Watch out, Syracuse convenience stores, because on Monday, this guy can legally buy cigarettes. For cigarette arts and crafts, maybe. Not for smoking though. That’s icky.

But as I approach my super sweet 19, I’m beginning to notice my age.

I now live on a floor that consists of almost entirely freshmen – which is fine. I reasoned that my being older would give myself an uptick in cool. I mean, eventually I could buy them cigarettes or make cigarette art for them.

But as I passed a couple of possible admirers in the hallway, I wondered to myself what compliments I would receive as I graced them with my presence. Would they say, “Look at that cool guy. Do you see his wispy mustache? It reminds me of ancient rulers of yore.”

But astonishingly, I was not met with such compliments.

As I passed them, one whispered, “He’s really old.”

I always thought I looked like a child who was sitting on another child’s shoulders under an overcoat trying to get into a rated-R movie. And that’s why I was never allowed in Chuck’s. But old? That is something I’ve never gotten before.

Cue my midlife crisis, in which I decided to do one of the rashest things I’ve ever done in my life.

I bought a hat. More specifically a hat from H&M — a place that feels like a club on a spaceship, where even the mannequins seem more hip than me. My goal was to make myself look young in a similar vein to an old guy with a ponytail. This will show those kids on my floor that they are dealing with a hip, young person who clearly knows what’s going on with that Miley Cyrus girl.

Flashback to last Saturday night. I’m waiting in the hallway of my dorm floor. Of course, I’m wearing my new, cool hat just waiting for someone to ask me if I’m a host on TRL.

A different freshman walked by, and I knew it was time for my hat to shine.

He said, “Woah. Sorry, I thought you were like a 47-year-old.”

First off, that’s a very specific age to attribute to someone. And second off — 47! That’s the point in my life plan where I’m going to completely give up and subsist on a diet of mostly cottage cheese and forgotten dreams.

Has one full year of college and copious amounts of Domino’s aged me this much?

I examined myself in the mirror. And I’ll admit, some of the elements of my wardrobe seemed to yell, “I have four kids that I need to pick up at soccer practice.” I was wearing a sweater I stole from my dad that I’m pretty sure he’s worn to many church dinners, featuring the oldest-of-old-people food: casserole.

But also in the mirror, I spied my ever-growing pile of dirty laundry that seemed to whisper to me, “Even if you look old, you’re still not an adult.”

True. I’ve only been on this earth for 19 years now, and each new year brings so many new changes personally that cosmetically, I really shouldn’t worry. I might be old, but I’m not yet wise.

So, here’s to growing up. Maybe today I should do some laundry because my clothes are starting to suggest epiphanies to me.

Christian Unkenholz is a sophomore public relations and political science major. He can be found in the mall yelling at young people about their haircuts. His column appears every Thursday in Pulp. He can be reached at cdunkenh@syr.edu.

Published on September 18, 2013 at 10:42 pm