during my afternoon outing with my stepmother, i was mistaken for a teenager which was mildly reasonable because i was accompanying her to learn more about savings and investment plans. apparently 20-year-olds don’t partake in such things.

aside from it being a high-yielding learning experience, our affable educator referred to me as a 16-year-old. a kid. the first time, i exchanged a quick glance with my ma, and we giggled it off a bit. the second time, a question fought to escape my lips.

“do i look like a 16-year-old?”

i said it sweetly with genuine curiosity. people tend to receive you better when you smile and sprinkle your interactions with sugar. she stopped speaking and shot me an confused yet apologetic expression.

poor bank lady. i felt bad for even bothering to correct her, but neither of us benefited from her assuming i was a high school student. although i don’t have everything figured out yet, i’m at a different level of life now that i have a bachelor’s degree rolled up in the back, left corner of my room.

truthfully, i am a teenager in most people’s eyes. at least at first glance. i could probably eat discounted meals on a barefaced day or get into an aquarium for cheap as long as i keep my mouth shut.

in my entire 22 years on this earth, i’ve always been told that i look younger than i’ve been. according to strangers, i haven’t yet entered my second decade. and while that almost feels accurate in a mental sense, it doesn’t feel so great considering how i may be perceived pre-conversation.

let’s revisit a night at the roller rink where a literal kid approached me to ask if i had a boyfriend. i almost unlocked a new trick the way i nearly hit a 360 on my skates to find exactly who he was speaking to. there was no way this child (derogatory) had even made it to high school yet.

actual teens are so advanced now that i’m competing with them to legitimately look my own age. i’d say my style fits a young adult’s. i enjoy mixing streetwear with business casual and a few alternative elements on occasion. i take a lot of inspiration from the fashion icon, ms. robyn fenty. i also love doing my makeup which doesn’t seem to eradicate the baby face, but attempt are made.

i don’t make a habit of showing lots of skin, but i’m not the most modest woman you’ll run into either. i’m more into subtle sensuality. i vibe with being fully clothed in something that accentuates my shape but surprise…you can see my sexy, bare ankles or something. my eyes are up here, sir. i also prefer baggier looks, so many of my friends are pretty astonished to find out that i’m not actually molded into the shape of a door.

i wrote all this to say, the way i look or dress shouldn’t be impeding on my ability to obtain the huzz. i have yet to be romantically involved with someone my age. it seems the guys i attract are either as old as 29 or as young as 19. i’m afraid i’m walking a tightrope between being a cougar and being a sugar baby.

it doesn’t help that my family still enforces the idea that i’m still not ready for certain things my peers are doing. my parents spent so much time sheltering me from the world that there’s a lot of anxiety surrounding me experiencing a life outside of what’s familiar. i’d imagine my naivety would make me seem younger too, but forget all that fear. we are outside, and we ride at dawn.

the only benefit of being cursed with a gorgeous, youthful face is that i might just have 10 years shaved off of my aging process forever. and if i struggle with finding a lover or being respected, it’ll all be worth it because at the end of the day, i’ll age like a super sick vampire.