Last Monday, I was sitting in my car, catching up on admin on my phone, when I caught myself trying to change the birthdate on my yoga studio membership page. Embarrassed at the idea that the teachers who trained me last year could, at any time, find out my advanced age, I thought to move my birthdate to the mid-1960s, giving myself the grace of a few more years in my 50s. Not a big cheat, I thought to myself, Trumpishly. A minute later, I thought better of it. But I did want to do this.
In Nathanial Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, the heroine, Hester Prynne, is forced to pin a red ‘A’ to her dress to signify her fallen status. I am not a fallen woman. Even so, the…
