Up-and-coming DJ Paris Hilton is once again embroiled in controversy this week after engaging in light fisticuffs with some men who wanted to take her picture outside of the clurrrrb Tuesday night. The fisticuffs ended, as all the best ones do, with an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction that, ironically, exposed much more of her than the men would otherwise have been able to photograph. Oh dear.
This has prompted “some” (these folks never seem to have names) to opine that the 31-year-old heiress is “too old” to still be attending the clurrrrb and should instead be “at home,” “getting Botox” or “knitting diamond coozies” or whatever it is that unmarried 31-year old heiresses are supposed to do:
An insider says Paris might avoid such tomfoolery if she could act her age, saying Paris “is still going to clubs on a very frequent basis and she is 31-years-old. You don’t see a lot of people over 30 going to clubs. It’s almost sad to see.”
Come again, Mr. Insider? Are you seriously going to make me want to defend Paris Hilton about something? I hate you.
There is no such thing as “too old to party.” That’s patently ridiculous. I have friends of all ages, from early twenties to sixties (if you count my parents), and the vast majority enjoy a good party. For example, the last time my 63-year-old mother was in New York, I happened to be throwing a roof party as a way to see everyone before I left for Berlin, so she came, drank a beer, and told us some stories from the ’60s. It was a fun party. When I visit her in Baltimore, she takes me to belly dancing parties and jazz bars and such, and that’s fun, too. I’m not saying I take my mom to keggers, but she still likes to go out and get tipsy off two glasses of chardonnay and have a good time, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I’m pretty sure I’ll be the same way when I’m her age. What fun is being retired if you can’t spend your pension on margaritas?
Here in Berlin, where the art of clubbing is performed in an efficient and near-perfect fashion, you’d be hard pressed to find many under-25s in the more exclusive clubs. (By “exclusive,” I mean they don’t let in overly tanned Eurotrash in muscle shirts who want to dance up on you, or drunk 19-year-olds who are going to barf all over the place.) 31 might be the approximate median age, but there are lots of rad old German people who are there to listen to some house music and cheat death a while longer. And they look good! Maybe taking ecstasy keeps you young, or maybe they don’t take it anymore. Who knows? I’m too intimidated by their coolness to ask.
So yeah, I don’t believe in “too old to party.” I do, however, believe in “too old to get sloppy drunk and need to be taken care of,” as well as “too old to fight with paparazzi and show your vagina for attention.” Ideally, any age is too old for that, but let’s be generous and say 25. Paris Hilton is 31 and has been partying since she was like, 12. She has no excuse. Besides “I want to remain in the tabloids for increasingly embarrassing reasons,” I suppose.
Or maybe I’m wrong, and there’s a really good reason why a lady shouldn’t consume adult beverages and dance with her friends past the age of 29 that I just haven’t thought of yet. Personally, I find I enjoy going out much more than I used to, now that I’ve learned my limits and am no longer worried about impressing people or finding someone to hook up with. In fact, at 27, I think I’m just finally starting to hit my partying stride. What was once an escape from a sad, emo life is now an enhancement of an already fulfilling one. I drink less, do fewer drugs, stay out later, and have more fun. Does that count as moderation? Just call me Benjamin fucking Franklin, then.
And now, readers, my questions for you are: 1.) How old are you? 2.) What’s your partying philosophy?
(Via Radar Online)