People who subscribe to the idea that you should live your life with no regrets, probably only have no regrets because the part of their brain that regulates shame was lost in a teenage weed smoking accident.
You should definitely live with regrets. After all, if you don’t regret cheating on that person or shitting yourself at Glastonbury then you’re likely to do it again.
Set phasers to cringe…
If you actively don’t want to find a job where any degree of responsibility is placed on you, then get a neck tattoo.
Old women will tut disapprovingly as you pass them on the street, and job interviewers will catch one glimpse of it and naturally assume that you’ve done jail time.
Not only will it look shite, but you’ll never work again. Unless you’re a famous footballer or otherwise talented, you’ll almost certainly regret getting it.
Sure, they look cool now – you feel like a member of The Kooks circa 2005 as you wear them while leaning against the bar drinking gin from an old jam jar, but eventually the tightness will cut off all blood supply to your willy causing it to shrink up like an underdeveloped carrot, hanging off your stomach uselessly once you hit 40.
Looking good is no substitute for having a dick.
The Naive Flirtation With Spiritualism After Reading Eckhart Tolle At Glastonbury
There’s a lot of things we believe as young people that we then look back on and regret as foolhardy fantasies that will never come true – things like Santa, a society based on fairness, and Liverpool winning a Premier League title.
A certain section of us will also have the mistaken belief that they are now vibrating spiritual entities, capable of communing with interdimensional, vegan machine elves who do Vipannsa yoga and have vibrant auras, all because you smoked some hallucinogenic drugs in a desert.
Fair enough, have an insightful and enriching drug experience, just don’t become a faux spiritualist faith-healing bollocks who keeps going fucking on about it.
Waxing Your Moustache
Waxing your moustache is reserved for Knightsbridge tour guides dressed as Sherlock Holmes or actors playing pirates, it’s not a legitimate fashion option.
You were born in the 1990s, not the roaring twenties, by which logic you should be wearing luminous tracksuit bottoms, trainers with lights in them and Kangol hats.
Unless, of course, you’re in your late 60s and complementing your hard fought moustache by wearing suede waistcoats and cravats is just what you call being dressed.
Wife Beater Vests
The unfortunately named wife beaters only look good in a very limited context – while exercising or on holiday.
And, even then, they’re borderline, favoured by meatheads as an excuse to show off their steroid-assisted pecs, and by Ibiza workers, keen to show off the tan they got after falling asleep on ketamine in the sun.
Do you ever glance across at those old photos of your parents in the 70s and they looked debonair and dashing, maybe walking down a street arm in arm, looking away from the camera with an excited smile on their faces? Looked cool didn’t it?
Now, imagine what it’ll be like for your kids to look back at an endless ream of largely identical photos of you stood in front of a bathroom mirror with your top off (men) or doing duck impressions with your face (ladies) over and over again.
No smiling, no looking cool, just vain self-obsessed embarrassments getting turned on by their own reflections.