Funemployed: Red Stripe, red wine, and other shades of adulthood

Chloe Moss, 22, is a fashion blogger and freelance writer who graduated with an English Literature degree from King’s College London in July. In her second ‘Funemployed’ column she reveals the unappreciated signs that adulthood is well and truly upon you…

In case you thought that this second column would be about me having a week of successful job applications, think again. I am still (f)unemployed. Then again, that right there folks, is the premise of this column. In other news, my twenty-third birthday is looming this month, which, although still a tender age, is definitely yet another step towards adulthood. This upcoming birthday has had me musing on signs of adulthood, and how you know you’ve finally crossed that threshold.

I think the signs of adulthood come in different forms for different people. For some, it’s that first pay cheque. For others it’s owning a house or buying a saucepan. Thing is, I’ve long-since passed that pay cheque after years of retail jobs, and I do not (cannot) cook, so neither of those apply. For me, two signs of adulthood came this year, during my final year of university.

Firstly, I started liking red wine. I think this is a fairly obvious step because it signals a slowly growing appreciation for something other than Gallo rosé, a shocking pink wine which does not in any way come from grape vines of nature. So now I’m a person who drinks red wine without spilling it on my white blouse. Although last weekend I did learn a valuable lesson, which is this: Red Stripe and red wine, despite sharing a word in their label, do not, in fact, make good drinking bedfellows. This was an important lesson, and something that I think signals yet another move towards being an adult.

Image credit: @style.scout Instagram

And the second sign that I’m maturing is that I started liking couscous. The couscous might seem more obscure than the wine, but bear with me. I always hated couscous because it seemed like mal-developed rice. The little grain that couldn’t. The day I started liking couscous I thought to myself, this is it: I am ready for adulthood. Because when you like couscous, it means you probably like quiche, and that, combined with the red wine, probably means I’m ready to attend a Sunday lunch at a house that somebody owns, and there might even be children there.

But then I thought, hang on; I am not an appropriate Sunday-lunch-with-children guest. Because I swear and I’m sloppy and yes, my party trick is fitting my fist in my mouth. At the risk of getting all Carrie Bradshaw with the rhetorical questions, do I want to lose these parts of me? Probably not. Which is why, last weekend when I was hungover, I ate a four pack of Mr. Kipling Angel Slices and drank a Capri Sun before I made my dinner of couscous and chicken (with a marinade). I think that these regressions are of equal importance to those first signs of adulthood.

Furthermore, when I discussed my couscous theory with my family, I was informed that the REAL step up to adulthood isn’t couscous, but rather, it’s when you move on to quinoa. And I’ll be honest with you now, I wasn’t even sure how to pronounce quinoa until about a year ago, let alone actively enjoy eating it. By the time I like quinoa, there’s probably going to be another, even more grown-up superfood that I’ll have to move on to. So perhaps I’ve still got a long way to go, and thank god for that because I still really like Capri Sun.