Confession time: Last week, I took the ‘Peter Pans of Sydney’ to task over their rampant cocaine use, arguing they’re far too old to still be risking their health and relationships for a few hours of ‘fun’ on the weekends.
The response was interesting. Yes, I had many women (and men) flooding my DMs to say I was absolutely right. I also had my fair share of abuse from misogynistic little cokeheads who didn’t like me pointing out that cocaine causes erectile dysfunction.
But then, I was also reminded to look at my own backyard.
In focusing on how coke had wrecked a generation of men, I had neglected the women over 40 who are also hopelessly hooked on the stuff. And there are plenty of them doing lines at nightclubs with strangers every single weekend while their poor husbands look after the children at home.
It’s time to correct the record. I’ll always hold my own sex accountable (myself included) so it’s only fair I dish the dirt on what it’s like on the other side of the fence.
Let’s start with a Sunday morning that, sadly, wasn’t too long ago. I woke up feeling that familiar dread – an emotional hangover paired with a muted sadness. My mouth tasted like the remnants of last night’s dirty martinis, and I anxiously scrolled through my texts and Instagram to make sure I hadn’t sent or posted anything regrettable.
‘Thank God,’ I thought as it all came up clear. Then the messages started pinging in on a WhatsApp group created by some new girlfriends. I felt a slightly terrible sense of relief as I realised a few of them were waking up with worse anxiety than my silly little hangover.
‘Oh, God. I spent $600 last night just on coke!’ wrote one of them, subtly hinting that others who had partaken in her ‘party favours’ might want to chip in.
In focusing on how coke had wrecked a generation of men, I had neglected the women over 40 who are also hopelessly hooked on the stuff, writes Mail+ columnist Jana Hocking
Jana (left) was neck deep in the Sydney party scene in the 2010s, when Instagram was new and cocktails didn’t cost $25. But many women of her generation are still partying like they’re in their twenties and thirties
Suddenly, my $120 bar tab seemed like nothing in comparison. A hangover I could handle. A cocaine comedown at my age? No, thank you. I’ve got deadlines to meet and serotonin reserves I’m clinging onto for dear life.
It made me realise something: many of the women I once admired – glamorous, carefree, unstoppable forces of the social scene – are still chasing the same highs they did in their twenties. We all know that one woman at a party desperately asking if we’ve seen any blokes with ‘a bag’. Sure, it may have been cute to flirt with a guy for a cheeky line when you were young and single, but now it just looks desperate.
I don’t think it takes a rocket scientist to figure out that now the stakes are higher, and the consequences are etched into these women’s faces. Botox appointments are becoming more frequent, not just to fend off natural ageing but to repair the wear and tear of years spent trying to keep up.
Take Fiona, for example (name changed, of course). She’s a real estate agent in her forties who swears by the ‘one line, one dance floor’ rule she has followed since 1999. But when I saw her at a Christmas party, I barely recognised her. The spark in her eyes had dimmed, her laugh sounded strained, and her famous cheekbones looked hollow. Over a few glasses of wine, she confessed, ‘It’s not just once in a while anymore. I think I’ve forgotten how to have fun without it.’
Then there’s the alarming trend of women using cocaine as a weight-loss drug in lieu of Ozempic. The so-called ‘miracle’ injections might be all over the headlines, but their high price and limited availability have driven some women to a more dangerous (and illegal) alternative.
‘It curbs your appetite and gives you energy,’ one woman whispered at a lunch, as though sharing a life hack. But the reality is very different.
Regular cocaine use not only wreaks havoc on your body but also creates a dependency that’s hard to escape. The irony is bitter: women are striving for health and vitality (I blame you, Gwyneth Paltrow, and all your Goop glowiness!) but are using a method that is about as far from Goop’s kooky wellness philosophy as you can get. They are destroying their bodies from the inside out. As one friend who finally quit put it, ‘I wanted to look my best, but I ended up feeling my worst.’
And honestly, why would we willingly pile more stress on our bodies? Being a woman in your early forties is tough. Between PMS and the mood swings of perimenopause, we’ve already got enough emotional chaos to contend with. Why add to that the dreaded Tuesday Blues from a weekend ‘on the bags’? No, thanks.
I don’t think it takes a rocket scientist to figure out that now the stakes are higher, and the consequences of weekend cocaine binges are etched into these women’s faces (stock image)
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Take Amelia, a divorcee in her fifties who recently re-entered the dating world. ‘It’s just to keep up,’ she told me over coffee, explaining her new boyfriend’s love of ‘kicking on’ after a night out had made her revisit her long-abandoned cocaine habit.
But the toll was obvious – her radiant complexion had given way to visible exhaustion. And her tales of wild nights? They weren’t romantic escapades but cringeworthy stories of lost phones, awkward apologies to babysitters, and comedown-induced arguments.
One of the saddest revelations came from Claire, a mother of two who admitted her ‘mummy’s little helper’ wasn’t just the odd glass of rosé. ‘It started with school fundraisers,’ she confessed, ‘but now it’s my go-to whenever I feel overwhelmed.’ The temporary relief is quickly replaced by sleepless nights, anxiety and guilt she carries into every parent-teacher meeting.
Don’t get me wrong: these women aren’t ‘bad people’ or sad caricatures of their younger selves. They are accomplished, intelligent and loving individuals caught in the same cultural trap: the allure of a quick fix, a temporary high to numb the stress and fear of midlife. But the price they’re paying is steep.
Physically, the signs are impossible to ignore. Cocaine’s damage doesn’t discriminate between genders. It steals your glow, accelerates wrinkles and leaves your body crying out for rest. (Honestly, even just one martini can do that to me these days, let alone anything stronger!) Emotionally, the toll is even worse. Relationships fray, trust erodes and self-esteem takes a nosedive.
So, why do they keep doing it? The same reasons men do: to escape, to feel alive, to cling to the illusion of youth. But as we all know, illusions shatter.
As I reflect on the women I once idolised for their effortless charm and unshakable confidence, I can’t help but feel sadness. They deserve better. We all do. So maybe it’s time to say bon voyage to ‘those’ kinds of bags, ladies, and invest in ones that last. Like a Birkin. It might even end up being cheaper in the long term – and it’ll definitely go better with the outfit.
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