Another Disobedience: A Queer Reading of Twenty Something Nightmare
If there is anything that speaks to being a millennial in 2018, it is the notion that to be young is to be wandering aimlessly in search of meaning. Perhaps nothing evokes the sort of pressures and doubts that accompany that journey as much as “Twenty Something Nightmare,” a song by Vista Kicks from their album of the same name. The voice of the piece comes in the form of a society that belittles a younger generation and echoes every personal doubt that rings in their (our) heads. However, whether intentional or not, the song also invokes an aura of queerness, one that comes through the rejection of the song’s voice, as well as the markers of rebellion that call upon queer-coded images. In particular, the song arouses themes very closely-related to transgender experiences, and in doing so supports its more direct claim that young people are not treated with respect.
In order to better understand what the implications of a queer reading of “Twenty Something Nightmare” might mean for the song overall, I reached out to my good friend, aspiring sexologist, LGBT activist, and residential genderfluid human, Sam Hengesbach, to provide insight on what would be an otherwise wholly literary reading.
From the get go, this song is lyrically striking, and paints a picture of a rebellious youth. The number opens with “Boy, why did you grow your hair out?/ Man, you look like a woman.” It’s true that these words coming out of the lips of long-haired, cis man, Derek Thomas, seem like direct comments on the restless and turbulent gender expression of rambunctious twenty-somethings, but read from a queer lens they speak to a slightly different narrative. Directed words such as “boy” and “man” could be read as the misgendering of a transgender person who may be trying to present more feminine than is considered acceptable for someone assigned male at birth. One’s understanding of their gender identity is inextricably tied to how they perform their gender, but may not be up to a societal standard of gender expression. In reading the subject as queer or not, there is an obvious breakage of that norm, but the implications of that breakage are made more intense by the inclusion of a queer subject. Reading this lyric from a queer angle offers opportunity to think about gender performance in a more intense way.
Gender theorist Judith Butler coined the term “gender performativity” in her novel Gender Trouble to refer to the sort of effects that performing gender has. Butler even goes so far as to assert that every person, regardless of gender orientation, performs their gender, and in that way everyone is in drag at all times. For Derek Thomas his performance of a man comes with a long, beautiful mane of hair. For many people their gender expression might involve similar magnificent locks, but that does not necessarily determine if they are a man. In each respect, this derogatory voice sneers at its subject. It questions the most personal choices of expression to which each person is entitled because they do not approach an acceptable gendered standard. However, for the queer subject, it is not merely a questioning of gender expression that occurs, but a questioning of gender identity as a whole, and a total invalidation of self. On this subject, Hengesbach was appropriately blunt, and remarked they “hate that.” They affirm that the meddlesome and presumptuous nature of comments such as these only create animosity. Queer or otherwise, challenging a person’s gender performance is rude and displays skepticism only afforded by inherent egotistical haughtiness.
There is a persistent infantilization in the song as well that also conjures the aura of a queer experience. The speaker urges the subject to “Be a man/ But you still a child.” This contradiction is certainly a crucial element of being part of a younger generation. The onslaught of articles that decry millennials for killing department stores and the jewelry industry has become so loud that it drowns itself out. It treats a whole generation as though they are children who don’t know what they’re doing, when the reality is that many millennials are well into their 30s. This condescending treatment speaks to a queer experience as well. Queer people are simultaneously condemned for supposedly not being old or experienced enough to truly know who they are, as well as for being pedantic, and engaging in a “phase.” Hengesbach confirms that this sort of treatment is pervasive, noting that despite have identified as trans for six years, that they are still encouraged to wait until they’re 25–30 years old to transition. Hengesbach addressed the same issue for “trans kids [who] are also not allowed to be trans because people use youth as a tool against [their] trans existence. It’s a way of stopping transness from existing by putting it in a future that doesn’t exist.” This sort of behavior ensures that trans people keep their preferred gender identities hidden, and effectively cuts short the lives that they could and should lead.
As if the question of queerness in this song were not present enough, the speaker goes so far as ask “Where did you get that name from?” As far as reaching an approximation of the trans experience is concerned, this one hits the nail on the head. To doubt someone’s name is to doubt their identity at its most core place of language. Where shedding skepticism toward one’s gender expression condemns their personal choice, suspicion toward one’s name condemns their very being in a much more direct way. In a broad sense, this lyric could refer to one’s surname, and calls attention to the subject’s family history in order to draw attention to a generational gap in values, but for a queer person, particularly a trans one, this raises a huge red flag. Hengesbach frowns at these sort of invasive questions, and remarked that such comments walk a funny line between cute and scary, as “the curiosity could either be fun or [enforce] the feeling of being put on the spot as a freak show.” It is true that many names adopted by trans people are considered outlandish, or that there is expectation to pick up a name derived from one’s birth name, which provokes awkward questioning. This phenomena echoes the same experience of having one’s aesthetic choices questioned: it is uncomfortable and plain rude. More than that, it makes perfectly clear that the speaker has little regard for the subject’s personal identity. Considering the way in which young people are regarded with a magnifying glass, it only makes sense that that same society would regard queer people with a microscope. That microscope zooms in on one’s name, and regards it with abhorrent curiosity.
It would be irresponsible of me as an analyst to walk in, say that “Twenty Something Nightmare” is really gay and walk out. Therefore, I propose that the aforementioned queer imagery of the subject as well as the vocalized disdain for them do not merely present the subject as a queer individual, but aggrandize the direct meaning of the song. It is not simply that the youth of today are troubled and berated for it, or that queer people are ostracized and their identities rejected, but that these two messages in combination present a broader glimpse into the narrative of the queer youth. This song speaks to the doubt that echoes in the heads of many, and it rings just a little bit louder for marginalized groups such as queer people. Where there is confusion and skepticism held against every disobedient twenty-something, the same is true for every queer twenty-something just by nature of existence. Queerness is treated as a disobedience of its own kind. Or rather, queer people are treated as nightmares.
It is true that a queer reading of this piece was likely not the sort of significance that Le Vine, Plecker, Sutton, and Thomas ever intended, but regardless of intention it is one that affects the received meaning. More than that, it is important for a reader, or listener, to consider that greater importance is derived from approaching texts from multiple angles and finding their common ground. French philosopher and literary critic Jean-Paul Sartre wrote of literature, “We would be hunters of meaning, we would speak the truth about the world and about our own lives.” In order to find truth, broad and variable interpretations of texts are requisite. Thusly, that this work exceeds beyond pure direct meaning and achieves a place that requires analysis to appreciate its breadth, solidifies “Twenty Something Nightmare” as being genuinely literary. With the importance of duality of meaning in mind, it would be prudent to regard all texts with open ears, and consider how narratives such as queer ones can embolden authorial intention and broaden reader interpretation. Without these variable lenses, we create a nightmare of our own; let this be an encouragement to think wide and diverse, so that each beautiful idea bears significance far more important than the sum of its parts, and more still than one singular whole. Let each idea bear itself over and over, from every angle, and with more effect each time.
