I’m 35. There I said. I always write “early 30’s,” because I’m just not down with the whole aging thing (something I have admitted to time and time again); and honestly, I don’t want a 23-year-old reader to realize I’m old enough to be her mom. OK; not really, but I did get my first period at 11, so you do the math.
Yesterday a friend posted a link on Facebook to a New York Times piece on the gorgeous abode of Beastie Boys’ Mike D. and his wife, Tamra Davis. First of all, their Brooklyn home is perfect. It’s like a dream. Secondly, neither one of them wanted to give their age in the piece. As an age obsessed person, this caught my eye and I responded to my friend’s link with this:
As you can see, I’m really smitten with their home.
The actual quote from the Times was the following:
Mr. Diamond, who prefers not to give his age, now has two boys of his own, Davis, 10, and Skyler, 8, with his wife, Tamra Davis, a filmmaker, who also prefers not to give her age.
According to Wikipedia, Mike is 46 (although some sites put his birth year at 1965), and his wife is 51. Not that this has anything to do with their beautiful home featured in the Times’ Home & Garden section, but it’s public knowledge, so why be all coy about it?
For me, the Beastie Boys, have become my proof that you can still be cool as you age. I remember being 25 and thinking how old 35 was, until I realized that Mike D., Ad-Rock, and the late MCA, were 10-11 years older than me. So, by that reasoning, 35 actually wasn’t that scary at all.
Even now, as I’ve finally reached 35 myself (although I’m struggling with adulthood in general, because I always will), the Beastie Boys provide comfort in 46 being cool. Like, you’re not in a wheelchair yet, and you can rap better than just about anyone on the planet. I hope to be able to rap at 46, and then put out an album like Amanda Bynes plans to do.
However, because I randomly chose the Beastie Boys to be this standard for me, I was taken aback to see that Mike D. would choose to withhold his age. Maybe he knew it’s already out there, so why bother? Perhaps, he and Tamra felt it completely irrelevant to the article — which it is — so just skip the answer? Or maybe it just fucking sucks getting old, so, fuck you, I’m not telling you my age.
There is no question that our society is obsessed with youth. If you’re 30 and someone mistakenly thinks you’re 40, you’re probably not going to thank them. If anything, there will be f-bombs dropped at record speed, and maybe even a tackle to the ground as you shout, “What age did you say I look again?!”
Then there’s the cosmetic surgery industry that thrives on our fears of wrinkles and such, and charges a pretty penny to pull and poke until we don’t even look human anymore. Hey, Joan Rivers!
But as someone who decided long ago that the Beastie Boys would be the standard for aging being OK, it was interesting, for me anyway, that Mike D. chose not to give his age. Obviously no one wants to get old, and no amount of plastic surgery to look younger than we are can change the inner workings of our dying bodies (we die more and more everyday, you guys), but when your age is out there for the world to see, why withhold it? Is there some deeper meaning to all this? Is it because the Times was being nosey, and Mike and Tamra wanted to put them in their place? Why do I have to be 35? I don’t look it, right? RIGHT?
OK, readers, who else lies about their age, or just avoids saying it all together? And what do we really think about Mike D. not sharing his age in the article? Is he a vain asshole, or an awesome dude who knew it was completely unrelated to his Brooklyn townhouse?
Photo: House of Fun Masters