“What do they call them? “Millellials”?
People love to hate them. It’s like a national obsession.” Why are millennials so annoying? From the moment they arrived,
the millennial generation has seen its culture mocked
and its problems derided. “This is the worst thing
that's ever happened to me. I've led a very fortunate life!” Onscreen, millennials are
often the butt of the joke, represented by characters
with a litany of negative traits. Millennials are
often portrayed as entitled, believing they’re owed
success and status without having really earned it. “Wait, I got passed over
for a promotion again? What have I got to do?!
I’ve been here eight weeks!” They have unrealistic ambitions, pursuing artsy, creative careers
and entrepreneurial endeavours— but lacking the talent or focus
to actually see them through. “Now you still write, barely. Too busy living out moments
you won't remember five years from now. I know this because you post about this life
all the goddamn time.” They’re seen as self-absorbed— selfie-snapping,
social-media-loving centers of their own universes. “Oh it’s my pleasure, make sure you tell your friends
to follow me and make me more powerful.” And they’re also easily offended, quick to accuse others
of microaggressions, and too thin-skinned
to take any criticism. "Honestly, Logan,
I felt so misunderstood in class." But it’s notable that the rise
of negative millennial stereotypes coincides with an increase
of pop culture made by millennials. “There are certain people where you kinda make the calculation
where you’re like, ‘you’re probably gonna be pissed if I s-- if I write about
this interaction we had, but I kinda don’t care because my work is more important to me
than knowing you.’” Does the Annoying Millennial trope
represent a backlash to their sudden ubiquity? Are these characters
a form of self-aware criticism? Or do some
of these ostensibly tiresome traits simply reflect the problems that millennials have been forced
to live with, in a world
that seems to love to hate them? "I am beset upon at all times by a tsunami
of complex thoughts and struggles, unceasingly aware of my own mortality.” Here’s our Take on the trope
of the Annoying Millennial, and why it may be time to reevaluate one of our culture’s
favorite scapegoats. “You’re watching The Take.
Let us know your take.” This video is brought to you by Mubi,
a curated streaming service showing exceptional films
from around the globe. It’s like your own personal film festival,
streaming anytime anywhere. “I give zero f-[BLEEP]-s about anything yet I have a strong opinion
about everything." No word defines
the millennial experience quite like “privilege.” The millennial generation— defined by the Pew Research Center
as anyone born between 1981 and 1996— grew up with access to the internet,
advanced technology, and better opportunities for education, giving them significant advantages
over earlier generations. Yet they’re often portrayed
as taking these things for granted— and acting like they deserve more. “Money, please!”
“Oh no, no, there’s no money.” “Oh, my bad, no problem. (giggles) That’s fine um…
I’ll just destroy this office.” “Hey!” In his 2013 Time Magazine cover story,
“The Me Me Me Generation,” Joel Stein wrote, “Millennials got so many participation trophies
growing up that a recent study showed
that 40% believe they should be promoted
every two years, regardless of performance.” It’s an attitude
that has since been satirized— and some would argue, embodied—
by shows like HBO’s Girls, in which Lena Dunham’s Hannah Horvath harbors dreams
of becoming a famous writer, but chafes at the demeaning,
entry-level day jobs she has to hold down in the meantime. "Do you think that
I think this is the best use of my literary voice
and my myriad talents?" And we’ve seen it reflected in characters like The Office’s
Ryan Howard, who— despite being played by a Gen-X actor—
represents a distinctly millennial attitude
toward work. “It’s like … I could run GM
but I couldn’t fix a car. It’s not saying
one is better than the other.” “Seriously? Because it sounds like one of those is
better than the other." On and off screen,
millennials are regarded as aspirational yet lazy,
passionate but unrealistic— and totally unwilling to shut up
and pay their dues. “Adulthood is where dreams go to die. Grow up, get a job, become a drone,
that’s it." In their most searing depictions, millennials go beyond annoying
to downright villainous. They’re seen as singularly obsessed with finding a shortcut
to fame and fortune. Netflix’s #Girlboss,
a semi-autobiographical look at millennial entrepreneur
Sophia Amaruso, celebrates the moxie
and business savvy of this vintage clothing mogul. “This is an original 1970s
East West calfskin motorcycle jacket in perfect condition. Know what your shit’s worth.” But it also doesn’t shy away
from showing how Amaruso leverages her privilege and builds her business
by stepping on other people. "I thought you, as my friend,
would want me, your friend, to be part of Nasty Gal. “… everything you’ve done
could be done by an intern." The millennial characters
in Sofia Coppola’s The Bling Ring are also based on real people— privileged young women
who have grown up obsessed with the lives of wealthy socialites
and Instagram influencers. “I just have to graduate so I can go
to the Fashion Institute of Design. That’s where all The Hills girls went." Yet their privilege only leads them
wanting more— and they resort to stealing to get it. "Come on. Let's go to Paris's.
