I turn 20 in a few days. Fifty years ago, this was the median marriage age, and a few hundred years ago, I’d probably have already died in childbirth. However, living in modern times means that, at 20, my options aren’t so limited. By all accounts and standards, my life is just beginning.
So why do I feel so old?
When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to grow up. My role models were all far older than me, had accomplished far more than I thought possible. As a kid, I read “Nancy Drew” and “The Baby-sitters Club,” wistfully imagined what it would be like to be in the seventh grade. I followed Rory Gilmore through high school before I had ever set foot in it myself. My favorite movies as a young adult were populated with older characters who led independent, exciting lives in big cities. I revered Britney and Christina like cool older sisters, copying their fashion choices and dance moves. This was the trajectory of my childhood. The future was always promising and inviting.
But, to paraphrase a line from “Dazed and Confused,” I got older, and my icons stayed the same age. Or younger. Britney Spears was 17 when she made the then-scandalous video for “Baby One More Time.” Miley Cyrus, by contrast, was already a star on the Disney Channel’s “Hannah Montana” at 13 and pole dancing at awards shows by 16. Tom Welling was 24 years old when he took on the role of a high-school-aged Clark Kent on “Smallville.” Taylor Momsen was only 14 when she joined the cast of “Gossip Girl.”
Another Taylor—Taylor Swift—was a big winner at last week’s Grammys, taking home four awards, including Album of the Year. She boasts two multi-platinum albums: the latter, “Fearless,” spent more weeks at number one than any other album last decade. She is the top-selling artist in digital sales in music history, and one of the most powerful forces in music today. She managed all of this before she turned 20.
The TV shows we watch, too, stay young. “Glee,” one of this season’s surprise hits, introduced us to a lovable and talented cast of high school rejects and jocks who bond through their love of song. There are feuding cheerleaders and unrequited love across cliques. Characters converse by lockers, meet during lunch and study periods, and make plans for “the weekend.” It all seems so alien to me, now three years removed from high school halls. The aforementioned hugely successful (if not in Nielsen ratings, then in iTunes downloads and SideReel searches) “Gossip Girl” spent its last season pursuing college admissions and prom. Been there, done that.
Watching characters float around from homeroom to Spanish class and stress about prom dates or college acceptances doesn’t just make me feel old, but also discouraged. It seems the most interesting days of our lives are in the past: we’ve already picked our prom dates, already been accepted to college. What’s there to look forward to?
No TV show delved into the lives of teenagers 50 years ago. Shows like “I Love Lucy” and “Leave It to Beaver” were all about the family unit—the pleasures, frustrations, and humor in raising children, appeasing the spouse, and interacting with neighbors. “I Love Lucy” was the most-watched show for four out of its six seasons. Just over 70 percent of the country tuned in to watch Lucy give birth to her son, Little Ricky. Shows with similar themes today, like “Two and a Half Men” and “According to Jim” do not occupy nearly the same spot in our cultural consciousness—they could even be called out-dated or irrelevant.
Though people are living longer, the peaks of our lives seem to be getting pushed forward, earlier and earlier. What interests us is no longer the life that comes with a routine of a job, family, and kids, but the possibility and excitement that comes with youth. As a child, I believed the future was a blank page filled with opportunities to be had and decisions to make, but perhaps we no longer value the promises of the future as we do the fantasies of the past. Instead of being so eager to grow up, perhaps I should have savored those childhood years, when the biggest problem one could face was getting disqualified from show choir sectionals, or not being voted prom queen.
Aarti Iyer is a Columbia College junior majoring in creative writing. She is the editor-in-chief of The Fed. Culture Vulture runs alternate Fridays.
