Upon arriving in LA for Thanksgiving week, my mom and I made a beeline for Chez Jay, the infamous and beloved Santa Monica dive. I would have been happy to sit quietly with my whiskey and butter steak, but my mom is a social butterfly. She instantly started chatting up the people next to us, an American and a Brit, both middle-aged regulars at the bar.
The conversation began innocuously enough, but it quickly turned to the Great Sexual Harassment Reckoning of 2017, as conversations these days are wont to do.
Once we had covered the usual talking points — the spectra-within-spectra of sexual misconduct, the insidiousness of open secrets and complicit networks, and the fickleness of the Court of Public Opinion — we moved on to the generational differences in what constitutes acceptable behavior. We had three Baby Boomers and one Millennial in the mix; it was inevitable.
As someone who loves to argue but hates conflict, I have spent years learning when and how to engage in worthwhile debates, as well as when and how to just keep my mouth shut. Sometimes, I get it completely wrong, but that night, I was doing a great job of nodding thoughtfully and asking for occasional clarifications. Mostly.
We came to the topic sexual assault on college campuses and the definition of consent: Is it “yes means yes”? Is it “no means no”? When, if ever, does mutual desire override intoxication? Are crazy kids at parties just “asking for it,” waiving their right to consent by drinking too much?
Our new American friend was an energetic, blonde ad executive in her early 50s. I liked her brash humor and daredevil stories. I did not like her approach to defining consent, which was:
“Sure, I had some regrettable drunk hookups back in college, but I’ve never been a wimp about it and cried sexual assault! And when I was your age and coming up through the workforce, sure, there was harassment, but that’s how things were then, and I just dealt with it.”
My thoughts on the nature of consent aside, it drives me absolutely nuts when people assume their personal narratives represent a universal experience. I told her as much, suggesting also that just because people today are more empowered to speak up when they’ve been abused, it doesn’t mean people weren’t feeling the psychological — and economic — hurt of it before.
She came back with, “Your generation is just so sensitive.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t articulate in the moment why I knew not only that she was right about my generation being more sensitive than our predecessors, but that it wasn’t the dismissal she had intended it to be.
Millennials are so used to accusations of over-sensitivity — to racism, to climate change, to sexism, to harassment, to gluten — you could even say we’ve been desensitized to them.
I used to pride myself on my insensitivity, my invulnerability, my capacity to emotionally self-sustain through any weather. No tears, no fuss, maybe a bit of emo journaling. And honestly? It was bloody exhausting.
As an adult, I’ve worked hard to become more sensitive, and here’s what I’ve learned: IT’S GREAT. Especially when everyone’s allowed to do it.
Sensitivity is the strength to acknowledge the tangible impact of intangible feelings, instead of running from them or shutting them out in fear.
Sensitivity and its cousin empathy drive us to fight as allies for the rights of others, even if we don’t suffer from the same evils they do.
In the context of our conversation at the bar, “sensitive” basically meant “willing to speak up and demand respect, and to reject an unjust status quo.” Very high-maintenance, I know.
Sensitivity is behind an increase in nuanced, solution-oriented conversations about mental health, which for too long has been dismissed as an impolite, uncomfortable topic.
Our generation’s growing embrace of sensitivity provides an alternative to toxic masculinity and the suffocating demands we place on men to be either stoic or aggressive, no matter the circumstances. It also legitimizes women’s expressiveness, which once would have been diagnosed as “hysteria” and probably treated with Quaaludes.
Sensitivity, broadly speaking, is an awareness of the world beyond one’s line of sight.
So, yes. My generation is sensitive.
You are more than welcome to join us.
