Millennials are assholes - I know, I’m one of them.
We are selfish, sycophantic, entitled sluts who harbor overblown expectations for not our lives – because we don’t possess that sort of foresight – but for our twenties.
Allow me to preface this with the emerging crusade of articles and viral videos which attempt to define, pigeonhole, or assoil (that’s not pronounced ass-oil) my generation; and, the reasons for why I’m taking a rookie swing at this topic.
There’s an entire archive about millennials over at the Huffington Post, a majority of which seem to teeter between how much dating sucks, how much debt we have (read: fucked), and how to coerce a millennial into working more than 40 hours per week – 35 if you want to nickel and dime hour lunches.
There’s the freshly minted video of millennial Marina Shifrin, showcasing her dance repertoire while somewhat defiantly and somewhat foolishly quitting her job. She outlines her reasons for doing so in the video, and there seems to be a schism of opinion on her decision.
There’s the Wait But Why article describing millennials as Gen Y Protagonists & Special Yuppies, or GYPSYs; where the author, with the aid of tremendous stick figures, illustrates an inconvenient truth that most millennials’ expectations are wildly disproportionate to reality.
All of the aforementioned lend themselves to the rising belief that there is something either seriously wrong with millennials, or there is something seriously wrong with the world. In all truth, it’s probably somewhere in the middle. As I stated with sweet alliteration at the beginning, we millennials are certainly some kind of capricious monster.
We’re known to throttle headfirst into fresh opportunities – start-ups are our America for Puritans – just as much as we’ve developed a reputation for hopscotching between companies every year, citing a bucket of money as the perpetrator for such behavior.
We’re known to occupy public squares and parks like a gaggle of spoiled terrorists, properly bothered that our leadership and charity degree didn’t yield a six-figure salary and that pajamas are frowned upon in the workplace, just as much as we’ll volunteer our time to families and peoples who have been displaced by war or natural disasters.
We’re known to float aimlessly, or at least without purpose, while living in our parents’ basement and investing our pizza delivery money into indie rock festivals and a killer pair of skateboarding pants, just as much as we’re known for struggling in one of the worst economies this country has ever encountered, and somehow cobbling together a life out of spare parts and chewing gum.
I believe a majority of the entitlement issue arises from the success our baby boomer parents enjoyed. We were given every opportunity to and belief that we would excel beyond our parents, so when we aren’t already living in lavish homes with fast cars and swimming pools at twenty-five years old, we chalk it up to failure.
There’s also the issue – which may be contained to the New York City metro area – that some are making modest, run-of-the-mill salaries, while our peers have Scrooge McDuck money vaults from working for that hedge fund down near Stone Street. It creates and stirs a generational cauldron of jealousy, a point-and-question “Hey! Why don’t I make that much money?!” playground temper tantrum.
Not to mention that more and more millennials seem to be plotting out their lives as if have some semblance of control over when they are married, have children, buy homes, etc. (I know of girlfriends who gave their boyfriends ultimatums concerning “must be engaged by dates”) So, when things don’t go according to plan, once again, failure.
And that may be the fatal flaw of my generation – planning.
We attempt to plan for too much, fit pegs into holes that haven’t been drilled yet, get caught up in the constant pissing contest. And we become utterly depressed, or enraged, when our chronological fairy tale needs to be rewritten. Except there is no need to rewrite because we shouldn’t be writing in the first place. We need to learn to take life as it comes and make the best decisions at the times in which decisions must be made.
In short, millennials are still assholes.
We’re overly emotional, underwhelmingly driven (there’s a major difference between being driven and having dreams, or delusions of grandeur), possess flashes of brilliance like an unrefined first-round draft pick, are convinced that every bit of extra work must be compensated for, lack a true vision beyond yearning for a yacht and endless beach cocktails, and thoroughly excel at refusing to become grownups a la the Lost Boys of Never Never Land.
But just wait for the fuckers behind us. We’ll be a bunch of Eisenhowers compared to them.