported the BDD for some years now, and I think you've misread its message. You seem to think that the BBD is saying, "I've stopped spending ages futzing with my hair each morning because I'm old and I've given up taking the trouble to make myself presentable." You're so wrong. In fact, it says, "Check out my awesome hair, which was achieved without applying chemicals or spending precious minutes blowing hot air at my head. (And just think how even more fabulous it would look if I made the slightest effort.)" It is, as the French might say, insouciant.

BTW, I can't believe you admitted to vacationing in France, which, Pamela Redmond Satran points out, is strictly for the wrinklies. If you want to be phat and youthful, you've got to go to Berlin, Croatia, Syria, or Libya. See you in Dubrovnik!

Tags: hair, How Not to Act Old, pamela redmond satran

June, I think maybe we have reached a profound truth about our respective conditions. By Satran rules, I bet lesbians are always young and moms are always old. So we could do the same exact things and they would convey opposite meanings. BDD is one example, but there are many more: Overalls. Combat boots. Widow’s peaks. Labradors. Boyfriend jeans ... I could go on.

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