FROM THE EDITOR

Cosmopolitan (UK) - - Contents - FARRAH STORR Editor-in-Chief

Next month I will turn 39. Tech­ni­cally that means I’m al­most ex­actly half­way through my life. And when you’re half­way through your life, you start do­ing things like read­ing back through old di­aries (mine are mainly about fan­cy­ing Amer­i­can wrestlers† – as­sume your own po­si­tion on this), as well as cy­ber­stalk­ing old school friends and all the men who ever re­jected me to see how their lives turned out. You also start think­ing about what you would tell your younger self – you at 10, you at 15, you at the hys­ter­i­cal age of 21 when ab­so­lutely noth­ing seems to be go­ing your way. But what about the things an older, wiser me would tell me now? What would me at 59 say? 69 even? Hell, even 79 if I make it that far? They say hind­sight is a won­der­ful thing, but I reckon fore­sight is even more use­ful. So here, in no par­tic­u­lar or­der, is what I hope me, reclining on a rock­ing chair some­where hot, would tell me now. 1 Your body is go­ing to change BIG TIME. Your waist will de­part around 2020, so buy (and wear) as many of those nipped-in dresses as you can. 2 And cel­lulite? You’ll be OK with it. In fact, at some point (can’t tell you when, sorry, de­pends on how quickly you can grasp the fact that no­body has ac­tu­ally ever been look­ing), you will give it a pos­ses­sive pro­noun. You will start to lov­ingly re­fer to it as ‘my cel­lulite’ in the same way you used to re­fer to your Chanel hand­bag. 3 Oh yes, and your cur­rent ob­ses­sion with clothes will be re­placed by an ob­ses­sion with your gar­den. It will ul­ti­mately end up be­ing a far more costly pur­suit. 4 Your hus­band will change, too. He will start get­ting ever more ec­cen­tric. Remember, this is why you mar­ried him. He was al­ways go­ing to end up in Crocs and jog­ging pants on a Sun­day af­ter­noon. 5 Your ca­reer will be some­thing you look back on with fond­ness. Hope­fully you can say you were fair. And that you passed on what you learned to as many peo­ple as pos­si­ble. 6 Med­i­tate. Start early. You’ll get past that ‘fall­ing asleep in the mid­dle of it’ busi­ness. It will res­cue you. 7 As for surgery, just so you know, they never quite fig­ured out what they were do­ing, even in 2030. Wrin­kles will be ter­ri­bly chic in 2050, mainly be­cause no one will have the abil­ity to pro­duce them any more. They will be­come rare, like pink di­a­monds. Make sure you have a whack­ing great set of them around your eyes. 8 And no, you will never have kids. But you won’t die alone. You’ll die happy, sur­rounded by dog crap (yup, you opened that dog sanc­tu­ary af­ter all) in a pair of Crocs and jog­ging pants. And peo­ple will say, ‘You know she used to work in mag­a­zines..?’ And, trust me, you will love ev­ery­thing you be­came.

Keep in touch by fol­low­ing me on Twit­ter @Far­rah_S­torr and In­sta­gram @far­rah­storr

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