I want to rob." And when they get caught, their privilege not only insulates them
from consequence. In this world
where attention is everything, it actually rewards them with the celebrity
they’ve been seeking. "I wanna lead
a huge charity organization, I wanna lead a country one day
for all I know." A similar plot plays out
on the fictional Search Party, whose millennial ensemble consists of
entitled, status-obsessed narcissists. "She was always just around, and she was um…
and was very jealous of me." Their every action—
no matter how altruistic— feels self-serving and fake. "We’re making
these designer water bottles and for every one we sell in the states we’re actually gonna give one
to the African villages in need, so…" Their privilege is such that— even when they commit murder—
they’re able to compartmentalize it, refusing to examine
their own blinkered worldview. "Everything’s gonna be okay,
you know why? Because we’re good people,
we’re good people.” “Yes, Yes!" And eventually, that privilege becomes a cudgel
used against them, by a prosecutor who’s out to indict
all annoying millennials for thinking only of themselves— and for believing
they don’t have to play by the rules. "If we allow these two morally repugnant
abusers of privilege off, well, you know what you’re doing? You’re letting
an entire generation off." This is a common criticism made
by these annoying millennial satires. "You kids have been told
you can do anything. You think everything is out there
for you to have. It's not.” But then, who sets those rules? For most millennials, their greatest crime is
simply not adhering to the career and life paths
laid out by their earlier generations— paths that, for the most part,
have been denied to them anyway. "You deserve paid work.” “I can't get paid work. I just graduated from Cornell
with a business degree. That's the worst Ivy." Without a clear way forward, millennials feel entitled
to experiment, to delay growing up and to not settle. And you can see why other generations might resent them
for it. "Hard to believe you’re the future.
Thank God I’ll be dead." Older generations have always
written off the youth. Gen-Xers may think
millennials are lazy and entitled, but boomers also thought
they were cynical slackers. "See, you Gen-X, mocha-sipping,
chain-smoking little slackers need to learn to listen!" If you ask
the so-called Silent Generation, Baby Boomers were
a bunch of freeloading hippies. "Would you mind telling me then what those four years of college
were for, what was the point
of all that hard work?” “You got me.” Getting mocked and derided
by your elders is one area where millennials are decidedly
not special. But what is unique is that millennials seem to get it
from all sides. "Black women aren't bitter. We're just tired of being
expected to settle for less.” “Her outfit settled for less." The generational rift
between millennials and Gen-Xers already spawned its own sitcom
in CBS’s short-lived The Great Indoors, which cast Joel McHale
as a sarcastic travel reporter placed in charge of a group
of young millennial stereotypes. “I didn’t know they allowed pets
in the office now, or is that one of those special dogs
that weird people can take anywhere.” “You’re not allowed to ask if it’s an
(whispers) emotional support animal.” Predictably, they’re all social media-obsessed,
overly coddled, and unable to form
meaningful real-world connections. "What if I told you
there was a dating app that would allow you
to meet actual human beings, right now. A bar.” “Eww, is that for Android?" A similar dynamic underscores
Noah Baumbach’s While We’re Young, where the forty-something
filmmaker Josh, played by quintessential Gen-Xer
Ben Stiller, meets Jamie and Darby, a millennial couple portrayed
by Adam Driver and Amanda Seyfried. "If I'm going to be totally honest
with myself, I don't think I'm ever going to die.
