Gen X: The Sellingest Sellouts of Salesville
I think I am getting beyond the anger phase; maybe.
I am not fully the judge sitting proudly in my Fugazi t-shirt, ready to pounce with my late stage capitalism, my dollar ‘zine, and bikes man, fucking ride your bike! Yes, a part of me is that guy; but I have come to a stable state of disappointment, and I know that beyond this phase is acceptance. I am getting there.
But I’m still not quite over your bullshit Gen X; the ten minute flex/lecture on organic cloth diapers, your lifelong laziness coupled with your new found passion in being a “maker”. Yet still searching for the perfect thing to make, in the perfect location, and also lucrative, gotta be lucrative as well. So yeah, it’s still- eat shit poser. If you want to add a u, well…of course you do.
Some time ago I sat in my friends vintage modern living room, we were two middle aged white dudes, high as hell and sipping beers at 4 pm on a winter afternoon. I was listening to my buddy describe his experiences in his ayahuasca Christian church, his path to enlightenment. Enjoying a cozy visit with an old friend, as you do.
The tenant of my friends third floor apartment arrived after a while, and she had some questions. Chiefly, why am I freezing my ass off, and why is wind whistling through the window frames? The response from krishna bro, was to present the answer in the form of a box of shrinky-dink clear window film, to be applied with a hair dryer for maximum efficiency. Next came, the words, the definition of cringe- “Do you think that’s something you could ya’ know, handle?” Put a little upspeak on the end and you are right there dear reader.
Jesus H trippin’ balls Christ, yikes! The little sexist challenge, the gaslighting of a completely bullshit solution. I am certain that little box (even if that shit worked, which it doesn’t) wasn’t even close to being sufficient for the numerous, giant antique windows, it’s basic math. It was then that I knew, Gen X whatever it may have once meant, was nothing to be proud of today. We were the dickbags now, the shitty landlords, the mid- level managers getting along to go along, whelp- turns out daddy likes his crossfit instructor more than Mommy, objectively shitty humans.
I said nothing, I did not stick up for the rights of the renter, for I am a sell out too. I was visiting from out of town, I didn’t want to kill my buzz, his wife and kids would be home soon, yada, McYada. Not punk at all.
That little scene wouldn’t have gone unchecked by 90s me, because sometimes we need our friends to tell us when we are behaving poorly, sometimes we have a responsibility to berate. My little excuses follow the same logic as the big ones of my generation. We choose comfort, we avoid confrontation, we do what makes us feel good. This is fact. It’s just plain responsible to make sure our children have a Brazilian soccer coach. Tesla’s don’t grow on trees. If I don’t benefit- somebody else will! It’s business.
I understand that we are free to chose our own path, and that imposing my preferences on others is unfair. It is no crime live as you wish, we all take our pleasures. I too am a hypocrite, I have flaws, I can do better.
What is deeply troublesome amongst my generation however, is the tendency towards self-image actualization. I do believe we have an obligation as humans with free will to work towards authentic self actualization. To try and move beyond our curated and filtered self.
Doing all the things, following the cultural zeitgeist of what it means to be a good person, and to simply restate the ideas of others as our own is nothing more than self image creation. It is a dangerous to live within a myth, and we as members of Generation X were sharply and explicitly warned.
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