I have just turned 22 (my Taylor Swift birthday, as I like to call it), and I find myself greeting the big two-two with an air of disdain. Only two years into my twenties and I can’t help feeling occasional embarrassment over my youthful glow. I’ve been working professionally since I was 15, and have been haunted since, well, before then by the itching pressure to achieve something while I still maintain the status of “young person”. We live in an age when “overachieving with acne” is a cultural staple.
The world of start-ups has made the 20-year-old CEO an all-too-familiar trope and social media has allowed teenagers to build multimillion-pound media empires from their bedrooms. It’s an incredibly exciting time to be a young ’un. We are more politically powerful than ever before and now we have more platforms to share our bright-eyed opinions on than you can shake a bushy tail at.
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