I know that's crazy." Jamie and Darby are
hipster caricatures, from their fetishization
of vinyl and VHS tapes to what they wear and eat. “It's an avocado
and almond milk sorbet." And while Josh’s attempts to fit in are
held up as ridiculous, Jamie especially is made out to be
entitled, amoral, and fake. The clash between Gen-X and millennials is usually portrayed
as one of authenticity and integrity. "If I hear a song I like, or a story,
it's mine. It's mine to use. It's everybody's.” “No, it isn't! That's not sharing, Jamie,
that's stealing.” “That's old man talk." For Baby Boomers,
this generational rift takes the form
of all-encompassing disdain. The comedy-horror Tone-Deaf turns
this generational battle into an all-out bloodbath,
with the Annoying Millennial Olive pitted against the psychotic boomer
Harvey. "It's nothing personal; it's not you, it’s just-- it’s--it’s--
it's just everything you represent." The film clearly sympathizes
with Olive— Harvey is a homicidal maniac—
but it also makes her out to exemplify some of the worst aspects
of millennial entitlement. “Well, can you at least let me go
at the end of the week? It’s almost Free Lunch Friday. I earned that meal,
I deserve that meal." It suggests that the contempt
between millennials and baby boomers is one born of not just differences,
but rage. “... getting drunk off
your Skinny Girl margaritas, cavortin’ around with your jobless,
fedora-clad boyfriends." Millennials have been around
long enough that they’re also taking flak
from the next generation. "I personally don’t wanna be associated
with people who still think that Harry Potter movies
are a personality trait.” In shows like New Girl, we see how even millennials
edging toward the end of their twenties find themselves
increasingly socially obsolete in the eyes of kids
just 10 years younger. "They’re the future of humanity! A pan-ethnic, pansexual hive mind,
and they want nothing to do with me!" Jess’s cutesy millennial demeanor
is mocked by her younger, acerbic Gen-Z students. “Your happiness seems like a mask." And this echoes
Gen-Z’s real-world attitude toward millennials, which regards them as both old
and developmentally arrested:
“They’re old people
trying to use social media,” as one Gen Z-er told VICE. “They try to fit in
with the younger generation but they’re not really
the younger generation anymore.” "Well at least the bully’s not making fun of
that kid anymore.” “They’re making fun of me." Ellie Alves on You embodies
this perspective. She’s a precocious 15-year-old who sees through the artifice
of millennial culture. "Feeds that aren’t lame
help people understand you, but don’t overshare like,
your breakfast." The Los Angeles in the show’s second season is immersed
in insincere millennial nonsense, and populated by entitled hustlers
who are determined to speak their futures into existence,
rather than work for them. "I will make a film that premieres Sundance 2020
at the Eccles, Friday night slot, then goes on to sweep the Gothams." The Gen-Z Ellie deflates
their ridiculousness with an old-school idea
of authenticity that even Gen-Xers would admire. "Celery juice?
Ugh what is wrong with you.” “This kid knows what’s up." So why do millennials get
such a tough time from everyone? As with so many things about them,
it all goes back to the internet. Millennials came of age as the personal essay was becoming
the standard for personal expression. "Let me just begin by saying
there are two sides to every story, and this is my side, the right one." And this focus
on mining themselves for content can explain why other generations find millennials
especially annoying: because their works are so personal, they’re also often dismissed
as shallow or navel-gazing. "But I think I may be
the voice of my generation." With more avenues for content, we also just see and hear
a lot more from millennials. It’s little wonder that other generations feel like
they’ve dominated the conversation. But behind that millennial urge
to “speak their truth,” there are also valid reasons
they feel so compelled to share it. While we often define generations
according to years, it’s arguably more helpful
to define them by shared experiences. And in the case of millennials, these experiences have been
largely traumatic. According to millennial researcher
Jason Dorsey, the dividing point
between millennials and Gen-Z is 9/11: “In order for 9/11 to be
a generation-defining moment,” he said, “you had to remember it,
feel the emotion of it, and the uncertainty of
what was going to happen next.” And while that uncertainty was shared
by everyone who lived through it, for millennials it was compounded
by a financial crisis that struck
just as many were graduating college, creating a stagnating job market that left their future
looking exceptionally bleak. "And I know that a lot of you are concerned
about your future, but there’s no need to worry. The economy is booming,
the job market is wide open, the planet is just fine." These lingering traumas color
2018’s Vox Lux, in which the life of a pop star
played by Natalie Portman, is marked by a series
of defining millennial events, from a Columbine-like school shooting,
to 9/11, to a random terrorist attack
in Croatia. "Celeste, you need to get up
and stay away from the windows because in a few minutes
there will be an explosion.” Film programmer Ashley Clark
has called Vox Lux “a millennial origin story,” showing us
just how psychologically damaging it can be to grow up
internalizing these ordeals, while attempting
to put on a happy face. "That’s what I love about pop music. I don't want people
to have to think too hard, I just want them to feel good." In stories that truly engage
with the millennial experience, rather than simply mocking it,
this unease underscores everything. The millennial terrorists
in 2016’s Nocturama seem at first like extreme parodies
of woke young people, indiscriminately destroying everything
just to upset the status quo. [French] "Going further, civilization is a condition
for the downfall of civilization." Yet we gradually see
how their dissatisfaction is a response to a world where disaster and violence
is always imminent, lurking behind a veil of bland,
pacifying consumerism. [French] "It had to happen.
