Skip to main content

Check this out

I love teenagers. I really do. OK, so 99% of them are total pains in the arse with their angsty "you don't understand me" and "everyone over the age of 25 should be, like, extinct" attitude, but you have to admire their capacity to be OTT self-obsessed. They are also incredibly amusing - although the fact that a 36 year old housewife thinks they are side-splittingly funny would probably be beyond mortifying for any self-respecting Inheritor of the Earth.

What is great about the current crop of teens is their glorious confidence and ability to put themselves out there. When I was a teen I just wanted to crawl under a rock most of the time. I was overwhelmed with self-doubt and paralysed by the fear that my mates would find out that I didn't have much of a clue about anything.

I became a consummate actor, cool on the outside and a nerd deep within. I recall many hours spent writing gloomy poetry about how shit my life was, in between climbing out on to the roof to smoke Marlboro Lights, dreaming about my crush of the moment and planning how great everything would be once I managed to escape from the clutches of my square parents (who had probably never been young and so totally didn't get it).

Whereas I had cider, Doc Marten's and self-doubt, modern teens have the world at their feet. Or at least, that's how they see it. Being able to explore the world through a computer screen in their bedroom must be a liberating experience, opening up all kinds of possibilities and dreams that we 80's kids couldn't have imagined.

The new site Lookbook is a good example, with global kids vying for peer endorsement of their style, simply through posting pics of themselves showing off their latest 'look'. Who needs Vogue? And what's more, some of the styling and photography these kids are posting is, to borrow a teen phrase, awesome. I'm loving the fact that there are sixteen year old kids on Lookbook describing themselves as photographers, dance teachers and designers.

Part of me wonders if  they're going to be bitterly disappointed when they get out there into the big world and realise that our generation has screwed the economy so badly that they'll be lucky to get a job at Burger King. Another part of me thinks that such unshakeable confidence will surely transform the world. Or is it that, like me, they're just great actors, riddled with angst but putting on a good show, and the only difference is that the internet gives them the ability to dance on a global stage?


Anonymous said…
I HATE tennagers - and also feel sorry for them. I was one myself once. So was everybody! The mind has a wonderful ability to lose memories of crass stupidity and cringe making selfishness. Parents - for their own sakes (the teenage mutts that is) keep them down and make sure they are scared of you - otherwise all is lost and you can look forward to a lifetime of endless demands, no payback and an old balding paunchy middle-aged teenager to cater to in your dotage. You have been warned! Do not be nice!
Anonymous said…
I find that when they are knocked back out there in the great big cruel world, they CRY!!! And run back to Mummy/Daddy/Significant Other (what's that!). They are just big spoilt crybabies. Don't feel sorry for them. Smack them and put them on the naughty step - if they really are hysterical, lock them in a cupboard!

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…


Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …