A COUPLE of weeks ago, Vice magazine ran a feature about how "officially old" is the internet age's most overused stock phrase.
The writer had a valid point: we prefix the phrase with mundane tasks or moments from our lives, and it's stupid.
These examples, from Twitter, show that youngsters are scrambling to assert their maturity in an increasingly infantile world: "Fell asleep last night at 9.30pm.
I think I am officially OLD."
"I don't know any of these rappers anymore. I'm officially old."
"20, I am officially old."
None of these people are, of course, even remotely old, but the point where you suddenly realise that you're not as youthful as you used to be is horrible.
Mine came in Kokomo, surrounded by a busload of 18-year-olds fresh from the British University Sailing Championships (Cambridge Blue won, in case you're interested).
They were all absolutely going for it in the style of privileged kids at an illicit mansion party, and I was just completely adrift from them in a way I haven't felt in years. It was brutal.
Still, a flash of the wristband meant I was able to tuck myself away in the darker, more refined VIP room with the other past-its.
The thumping EDM of the main room was replaced by subtler deep house sounds and I consoled myself with some of the hideaway's standout cocktails.
Chucking out time came all too quick and I emerged onto West Regent Street bleary, struggling against a tide of Edinburgh accents in a sea of posh kids: my world-weary cynicism out of place among the fresh-faced youth.
For the first time in my life I felt officially old, and there was a strange comfort in it.
I just made sure not to tweet about it.