𝕋𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕙, 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

Lunenburgh, Nova Scotia - @hmcguirephoto

Like any member of the ‘in-the-process-of-seasoning’ generation (aging, I mean aging), I occasionally suffer from Boomer-ism. One minute, we are the young anarchists challenging the establishment, criticizing our parents’ lack of progressivism and adaptability, the next we are the establishment, we are the ones set in our ways. As a mother of three teens, I try to keep up with their trends, slang, tastes and interests, but recently I’ve noticed that I’ve started to voluntarily draw the line more and more often, and fall back maybe less voluntarily. (Skibidy? Brah.)

A lot of recent music artists don’t speak to me. (1) They don’t resonate with me, and (2) they literally do not address their content to my bracket. I am not at the same point in my life as many coming-of-fame who are swooning for love or crying over breakups to begin with, and the format and rise happen in a world unbeknownst to me. One day, the world is one thing, the next it belongs to the Sabrina Carpenters of cyber space. The words ‘viral’ and ‘influencers’ have grown to make me Hulk-angry. Beyond not understanding, I do not grasp their essence. 

Somewhere along the borders of their inevitability - in that new society I just realized I am on the fringes but still part of - I have to accept them. I don’t have to like them, but I do have to play along as they are integral concepts of my children’s lives. Let’s be clear, I have no problem with getting older. In fact, I consider it a privilege, having lost too many people too soon along the way, it would be an insult to their memory not to think so. And to be completely transparent, I had a great time in my 20s, but given the opportunity I wouldn’t do it again. Experience is a bliss, I love having it.

I am still angry though. When I’m angry, I reject things. In the last few years, I have been rejecting 90% of social media content. I don’t like that there’s a manipulating mysterious  algorithm killing my vibe. I don’t like that I have to make reels (videos are not my job or my forte). I don’t like that I only have 15 seconds to express anything of value. I don’t like that ‘likes’ have the power to break you. It makes me uneasy. 

There, rant over (or is it?).

I was born in the late 70s (yes, that’s in the 1900s). I’m a child of 80s cinema (Back to the Future all day), of 90s anarchical rock, of the 2000s existential crises and dependence to psychotherapy. In other words, I grew up in the cultural adulation of overthinking, substance (in the sense of ‘significance’) and quintessence. I like complications and depth, circumvolutions, debates and arguments. I miss substance, and I am angry that my children do not need it. They prefer hours of short clips of nothingness, over a 2h film with craft, storytelling and a solid moral at the end that we can discuss. 

In the New Yorker article ‘What Happened When an Extremely Offline Person Tried TikTok’ (by Cal Newport, contributing writer for The New Yorker and a professor of computer science at Georgetown University)  published on January 15th 2025, Newport writes: 

‘It seems to revel in meaninglessness, sometimes even poking fun at the idea that a video should be useful. The most popular platforms are saying the quiet part out loud—that there is no deeply meaningful justification for their digital wares—and their users seem to understand and accept this new agreement. [...] Some of the videos were stupid, but in a weirdly comforting way; some were sneakily smart. It’s a form of concentrated escapism marketed to a weary generation that is only now reaching adulthood.’

Newport shone a different light on the topic for me. He made me realize that, to a certain extent, this generation purposely seeks the trivial and the mundane whether ironically or as a means of survival. They purposely stir away from substance. 

Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that substance is not something all human beings have always wanted and will always want?! There I stood in shock. 

Being from the French Mediterranean, I am a traditionalist and a judgmental person by nature, I’ll admit. I try not to be, but it’s in my DNA. Resisting it is a work out. However, believe me when I say, I am writing these words from a place of genuine open mind. I am. It’s not easy, but I am trying. It is the first time in the age of social media that I even consider a different perspective. 

Following a generation of people who privileged a healthier work-life balance (a distancing step away from mine), my children are growing up in a generation that apparently wishes to remain in shallower depth, that wishes not to be mentally tortured to feel like they have contributed. They belong to a generation that prioritizes ease-of-mind, straightforwardness and finger-snap satisfaction. They have been over stimulated by too many opportunities, too many options, too much pressure, too many obligations, they want a break. I get it. We gave them the key, we can’t blame them for opening the door.

My biggest fear as a creative has always been to produce content that not would be deep and meaningful enough. I work to create content that aims to contribute to the churning wheel of human evolution, to establish a legacy, to fulfill my responsibility as history witness and preservationist. Whether I am succeeding or failing is irrelevant. It is a tall order, and it comes with pressure which younger generations (whatever letter of the alphabet it was dubbed with, I lost track) refuse wholeheartedly. 

They’re taking a stand. I respect that. It’s more than what my generation did. 

Far from having switched sides from prosecution to defense on the matter, I will allow a crack in my shell. However, if doomscrolling may provide some welcome mindlessness in this crazy world of ours, as a personal preference, I will always choose a night at the movies instead. I love full bodied stories too much. I believe in the effort of questioning, bettering, and respecting ourselves, our history, our potential and our humanity. As we mark the 80th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz and Birkenau, the duty of memory over the ephemeral is essential. It is hard, but we must.

And that requires… substance.

My children and their peers strive to be themselves, I love that. They have the guts to create their own rules without blindly accepting our cautionary tales or baskets of two-cents, and that’s commendable. They are asking us to stop overwhelming them. We need to hear them out, but we cannot let them forget where we all come from either. History will decide how each generation is defined and remembered, how it contributed to the forming of the next. In the meantime, I hope we persevere in making room for intergenerational bridges (and more 90s rock, please. Asking for a friend. Thanks.)

-by H.McGuire, the Word is My Oyster