I don't know who writes the rules for entering your forties.
But there's obviously some secret Viber group.
Because suddenly everyone is doing the exact same things.
Buy a 2,000-euro espresso machine.
Not because the coffee is better.
But because your guest has to say:
"Ooh, a Jura?"
Because if they say:
"Got any Turkish coffee?"
You delete them from your life on the spot.
Then comes the divorce.
I don't know why, but a second divorce these days sounds like the second season of a hit series.
The first was meeting the characters.
The second is character development.
The third is already a franchise.
After that comes the obligatory running.
Not a marathon.
A half marathon.
Because apparently it's easier to run 21 kilometers than to answer the question:
"How are you?"
And the problem isn't that people run.
The problem is that they all turn into sports commentators.
A post before the run.
A post after the run.
Heart rate.
Pace.
Distance.
Map.
Screenshot of the watch.
If someone had told me back in the nineties that people would voluntarily pay for a watch that scolds them for sitting down, I'd have said they were crazy.
After that comes retinol.
And peptides.
Suddenly everyone talks about skin like they're writing a thesis in dermatology.
You no longer ask:
"How are you?"
But:
"What serum do you use?"
And if you answer:
"Soap."
People look at you like you brush your teeth with sandpaper.
And to top it all off...
A boyfriend or girlfriend born in 2003.
Of course.
Because nothing says "emotionally mature" like a partner who doesn't know what dial-up internet is.
Sometimes I feel like we're not living life anymore.
We're just waiting for the next trend to explain to us who we are.
Ten years ago everyone was making jam.
Then everyone was buying bikes.
Then ice baths.
Now espresso.
Tomorrow it'll probably be trendy to raise goats on Zlatibor and ferment your own sauerkraut.
And half the city will say:
"I've actually been thinking about that for a while..."
What amuses me most is that everyone thinks they're completely authentic.
And they look like they came out of the same Temu cart.
The same water bottle.
The same watch.
The same sneakers.
The same coffee.
The same Marcus Aurelius quote.
The same view through an airplane window.
And the same caption under the photo:
"Peace."
For a photo that took twenty-seven tries.
I'm not judging anyone.
I love good coffee too.
But somehow I'd rather people remember me for the conversation than for the machine.
For how I made them laugh, not for how many bars of pressure my machine has.
Because trends last one season.
And people with a style all their own... you can't buy them, not even for 2,000 euros.