11 things millennials are getting wrong – and Gen Z are getting right

Boomers, millennials, Generation Z: the only thing we have in common is that we all hate each other, right? (And that we’ve all collectively forgotten Generation X exists. Sorry guys.)

That’s the narrative that gets propagated – that an endless generational battle lies at the heart of the culture wars, stoked every month or so by another grenade lobbed over the parapet. The latest skirmish is firmly between millennials and Gen Z. You’ll be walking along thinking everything’s fine, only to be hit by a bit of shrapnel: Pow! A 23-year-old bystander points and laughs at your ankle socks decorated with sausage dogs. Boom! A younger colleague rolls their eyes with disdain upon hearing you make another Friends reference. Zap! You get eviscerated by TikTokers for trying to get in on the “brat summer” trend when it’s clear you have only the sketchiest grasp of the concept (something to do with taking drugs and not brushing your hair and voting for Kamala Harris?).

From surface-level nonsense (styles of jeans, opinions on brunch) to deeper differences (work ethic and identity politics), there are many issues that divide us. But as a millennial who has spent the past 15 years hearing that my generation were “snowflakes” whose penchant for avocado on toast was to blame for the world’s economic problems, I have sympathy for our younger counterparts. While our profligate ways were branded the root of all evil and the cause behind our inability to afford houses costing 10 times our salaries, Gen Z’s more frugal approach has seen them condemned for killing the club and pub scene. We can’t win, whichever side of the Nineties divide we were born on.

So join me, an Eighties baby, as I document the Gen Z traits I’m actually quite jealous of…

“That is such a Pisces thing to say.” This was a Gen Z’s response to my assertion that I didn’t really believe in star signs – and it’s quite possibly the perfect comeback. I still think it’s a load of cobblers, but I have a curious envy for the way that people in their twenties can chat for hours about birth charts and rising signs and what the moon is up to at any given moment.

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Astrology seems to make for the most fertile of small talk while simultaneously providing the answers to life’s big questions. Why didn’t that relationship work out? Mercury was in retrograde. Why didn’t you get that job? The planetary alignments were off. Why can you never find a parking space? You were born under a wolf moon on a Tuesday at 4.02am while Venus was doing something kinky with Saturn behind the bike sheds. It’s the perfect way to pretend the roiling chaos of the universe makes some kind of sense.

In my day, when a man was being a commitment-phobic “Mr Big”-style enigma, friends passed around tattered copies of The Rules and He’s Just Not That Into You, reminded each other to play “hard to get but easy to be with”, and endorsed the inevitable slide into insanity when you pretended to be breezy while desperately waiting for him to call. These days, I overhear younger colleagues talking about attachment styles (“he’s classic avoidant, that’s why he’s pulling away”), internal family systems (“his inner child is terrified of being abandoned”) and love languages (“he’s acts of service, I’m physical touch”) with such aplomb they sound like they could set up a private therapy practice.

While accusations of “gaslighting”, “red flags” and “toxic traits” get bandied around with too much reckless abandon for my liking, Gen Z’s understanding of behaviour and ability to communicate their own needs is a marvel to behold. Even if men continue to be commitment-phobic a***holes, at least the youngsters can deploy some Jungian theory to explain why.

Since the age of 16, my makeup routine hasn’t changed: a flick of liquid eyeliner, sweep of mascara, concealer doing the increasingly heavy lifting of covering my eye bags and a bold lipstick to distract from the rest of my face. It’s quick. It’s serviceable. And it was perfectly adequate until Gen Z grew up watching YouTube tutorials that meant every single one of them could legitimately launch a side hustle as a professional makeup artist. They don’t just cover their spots and call it a day – they transform from regular person to A-lister. They look more “done” than I did at my sister’s wedding. There are layers, and contours, and ersatz cheekbones created by products I’ve never even heard of, all finished off with a polished, dewy glow. I feel like I brought a knife to a gunfight.

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No, I don’t have the time or patience to spend two hours getting ready every day. Yes, I’m jealous as hell that I have no idea how to make myself look like a Kardashian at will.

