How my Jamaican culture has taught me that getting older means embracing who I am and wearing what I want.
The first time I saw 13 Going On 30 and watched Jenna Rink skip 17 years of her life because of a bad birthday party, I had one thought: she’s so real for that. The fact is “thirty, flirty, and thriving” sounded good to me at ten, and now, two years shy of the mark, it’s even more iconic. But not everyone is as excited for the next decade as I am.
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If you pay attention to TikTok and social media, you know that age isn’t just a number, it’s a sometimes painful marker of identity. Whether it’s Gen Z-beloved straight jeans vs. millennial-favoured skinny jeans, there’s a huge pressure to both look like the group you belong to but — if you’re older than, say, 25 — never look your age. In the past year, almost every member of my late-twenties girl gang has freaked about fine lines, grey hairs, or the nebulous sensation of “feeling old.” For me, even though getting older has its scary moments, my Jamaican background helps keep things in perspective.
Jamaica is a small island with a big impact, especially in Toronto. You can smell Jamaican patties from Islington to Warden Station and hear the echo of Jamaican Patois in Toronto slang. Every summer, you can even see Jamaicans and other West Indians celebrating our communities in bright costumes at Caribana. But Jamaican culture is more than the food we eat and the way we talk: it’s who we are and who we choose to be at any age.
For as long as I can remember, my family members have expressed themselves through appearance. From my cousin Marsha’s blonde buzzcut to my brother’s tattoos, many Jamaicans enjoy…
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