An Open Letter
…to the 20-Something-Year-Old Girl Looking
at Paint Samples at the Home Improvement Superstore
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I felt a pang of wistfulness as I hurried past the paint swatch wall, pausing just long enough to take in a familiar scene. You stood, one leg twisted around the other, your full concentration directed towards the general realm of Spiced Mustard and Sunflower and Goldenrod Tea. A kaleidoscope of possibility was reflected back at and all around you, and I remembered this feeling so well.
You probably still have a favorite color, and by “still” I am in no way suggesting that this particular joy will eventually run its course. It’s just that you might come to prefer things in a less…specific way as you get older, and you also might decide it’s sort of appalling to hear a 45-year-old woman deliver a screed that starts with “I hate purple.” What I am saying is that the color you paint your bedroom feels very outwardly indicative not only of who you are, but also of who you want to become, and the identification and collection of these sorts of totems are a very important part of one’s (very) early 20s.
The inclination, of course, is to veer sharply in any. other. direction. than the décor scheme you grew up in. Having recently departed from the neutral, shabby-chic hush of my own ancestral home, I painted my first adult bedroom Dollar Bill Green, which felt dark and dramatic and maybe even chic. I did not take into account the logistics of a basement apartment, and it read nearly black except for one small window of time between 9:34 and 10:07am. Somehow, I could not figure out why I was depressed. Also my living room was teal, but I don’t really feel like getting into that.
If you, too, grew up in a house with an original 1982 copy of Martha Stewart’s Entertaining, then your first dinner party will be a Very Big Deal. It’s also the perfect opportunity to discover that you don’t own enough plates or glasses or even forks, but you’ll figure it out. Maybe you'll take a big swing and attempt curry for 15 people, or maybe you’ll be smarter than I was and simply go for more of a pasta situation. Luckily, a dinner party in your early 20s will—inevitably and by default—turn out to be a dance party. The food does become more important as you get older, but for now you can just think of it as a base layer for inexpensive wine and medium-to-heavy cardio.
There are so many other things I want to tell you, 20-Something-Year-Old Girl Looking at Paint Samples at the Home Improvement Superstore. I know you’re busy, but this entire encounter has unexpectedly hit a very soft and nostalgic and big-sisterly sort of nerve, so if you’ll allow me to impart just a few more pieces of hard-earned wisdom—not advice, no, never advice—it would mean a lot:
When attempting that curry for 15, find a recipe that doesn't strongly encourage you to clarify your own ghee (your skills aren't there yet). And while we don't have time to discuss the various lumen levels acceptable in an LED bulb, I do trust that you already know to never, ever turn on the Big Light. Your generation is way ahead of mine on that one.
Lastly, I’ll share a little something that Martha Stewart would never: a few well-placed strands of Christmas lights lend the perfect atmosphere to a carb-and-wine-fueled-dinner-party-turned-dance party that goes late into the night. It should be said that the green-corded ones are only acceptable if you happened to have made the mistake of painting your walls the exact color of a dollar bill. I'm pretty sure this place carries those copper-stringed fairy lights—the ones that twinkle and shine with the soft magic of all that's ahead of you, 20-Something-Year-Old Girl—and they’re just a few aisles over from the paint section. C’mon. We can walk there together.
“An Open Letter…” emailed out 12.3.2025 with newsletter-only exclusives. Subscribe here.