Ah, to have boundaries! To be able to clock off at 4.59pm; refuse to respond to urgent messages or pick up the phone to your boss because it’s “out of hours”; explain that you didn’t complete your project on time because the stress was impacting your mental health – all without the merest whisper of a guilty conscience! It’s a concept as alien to millennials as swapping our skinny jeans for denim without elastane.

Better yet is the creeping Gen Z tendency to use “boundaries” as shorthand for avoiding anything overly onerous or unpleasant. Don’t fancy hanging out with that friend going through a rough patch who keeps ruining the vibe by crying? Don’t worry – boundaries. Not keen to stay late at work to hit your deadline? Don’t bother – boundaries. Too tired to have that awkward breakup chat with your new beau? Don’t sweat it – boundaries. Just send an emoji instead. Speaking of…

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It took me till my mid-thirties to be confident with even the most basic emoji use. I have a solid roster of around 10 in my lexicon, proudly added into messages to add a little creative flourish. Now, I’ve discovered that every emoji in my capsule portfolio is woefully uncool, marking me out as ancient and “cheugy” (a word invented by Gen Z to further mock us try-hard millennials). The younger generation grew up fluent in this pictographic language and they use it effortlessly, like the digital natives they are, communicating levels and layers of meaning I will never come close to comprehending. Sobbing face, crying-laughing face, upside-down smile face.

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Watch a Gen Z’s face as you regale them with stories of your misspent millennial youth – all involving a truly unhinged amount of alcohol, all ending with someone vomiting/pissing/defecating/all of the above – and you’ll see a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach their horror-filled eyes. At a point in life when I was stumbling home with a kebab, being sick in a litter bin and passing out with my contact lenses still in, they’re massaging themselves with CBD oil, eating poke bowls and hitting the hay at 10pm. At the age I was drinking shots of sambuca and pints of snakebite, they’re doing shots of ginger with a green juice chaser. Sure, they won’t have the pissed-up anecdotes to regale future generations with – but they also have fully functioning livers and have never had to apologise for urinating on a friend’s laptop.

In my twenties, we were still holding up “heroin chic” as the supreme aesthetic and eating a bowl of Special K instead of actual meals in an attempt to emulate Victoria Beckham. I wasn’t even aware of concepts like “protein” or “nutrition” until my mid-thirties. Obviously unrealistic beauty standards endure, but a massive shout-out to the way Gen Z has embraced the body positivity movement and normalised trading in calorie-counting for building muscle and deadlifting weights.

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I grew up being told to never, ever wear socks and sandals on pain of, if not death, certainly social suicide. Then Gen Z breezed in and decided it was cool overnight. Absolute mavericks.

I feel instinctively that, had I been born 15 years later, I would have been Big On TikTok. Funny dances, comedy bits, harmonising with other people’s songs? That’s my kind of triple threat. I’d also have relished the opportunity to overshare my emotions and cry all over the internet. Alas, most millennials are too long in the tooth to truly get to grips with yet another social media algorithm. Heck, I only joined Instagram this year and I’m still Googling “how to share someone’s stories” like a confused OAP. You can’t teach this old dog new Tik(Tok)s.

While “woke” millennials have largely taken up the cause of LGBTQ+ rights with relish, we still sometimes come unstuck when it comes to non-binary pronouns, tripping over ourselves and making mistakes that leave us looking like old and foolish dinosaurs. Not so gender-dextrous Gen Z who, having grown up with the concept, are just more limber when it comes to effortlessly switching into “they/them”. We could all do with taking a leaf out of their open-minded, “you do you, babe” playbook.

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If there’s one thing millennials love, it’s Harry Potter (and don’t Gen Z love to taunt us for it). But since JK Rowling made the gradual but relentless transition from beloved children’s author to head spokesperson for the trans-exclusionary radical feminist lobby, referencing our beloved books leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. Honestly, the whole debate has become so toxic, part of me envies Gen Z for their cool detachment from it all; their lack of affiliation with a Hogwarts house; their superior position when “separating the art from the artist” debates rear their tediously predictable heads. Just call me the muggle formerly known as a Ravenclaw.