Reality Bites

I’m a member of Generation X, which, it turns out, really sucks. Lots of articles have been making the rounds online explaining how Gen X got squeezed in between two bigger, more important generations—the Boomers and The Millennials. The Boomers, of course, got to buy houses and have pensions and all that fancy stuff before the economy tanked. And the Millennials are digital natives; they’re members of the most powerful demographic and they know it. In the middle there’s a tiny group of former slackers who all have at least one flannel shirt in the back of their closets and, no matter what kind of music they like, on some level appreciate “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana.

We got screwed in lots of ways. I like to tell the story about how I took a test on how to use a library card catalogue in my senior year of high school only to arrive at college freshman year and attend the official burning of their card catalogue drawers because they were going digital. Even though I grew up with dinosaur computers I’ve gotta roll with the new technology, because I’m way too young to retire (and unlike the Boomers, I probably won’t get to do so before I’m seventy five).

The other way life isn’t fair for Gen-X: we were this close to the Youth Worship Revolution. But we missed it. When I was a kid, the people on the radio and on TV and with the coolest hair and clothes were all older than me. I genuinely thought that one day I too would get to dress like a grown-up, in, say, a stylish pastel suit with shoulder pads. But now that I actually am grown up, the only actual way to look cool is to be twenty-two. 

See how these mom-suits were actually cool in 1989?

There are also a lot of restrictions based on my age. I don’t know who makes these laws, but those posts are even more ubiquitous than the ones by us whining X-ers. Ladies, if you’re over thirty, I’m sure you are aware that any number of seemingly normal clothing and accessory items are now, sadly, forbidden. I recently decided to click one of those lists someone posted on Facebook, and was informed that I am no longer allowed to wear hoop earrings, blue eyeshadow, or graphic tees of any kind. Under this new tyranny I will also probably be arrested if I try to walk in the door of a Hot Topic or Forever 21.

Who makes these rules? Probably young Millennials who are tired of having their style co-opted by us oldsters. Of course, the Millennials will get older too--but at least they realize that their days of being cool are definitely numbered.  

I'm pretty sure we're the first generation to have to suffer the indignities of rules lists like these--probably because back in the day no one over thirty ever actually attempted to look like a teenager for any reason. And though I can understand the extremes (maybe halter tops are a bad idea at a certain age. Because: gravity). But, list-makers, be warned. You're going to have to pry my Nirvana t-shirt out of my hands--and I'm a kicker. I still have those work-boots somewhere. So don't test me. 

She Could Be a Farmer in Those Clothes

College has changed a lot since my day. 

For posterity and all, I’ve documented the top five ways:

1. Documentation

It is apparently now required to document one’s escapades/posing ability daily on Instagram and Facebook. In some Greek organizations it seems as though it might even be mandatory. Certain sororities also appear to be very strict about the throwing up of the organization’s hand signals. Maybe they can even communicate this way when geographically separated--like lifeguards on a beach. But as I think about it, it’s probably only the social media aspect that’s new here. I can vaguely recall sophomore year a few friends who went Greek behaving very much as I imagine new cult members behave, at least for the first year or so of their membership.

2. Fancy-ness

I went to college in the era of Grunge. We wore a lot of flannel. In my senior year college portrait I’m sporting a pair of jeans paired with a denim shirt. It seemed to make sense at the time. I was also wearing big clunky boots—I look as though I’m all set for a day of spot-welding. Girls today are not all about the practical shoes. Even at my school’s eighth grade graduation, the thirteen year olds teeter to the podium in four-inch heels. I do not envy girls today. I got to walk comfortably through my twenties.  I may have looked like a lumberjack doing it, but at least I wasn’t the only one. 

She could be a farmer in those clothes.

When I used to chaperone school dances as a young teacher, I’d be the only one in flats: I felt like Tai in Clueless when she shows up in her sensible clothes and all the Beverly Hills girls are more dressed up than her even though they’re in gym class. 

3. Sticker price

I had a student a couple of years ago who applied to about nine hundred colleges (also different from my friends and I back in the day—we each applied to an average of three—but that may have been just my hometown). At any rate, she applied to my alma mater, and it was the most expensive one in her book. If it cost that much back then, I might have had to take up spot-welding on the side just to pay for it.

4. Delusion

I went all through college working hard and thinking of my future success in vague terms...I wanted to write, I thought it would be swell to create my own TV show...but I never doubted the success part. I think being a child of the eighties instilled in me a blind and unreasoned faith in my future prosperity. This unrealistic worldview combined with a recession in the mid-nineties to allow my dream of becoming a full-time substitute teacher to become a reality. I also drove straight from that job most days to an evening of clerking at Borders (RIP). In between I ate fast food in my car.

I think kids today have grown up hearing about the crummy economy so much they are probably less deluded about how tough it can be out there. So, if they do end up having to move back in with their parents, like I did, at least it won’t come as a complete surprise.

5. Technology

This one is sort of Captain Obvious. None of my students seem all that enthralled with the epic story of how I navigated all of college with only a Smith Corona Electric Typewriter, though, so I won’t recount it here. I'll only say, young ones of today, before you tell your teacher about your computer problems, just imagine trying to move blocks of text while squinting at a four-line liquid-crystal display, or pressing the up arrow for about half an hour if you forgot your heading.