It really had to happen. And now it has."
Both Vox Lux and Nocturama deal with the idea of processing these fears
through performance whether that be through art,
through dramatic acts, or simply through
how we present ourselves. Performance can be seen as superficial— But through performance,
millennials are often able to articulate a deeper,
more impactful truth. [Sung] "And when I tried to find the reason
for my sadness and terror, all the solutions were
trial and error." On Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, “performance” means protagonist
Rebecca Bunch literally bursting into song. Rebecca is a bit of a narcissist
and, yes, a tad annoying. She does move across the country
just to stalk her ex-boyfriend, after all
"I was in New York, I ran into Josh, he made me feel warm inside
like glitter was exploding inside me, then I moved here.” But the show also examines
how this bubblegum facade is actually a cover
for serious mental health issues. "It's, uh, called
borderline personality disorder, and I read two and a half sentences
about it, and they were the worst sentences ever,
and I don't want to know any more." And when Rebecca finally hits
rock bottom and attempts suicide, it’s all the more compelling when contrasted
against that performative fantasy. Millennial stories also grapple with just how much performance
is involved in our everyday life, just to process
the ambient anxiety of living. In Personal Shopper, Kristen Stewart’s Maureen is
sullen and impassive in her day to day of working as an assistant
to a wealthy supermodel. Yet in her drawings
and through her text messages, we get a glimpse of
just how much inner darkness she’s suppressing at all times. "My brother died here.
My-- my twin brother died in Paris." A similar struggle takes place
in HBO’s I May Destroy You, where Michaela Cole’s Arabella
is sexually assaulted, while the series follows her attempt to minimize her experience
and put it out of her mind. "I say ‘there are hungry children,
there are hungry children, there are hungry children’ to remind myself
of the bigger picture." These stories underscore
the many transgressions that have just become normalized, and the ways in which
we’ve forced ourselves to ignore them. "Then he secretly took off the condom.
Like, that's so messed up! There are actual Reddit forums,
where men share tips and tricks.” By bringing their raw, interior lives
to the surface, millennials are talking,
loudly and honestly, about a lot of things
we’ve long tried to suppress. It’s understandable that some people
would find that a little annoying. When we talk about
the Annoying Millennial, we usually picture
some privileged white character making themselves
the center of attention. "Working feels bad and I don’t ever want
to work one more day in my entire life— oh my God,
it feels so good to say that!" But in truth, millennials who create content
out of their own lives have exposed us to a far greater diversity
of voices and experiences. Aziz Ansari’s Master of None may mine
a lot of its laughs from observations
about millennial dating, but it also confronts some
rarely explored, universal truths about race. "I did read somewhere that the people
that do worst on the apps are Asian men and black women.” “Well, it's great white people finally
have an advantage somewhere." Awkwafina Is Nora From Queens presents
a portrait of arrested development that’s not dissimilar from the slackers
of two generations ago, but it also offers
a refreshing departure from the stereotypical Asian-American
stories of upward mobility. "You’re too old for this. Come on,
throw some of this stuff away.” “No not that one!” “Can you at least throw away
this bag of trash.” “That. Ok fine." There’s also the radical,
body-positive joy of Shrill, which celebrates the thoroughly millennial attitude
of loving yourself— both as an act of defiance
and no big deal. "I’ve been letting people dismiss me or say shit to me about my body
my entire life. And at this point,
I just feel like, ‘f-[BLEEP] them.’" And Issa Rae’s Insecure showcases
what writer Yomi Adegoke calls “the humdrum experiences
that all black millennial women go through”—
centering their stories while giving them dimension
and relatability. "I don't wanna be
who y'all think I am.”
“So, don't be.” “How?”
“You asking me?" In previous generations, these types of characters
may have been reduced to stereotypes
or tokenistic portrayals, their stories revolving
around one-dimensional issues, rather than their fully realized lives. But in millennial culture,
they’re allowed to be themselves— the good, bad, and yes, the annoying. "We cannot be in the same room
without one of us making it completely and entirely
about ourselves." There’s a phrase that goes: the first one through the wall
always gets bloody. Millennials are proof of this— trying to break down
so many barriers at once, only to get buried in the rubble
of the structures built by those who came before. "If I'm sending mixed messages
it's because I don't know who I am, so how am I supposed to know
what I want?" They may seem annoying now, but maybe future generations
will thank them for it. "Now, I never know
if I can handle anything. That's what makes my life so exciting." If you’re new here,
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