I see what you’re trying to do there with that comb, and you can’t be serious. A middle part? Honestly, how pathetic. A few “Gen Z influencers” make some TikToks about old millennials, and you’re suddenly ready to brush over a 20-year relationship? You’re not even on TikTok, you loser!

By all means, go ahead, move me to the middle, but not because some teenagers are doing it! Are you going to eat Tide Pods next? And you’re such a hypocrite, standing by your skinny jeans but not me! I can’t believe you’d really think a middle part could make your face look more symmetrical. How have you been in therapy this long and yet still care what the mean girls are saying, anyway?

If you don’t want to look old, I should be the least of your concerns. The gray hairs are a’growin’! I know you are not where you imagined you’d be at 35, but changing your hair part will not your eggs any less geriatric, you dumb old hag.

How did you even hear about this? Let me guess, someone in a group text sent a BuzzFeed article and you only read the headline? To think Gen Z would actually care about your hair. Ha! They’re literal children! Half of them are in the hospital after doing the latest viral stunt and the other half are trying to save the human race from the perils of climate change. Trust me, the teens are not thinking about you.

And what happened to wanting to “age gracefully and naturally”? “Owning your womanhood”? Do you think Helen Mirren gives a shit what the teens think of her hair? Nope. She’s radiant in natural grey locks. Don’t you want to age like Helen Mirren?

No? You want to look like Olivia Rodrigo? That ship sailed in Y2K! Remember ringing in the new millennium with two messy buns on the sides of your head and a zig-zagged middle part? Is that really the image you want to be putting forth now? Talk about old—you’re like a boomer pining for the 1950s or something. This “30+ Going on 13” plot reversal is honestly depressing the shit out of me.

If you must insist on making this about your hair, let’s really explore that, Ms. I-buy-whatever-shampoo-and-conditioner-is-on-sale-even-though-my hair-is-frizzy-enough to-power-an-office-building. You have somehow managed to fail at as many hairstyles as you've had relationships. Let’s recount them, shall we?

The angled bangs covering half your face? No wonder your high school boyfriend didn’t want to stay together for college. The chunky highlights? Maybe your college boyfriend would have been official on Facebook if your head hadn’t looked like an ugly pillow from HomeGoods.

The asymmetrical bob? You looked like a cartoon villain trying to grow that thing out while chasing the same fuckboi all through your twenties!

You almost had it with the casual shoulder-length shag these last few years, but, then again, this last relationship was really the one that got away, too, wasn’t it? Parting your hair to the middle is not going to fix that one or make your mom less disappointed she’s not going to be a grandma after all.

And I stayed at your side through all of it! So yeah, if I’m being really honest, I guess I feel betrayed…. But the fact is there is no getting rid of me. You can’t! Ya wish bish. I’ve been on this skull since 2001. This hair has had two decades of training. TWO. DECADES. There is no blow dryer, hairbrush, or product that can tame my dominance. I earned my claim on this cranium.

If you try to erase me I will have no choice but to haunt you for the rest of your days. I will morph into an aggressive cowlick like you’ve never seen. I will split your ends faster than scissors can cut them. I will be right there waiting for you after every shower until you die. You’re clearly never going to have a properly vested retirement account at this rate, but you’ll always have me.

Oh fine—you’re just putting on a hat now? Whatever bitch, I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s going to be a shitty hair day, I can promise you that.